“You need to be out the back.” Nash rounded the desk and swiped her phone and the bag she kept with her at this time of the month. “Decoy can work the counter.”
“No, he can’t. He’s on the wagons this afternoon.”
“Rubi’s going to cover him when he goes.”
“Rubi? Are you fucking joking?”
Apparently not. The big man popped up behind her. “Don’t be rude, sister. I’m the most organised dragon you know.”
“You’re a buffoon,” Orla snapped. “You fuck everything up on purpose.”
Rubi clutched his chest, going for levity, but he was as honest as Nash, and the concern shadowing his humour ratcheted up my own stress levels.
“What’s going on?”
Only Rubi spared me a glance. Nash was too busy surviving an O’Brian death glare. “Nashie wants the boss—and you—out the back away from all these randos walking in off the street.”
Orla smacked her hand on the desk. “They’re not randos. You need an account to trade here. We know who everyone is.”
Rubi shrugged. “Yeah, when we get to asking them. But between here and the door, we have no fucking clue.”
“That’s what Locke’s for.”
“No.” Nash tugged Orla’s chair back, the wheels soundless on the industrial carpet. “He’s here to protect you, not play bouncer to every dumb cunt who needs a drill bit.”
“We don’t sell drill bits, you crazy fool.”
“I’m a fool for you, babe. Now get out the back. Locke, you too, brother.”
“What about the door? Still makes more sense to put me in front of any trouble.”
“Nah.” Nash shook his head. “Rubi’s rusty. Let him and Ranger do the fighting.”
“Ranger?”
On cue, my oldest biker brother blocked the public doorway, his lanky frame more imposing than it had any right to be. “You called?”
“Not me.” I stared him down, taking in his messy black hair and eyes to match, coal-dark and menacing, when I happened to know there’d been a time when he’d spent most of his life laughing, his sardonic, brutal humour the only company I was fuckin’ allowed. “Since when are you an on-call security guard?”
Ranger shrugged. “Since now. Change is as good as a rest, eh?”
The flat lines of his lips let me know that was all I was getting, and I turned my attention back to the face-off at the desk.
Orla had conceded and stood by the rear door, waiting for me.
I left Ranger to it and escorted her to the corner that was colloquially known as Cam’s office. A desk he never used. A chair he never sat in. A computer he probably knew less about than I did.
Orla tossed her belongings down. “Fucking idiot.”
“He’s just trying to keep you safe, queenie.”
“From what? Fromwho? Pat the Plumber?”
“Maybe. A spanner can do a lot of damage.”
“You’re not funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.” I caught her bag before it slid to the floor. “Nash wouldn’t fuck with you for no reason.”
