Page 32 of Psycho

I slapped a king-sized candy bar into his palm.

“Will that make you stop bitching about it?”

Bruiser grunted and tore open the wrapper, biting into the chocolate.

“Probably not. You clearly feel guilty, and I plan to use that to my advantage as long as possible.”

I shook my head and flicked a Tootsie Roll at him.

Then I did a double-take when I spotted Bobbie standing behind the bar. She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers in a little wave, as if she had been waiting for me to notice her.

“What about a sweet treat for your sweetheart?” she asked.

During the past week, Bobbie had been finding her place within the clubhouse dynamic. She was quiet at first, hanging back, observant.

Until Ironside roped her into helping him barbecue some ribs, and she just blossomed after that.

Her hair was a brilliant tropical ocean blue, and she had chopped off roughly six inches. Now, it bounced and bobbed around her chin in waves. And it made her look lighter, happier.

“Who the hell put my girlfriend to work?” I demanded.

“Jesus, don’t bite our heads off,” Bruiser grumbled. He gestured at Bobbie with his candy bar. “It was her idea. She wanted to do it.”

Bobbie grabbed my hand and pulled me over to a bar stool, motioning for me to sit.

“Relax. Bruiser is right.”

I grimaced.

“Don’t say that. He’s insufferable when you admit that he’s right.”

Bobbie breathed a faint laugh and propped her elbows on the bar, resting her chin in her hand. She reached over and selected a ghost-shaped mint from my bucket, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth.

“Pretty Boy mentioned that you don’t have a regular bartender at the moment,” she said. “So, I offered to fill in. I've done bartending before—I know the gig. Since there are so many people to talk to, I never get bored. And…it gives me something to do. I like being useful."

She folded the mint wrapper again and again with fidgeting fingers. I put my hand over hers to stop her restless movement.

“You don’t have to be useful to belong here, Bobbie,” I said.

“I know,” she said softly. “But I want to pull my weight and play my part like everybody else. Ironside cooks. Pretty Boy leads. Bruiser provides protection.”

I set my bucket of candy aside as I considered what she was saying.

“That sounds…permanent. Are you thinking about staying for good?”

Bobbie held my gaze as she bit her lip.

“I’d like to try. It scares the shit out of me that I’ll screw it all up—”

“You won’t,” I cut in.

“I might." She sighed and tossed the folded wrapper in the garbage. Squaring her shoulders, she drummed her fingers on the bar. “But I’m…I’m going to do my best to fix things instead of running away.”

I stretched my hand out, palm up, exposing my scar.

“Well, maybe I could help. I’m good at fixing things.”

Bobbie placed her hand in mine.