“Nope,” I said, passing him to the office.
I kept walking, but Red and Rooster were dealing with those idiots behind me.
Without a knock, I flew into Blue’s office and panic filled his black, beady eyes.
“Hawk, what the–” I grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him to his desk. He grunted but had his hands up. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!”
“Why didn’t you tell me Juicy would be hostile? Huh?”
“He’s usually not. I mean, he’s a pimp, though. I told you what I know!”
Slamming his face again, I said, “You really have a thing for pain don’t you? You should have told me he’d ask for payment.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ve never dealt with him, man!”
Pushing him before letting him go, I said, “Fuck yourself, Blue. I’m about sick of your halfass shit.”
I stormed out of the room then waved at my brothers. “We’re done. Let’s go.”
I needed to talk to Keys.
And fuck if I didn’t want to see my Kitty Kat.
Chapter 22
Katarina
This man. He’s more hot and cold than a woman the week before her period. Which is exactly what I texted Klara. I knew he’d probably see it, and I didn’t care. I hoped he did.
I had nothing to hide so I wasn’t concerned that my phone was monitored. Although it did make me wonder if Papa had ever done that. The thought of him seeing some of the things I sent friends, especially things he should never know about, made me ill. But nothing was ever brought up, so hopefully that never crossed his mind.
Klara’s reply didn’t come until later in the day, but she apologized for the delay and told me she hoped my day turnedaround soon. I’d been a poor friend. So wrapped up in my new husband and attempting to get unpacked.
He’d spent a lot of time with me the last couple of weeks and I understood he still had responsibilities. But I didn’t hold a gun to his head. It had been wonderful, no doubt, and kept me from being too homesick. All he had to do was tell me he had work to do. But this morning he was short, cold. He wasn’t even that much of a prick when we first met. Or was he?
Looking at the boxes of things I still hadn’t sorted, I realized I’d let myself be dickmatized by him. I’d pulled out mostly clothes and personal care items but still had oodles and oodles of more clothes, pictures, and tchotchkes from my childhood home. Well, my whole life home.
Instead of sorting through my things and my emotions, I just fucked my husband for two weeks, and occasionally baked. But I had to go to the clubhouse just to do that because the kitchen was practically empty.
Remembering I packed up some of my baking tools from home, I went to the spare room and found the box, then carried it to the pristine kitchen.
The counters were bare and very little was in any of the cabinets. Hawk was a minimalist and very anal about appearances. Which was odd, since nobody ever came into the house but us.
Although there was no need for anyone to. They had the clubhouse for meals and their meetings. And he was in charge. Order was necessary.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I started pulling the smaller items from the box first and finding them new homes.
How silly that even when I was mad at him, I found myself defending him and his weird controlling quirks. Order was necessary, but he even had to have his hair balm in the exact same place after use. And looking around, the whole house was devoid of emotion or sentiment.
That changes now.If I had to live here, I deserved to share the space.
A few hours later, I was sitting on the floor, choked up over pictures in an old album from one of the boxes. Some pictures that were framed had been placed around the living room, and one on the nightstand in the bedroom, but I pulled out some albums trying to figure out which needed to be stored and which could be displayed on the coffee table.
As tears streamed my face while I flipped through the book with pictures of my mother, a knock on the door startled me.
Nobody ever came here and Hawk wouldn’t knock. I sat stunned for a moment when another knock came.
Shutting the album and leaving it on the coffee table, I stood and ran my hands over my cheeks, hoping my mascara hadn’t run down my face. Looking down, I grimaced. I’d thrown on leggings and a t-shirt earlier to run to the clubhouse for breakfast.
