Rowe (Henchmen MC Next Generation 4)

“I mean, if you are going to write threats, you could at least try to add in some adverbs,” Peyton grumbled as she read the last of the notes.

If there was any wonder in anyone’s mind why Billie turned out how she did, you only had to look to Peyton. Billie’s mom was maybe even more over-the-top than her daughter with her mermaid colored hair, tattoos, and piercings. The woman drove a hearse for fuck’s sake. And read what everyone else referred to as “horror porn.” On top of that, she often helped her sister, Autumn, give sexual education lessons at Autumn’s adult toy store Phallus-ophy.

Her father, Sugar, had grown up in an MC then eventually joined the Henchmen later on. He was the calm to Peyton’s chaos most of the time. Except in situations like this, where Peyton was surprisingly composed, and Sugar was practically shaking with rage.

I guess I would be too if someone sent shit like that to my daughter.

“These were dropped at her door?” Sugar asked, looking at me.

“Yeah. No mailing label. He brought them here.”

“Why are you asking Rowe? This is my apartment,” Billie insisted, crossing her arms.

None of the women took too kindly to the way the Henchmen would breeze in and take over every situation. It couldn’t be easy, when you’d been raised up to be strong and independent and capable, to have the men around you constantly swoop in and brush you aside.

“Because you, my girl, can’t even be trusted to lock your door,” Sugar grumbled.

“It’s not like I just forgot to do it, Dad. I just don’t lock the door.”

“You’re making it worse, not better,” Sugar said, exhaling hard.

“You and Rowe are overreacting,” Billie insisted.

“You have a stalker who is threatening to rape you, and I’m the one overreacting?” Sugar shot back.

“Dad—“

“Baby girl, we are not going a couple rounds on this. You want to bitch at me about wearing leather or buying bottled water, fucking fine. But this is not trifling shit. This is serious. And thank fucking God Rowe had the sense to bring this to us, so we can do something about it.”

“Ugh, it is never good when one of you decides to ‘Do something’ about a situation,” Billie sighed, dropping down onto her sofa, absentmindedly reaching for a crystal on the coffee table—pink with white and black streaks in it—and closing her palm around it. “What are you going to do?”

“For starters, make sure this door has no choice but to lock,” Sugar said. “A security system. Maybe even someone in the house at all times to keep an eye on you. And you, like it or not, are going to take a gun.”

It was no secret in our circle that Billie was hardcore anti-violence. The only person who could get her to carry a weapon of any sort when she went out with the girls was Malc. And even then, it was something a lot less deadly than a gun.

“I won’t be doing that,” Billie said, shaking her head.

“I get it,” Sugar said. “Peace and love and fucking chanting at the moon and shit. I get it. But too fucking bad. I want you to have a gun.”

“You’re talking to her like she’s harmless,” Peyton said. “She’s not harmless. She’s passive.”

“Babe, I’m not seeing much of a fucking difference here,” Sugar admitted, shoulders slumping.

“Harmless is something you are. Passive is something you choose to be. You’re not passive if you are capable of violence. And since I once watched our peace and love and chanting at the moon daughter knock the teeth out of someone she saw spiking someone’s drink at the bar, I think we can assume that if push came to shove, she would do what is necessary, and what she’s been trained to do.”

“Fine. Yeah. But she needs a gun to do that.”

“Maybe we can find some sort of compromise,” Peyton suggested.

“I want a gun in this apartment,” Sugar insisted.

“And I am not going to carry one,” Billie said, digging in her heels.

“Fine. Then the compromise is one of our guys will be with you in this apartment at all times,” Sugar insisted. “We might have some shit going down with the fuckers who ambushed us on the drop, so I will have to ask around about the schedules of everyone. But for now, you don’t have shit to do, right?” Sugar asked, looking at me.

I could practically hear Billie’s spine and shoulders stiffening at what we both knew what was coming.

“No. I’m free.”

“You got a gun?”

“Main and a throwaway,” I agreed, nodding. “Always.”

“Good. Then you’ve got the first shift while her ma and I head to the club and Hailstorm to figure some shit out. We’re taking these,” he added, grabbing the boxes, shoving one on top of the other.

“Dad, Cary can…” Billie started, but trailed off when her father stormed out of the room.