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Remy (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 4)

Page 8

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“He paid for it pretty good.”

“Okay, maybe some people aren’t terrible. Is it awesome?”

“Is what awesome?”

“Being big and strong and capable of opening a can of whoop-ass on people who deserve it?”

“Whoop-ass? Your vocabulary is stuck in the nineties. The cheesy part of the nineties,” he added.

“Hey, I refuse to accept there was anything cheesy about the nineties.”

“Were you even alive in the nineties?”

“Yes. Well, I mean, I didn’t know my basic alphabet for most of it, but I was there. Eating applesauce and watching colorful children’s shows. I mean, you can’t be that much older than me. What do you remember about the nineties that I don’t?”

“Crystal Pepsi,” he suggested.

“I wasn’t allowed to have soda when I was growing up.”

“My ma was less than attentive,” he said, shrugging.

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“That sleeveless jacket of yours,” I told him, nodding at it. “Bikers wear those, right?”

“It’s called a cut. And yeah. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, I mean, have you ever seen a well-adjusted biker? What sane, rational, going-to-therapy person hops on a death trap with two wheels for, like, a living?”

“You think riding a bike pays anything?” he asked, smirking.

“Listen, I’ve watched an episode or two of that biker show that everyone loves. So, yeah, I know what that little, you know, emblem means,” I said, nodding toward it.

“It’s a patch. A one-percent patch.”

“Right. Yeah, and it means you do, you know, criminal stuff.”

“Criminal stuff,” he repeated.

“Yes, criminal stuff. Which kind of just occurred to me now, so I am going to, you know, back away from you, get in my car, and drive away.”

“So you don’t have to open up a can of whoop-ass and kick me in the balls?” he asked.

“Yes, exactly that. So, yeah, um, nice meeting you, Remy.”

“Lark,” he called as I got to the other side of my car.

“Yeah?”

“You might want to get her to the vet soon. Her stomach looks kind of round to me.”

“Like she’s bloated?” I asked, trying to shift her body so I could see her belly.

“Like she’s pregnant,” he said, turning and walking away.

No, not walking.



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