Page 20 of Property of Fang
Maybe Darla doesn’t, but, “And the guy who let us out? The one with the pierced lip?”
She smirks. “Fang.”
Figures.Should have picked he’d have a road name like that.
“We’re really grateful for what they did,” Darla offers, as though her words are a peace treaty proffered on a silver platter.
“I’m sure you are,” Floss agrees, suspicion lining her tone. “They’re good men, despite their appearance. You’re safe now.”
I give her a thankful smile, hoping it’ll make her finish the conversation there and leave. The gesture works a charm, Floss retreating indoors with one last glance over her shoulder at us.
There’s no such thing as safe. No point wishing for it.
There’s only a naive ignorance that crime can’t touch you in your cozy, suburban life.
When in reality, it’s already all around you.
EIGHT
FANG
Shirtless and fresh outof the shower, I lie starfish on my bed, face buried in the pillows.What a fucking day.Gave up trying to sleep when the road grime made my skin itch, and stepped through a hot spray hoping that it would send me off to the land of nod.
No such luck.
Thebrothers take turns watching the women downstairs. A couple of the ladies fell asleep in front of the fire—the addict and the brunette that bit my leg, the child tucked beneath the vicious woman’s arm. But the remainder seemed too wired with residual adrenaline to rest when I called it quits for the night.
A feeling I understand well.
With a sigh, I roll to my back and stare up at the mirror over my bed. It’s fucking epic when I’ve got bunnies in the room but not so much now when it’s just me and the fucker in the reflection who judges me for all my life choices.
Fucking Reno.She had beef with the other girls while she belonged to the club; her sassy attitude always stirred up trouble. The kind of quick wit and smart mouth you’d expect on a woman who spends her days being manhandled by dirty,sweaty bikers. Didn’t think much of it then. Figured she’d settle down once she had a kid and got away from the whore’s life. But if anything, she doubled down. Grew a vocabulary that’d make a sailor blush. Developed a sense of entitlement I’ve never seen before in any of the club women—bunnies and old ladies alike.
And I knew I’d fucked up.
Worse than when I screwed the Amish girl during Rumspringa.
Facingherbrother with the double barrels of his shotgun pointed at me was goddamn meditative in comparison. I’d walk my ass back to their farm in a heartbeat over dealing with Reno for the rest of my life.
But I sealed my fate when Reno gave birth to Molly. Didn’t matter how much of a bitch her mother is; that baby never got a choice in who she was born to. The least I could do was give her the best life possible given the circumstances.
And I already fail at that.
My breath leaves on a heavy exhale, hands scrubbing hard into my face.Waste of fucking time.I’m not getting sleep any time soon. Lying here only makes my frustration worse. May as well get up and see if I can be of use. Maybe take over for whoever is on watch downstairs.
I roll off the side of the bed and slap my bare feet to the floor.
I know what would make me drift off to sleep before my head could hit the pillow. But the only bunny who lives in-house and is here at this hour is Jezabel, and we’ve never been like that—she’s more like a sister to me. I don’t want it bad enough to call one of the others in. Can’t be fucked waiting for them to drive over, and can’t be guaranteed I’ll even be in the mood when they get here.Sure sign your mental health needs a check-in, buddy.When the libido packs up and fucks off, all indicators are I’m in for a rough few months while I work the bullshit out of my system.
And the cold timber beneath my feet reminds me that the fight will be made that much more difficult by the time of year; can’t ride my bike to clear my head when there’s fucking snow on the road.
I tug on a clean pair of worn black jeans and a loose T-shirt, snatching a knitted sweater on my way out the door. The sun’s yet to rise, and it’s colder than a witch’s tit in the house. The first floor has three rooms with massive fireplaces that are kept roaring in the evenings, but when the brothers turn in, the temperature dives until one of the women arrives early in the morning and restores the flames.
I make a mental note to badger Chaos about central heating for this ghost house and jog down the stairs into the foyer.
Bandit and Floss exit the front parlor, Floss’s head turning to take me in as I approach.
“Finally getting out of here?” I ask.
