Rowe (Henchmen MC Next Generation 4)

“I’ll calm him down,” Peyton said, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Not much riles him up. But someone trying to hurt one of his girls? That’s his trigger. Once there is a plan in place, he will be more reasonable.”

“Yeah,” Billie agreed, but she was only getting tenser.

“You take care of my girl,” Peyton said, moving to stand in front of me. “Or the next pair of testicle earrings I wear will be yours.”

“Got it,” I agreed, nodding. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Honestly, she’s pissed right now. I’m kind of more worried what she might do to you,” Peyton said, touching my face for a second, then giving it a slap. “Have fun with that!” she called, breezing out.

And leaving me alone.

With a caged animal who was used to absolute freedom.

And looked ready to fight her way out with claws and teeth.

This was going to get interesting.

CHAPTER NINE

Billie

It’s not like I got the boxes and thought ‘Oh, what a lovely sentiment!’ I wasn’t a complete idiot.

But I also understood that sometimes people couldn’t see how creepy they were being, thanks to either immaturity or inexperience in social situations.

It also wasn’t the first time someone sent me naked drawings of myself. That was often the byproduct of being as free with your body as I was in a society that sexualized the female body even when she wasn’t using it sexually. Like the weirdos who think a baby nursing is obscene when tits literally only exist to feed the young.

The letters, well, okay. I did understand why everyone got up in arms about them. They weren’t exactly love notes. Or, if they were, they came from someone who didn’t fully grasp the concept of consent. But I could also see that it was probably just meant to be, I don’t know, flattering.

Nothing in it was outright, unmistakably violent.

There weren’t even, in my opinion, any direct threats.

It was kind of like that sick shit my mom liked to read. Sick thoughts can come even from healthy minds. It was just an outlet.

If the sender actually meant me any harm, why wouldn’t they have tried the door handle, let themself in, and taken advantage of me before I was any wiser about their existence?

“I’ve never seen you with a gun when I’ve seen you lately,” I said, uncomfortable with the silence in the room. It was making my heartbeat skitter around and my stomach twist, even with the rhodonite stone to help calm me down.

“Well, when you’ve come to me at the clubhouse, the guns have been in the nightstand. When I go out, they’re usually in ankle holsters since the brace is bulky enough and I can’t carry it openly on a belt holster.”

Right.

Because they were illegal guns.

“You have two guns on you right now?”

“Yes. Did you really knock someone’s teeth out?”

“My mom was exaggerating. It was one tooth,” I said, sharing a smile with Rowe. “I don’t think passivity is always the answer. I just don’t instantly believe that violence is either.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” Rowe said, shrugging. “But you’ve been around these people even longer than I have. You’ve got to know by now that none of these men or women take violence lightly.”

“None of them?” I asked, brow arching. “Have you met Pagan and Niro and Dezi?”

“Okay, well, those three are the exceptions, not the rule.”

I had to admit, that was fair. Whenever they could avoid violence, they did. Likely because their profession came with built-in violence, so they tried to avoid any extra if it was possible.

“Well, since we’re stuck together, help yourself to the TV,” I said, waving at it. “I’ve got some orders to work on,” I added, making my way toward the kitchen, silently praying he would take the hint and leave me alone.

I should have known better.

“Orders?”

“Yes. I have an online shop,” I said, keeping my back to him, trying to form an invisible wall.

But Rowe wasn’t the sort to back away from a wall. He decided to burst right through the damn thing, actually following me into the kitchen as I gathered supplies out of my storage cabinet.

“What do you sell?”

“Salves and creams and candles. Among other things.”

“Is that new?”

“Relatively, yes.”

“Do you need to do it? Are your dozen other jobs not cutting it?”

“They are.”

“But?” he prompted, refusing to take my very short answers as a sign that I didn’t want to talk.

I didn’t understand him.

All the times in the past when I’d tried to engage him, tried to start or hold a conversation with him, he rarely had more than one word answers for me. Now all of a sudden when I didn’t want to talk, he was going to put the effort in?

“But I like having diversity. And I am trying to save up to buy some land like Malc has.”