Remy (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 4)

Lark

The website had downplayed it.

Arty was more than just a little disheveled or disorganized.

His apartment was, well, likely some sort of biohazard.

And that was saying it nicely.

I mean, the man hadn’t taken out his trash in what looked like months. It not only looked like that, but smelled like it as well.

I didn’t want to shame anyone. There were many reasons someone’s home got out of control. Especially mental health reasons.

But I was half-worried that something was going to climb out of one of the trash piles and skitter away. Biting me before it disappeared.

“Hey, buddy,” Remy said, patting the almost skeletal guy sitting at his desk as he walked past, going toward the window, and lifting it, likely hoping it would help the garbage and stale sweat smell. “I have a favor to ask.”

“You caught me between jobs this time,” Arty said, turning in his chair to face Remy, seeming completely oblivious to my presence. “What is it?”

“This pretty lady here,” Remy said, gesturing toward me, making me stop in my attempt to close one the overflowing garbage bag, “rescued some dogs from a fighting ring,” he told me. “But the guys got a look at her. And now I need you to look into them.”

“What kind of guys?” Arty asked, turning his attention back to Remy, so I went ahead and continued to start to make the place slightly less disgusting.

“The drug-dealing kind of guys,” Remy said, making my head shoot over to find him giving me a wince and a nod.

He hadn’t told me that.

Then again, I hadn’t really given him a chance to get a word in edgewise while I prattled on and on about the house and the pool and the dogs. Including, and I cringe to recall I’d actually gone into this much detail with a hot biker guy, the potty habits of all the dogs.

You know, because nothing is sexier than dog bathroom habits.

What the hell was wrong with me?

It wasn’t like I was planning on hooking up with Remy, but, I mean… if it happened, I wouldn’t be mad about it.

“What kind of drug dealers?” Arty asked.

“Somewhat organized kind. They run that jewelry shop Iced Out. It’s a front. Donovan said all the shit was fake and overpriced.”

“So it’s a pretty serious organization if they have a front.”

“That’s where my mind is at. And the store has been around for a long-ass time.”

“Well, a legitimate front gives me something to work with right away,” Arty said, spinning to face his laptop and numerous monitors.

“I know I’m being rude,” I whispered to Remy when he moved across the room to take the garbage bag from me.

“No, you’re not. Arty is used to this. Gus, Huck’s sister, used to drop in weekly to clean things up. The other girls still try to, but everyone is so busy with kids and work and shit. It has been a while. “He won’t be offended. Honestly, he probably won’t even notice.”

“He hyper-fixates on his… hacking jobs?” I asked as Remy started to help me gather cans of energy drinks.

He and I worked in relative silence as Arty tapped away on his keys.

“No, don’t. I’ve got the garbage,” Remy said, taking the bags from me. “You don’t want to hurt your ribs any more than you need to.”

Admittedly, the bike ride had jostled them more than I’d copped to when he’d asked.

I wasn’t usually a “suffer in silence” type of person. In fact, Myles—and my parents—would often tease me about what a terrible patient I was when I was even slightly under the weather. If I happened to stub my toe in the morning, you would likely hear me whining about it all day.