The police came, checking on the body, putting up tape, and pushing us back. All the usual shit.
“What is this?” a woman asked, moving into the small crowd that still remained.
She was tall and slim, with the kind of curves that made men’s mouths water. Her inky black hair was pulled into a high ponytail that only put her gorgeous face on display. She was dressed in tight black pants, a black tank top, and black combat boots. And she had a slight Russian accent.
“Hey, Stas. The guy who just got out of prison,” Colter explained.
“The rapist,” Stas said.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, my. What a… shame,” she said, her tone dry. When I glanced at her, there was an icy smile toying with her lips. “Anyway… who is this sweet baby?” she cooed at Molly as she reached to pet her.
My gaze found Colter’s over her bent body.
And we both thought the same thing.
Knew the same thing.
Stas had killed the rapist.
Judging by her tone, it wasn’t even because she’d been assaulted by the guy. She had just been… cleaning up the streets.
“She’s gonna have puppies,” I told her. “If you are looking for a dog in the future.”
Stas straightened. “Let me know if there are any females,” she said. “Bitches are more loyal.”
With that, she strutted off like nothing had happened.
“So, that’s Stas,” I said with a little laugh.
“I’d say this was unusual for her,” he said, glancing over toward the lot.
“But she’s every bit the cold-blooded killer she comes off as?”
“Exactly.”
“I kinda like her.”
“Of course you do,” Colter said, slinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close enough to press a kiss to my temple.
We stuck around to give our statements, which all matched since we didn’t actually see anything—just heard the pop, saw the body, and called the cops.
But it was almost two hours later when we got to head back toward the clubhouse.
“I’d say this was an unusual night,” Colter said, “but shit is always going down around here.”
“Sounds like the perfect place for people like us to call home,” I said.
“Yeah, it does.”
Colter - 3 weeks
Molly was the one who was pregnant, but it was Dylan who was heavy into nesting mode.
Before she moved in, my room felt, I dunno, homey enough to me. But that wasn’t really saying much, since I was used to nothing being a home, to everything being kind of cold, hard, and temporary.
To me, my room was decorated because it had a bed, nightstands, and a dresser. And I only had the nightstands because Coach had built them for me.
