Sugar (The Henchmen MC 12)

"Yeah."

His gaze went to the book, turning it over in his hands, considering it for a second before his head lifted again.

"Baby, you're so fucked up."

It was a compliment wrapped in an insult.

"I know, right?" I asked, unable to hold back the smile that stretched wide enough to make my cheeks hurt. "And you're not even to the twisted part yet," I told him, noting his bookmarked spot. I had no idea how long he had been reading, but he was mostly done. He read fast. I found that almost intolerably sexy. Most men I knew didn't read anything at all, let alone read it fast.

"It gets crazier than the knife threesome?"

"Way crazier," I said, leaning over the counter, liking it way too much when his gaze dipped to the low V of my bodice.

"And you don't have trouble sleepin' at night?" he asked, shaking his head at me.

Only because of you, you fuckface. "Nope."

"Fucked up," he reiterated, turning suddenly.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a walk," he said casually, but there was something underneath his words, something that said he was expecting me to follow him.

"Maybe that walk should end up in the American History section," I suggested, watching as he turned his head over the shoulder, brows low. At seeing my smirk, he shot me one back.

"Well, it is important to know where we came from," he agreed, heading off to find the section.

You know... the only section in the whole library without a camera that looks over it. The cameras had been updated just a few months ago, the cops worried that Third Street was dealing here because it was easy not to be seen. And since they knew it was really only women who worked here, instead of setting up a sting - or whatever they called it - they had tipped us off, so we could be safer.

I think it had less to do with kindness and more to do with fear of the repercussions if something ever went down, and Reese and I got caught in the crossfire. Seeing as I had the Mallicks and the Rivers, and Reese had The Henchmen, Paine, Enzo, and even, by extension thanks to her sister, the guys who worked at Sawyer Investigations. All the police bribes would dry up if something happened to us on their watch.

I checked out the books for the last older lady, likely wanting to get home before it got too dark both for eyesight and safety reasons. The checkouts were all done by computers, encouraging you step by step how to do so yourself, but I had found over the years that it was less - with the older people - that they didn't know how to do it themselves, and more that they were starved for conversation and connection, that talking to me was maybe the most interaction they had had all day. Or maybe even all week. And since this lady was not informing me - as though I didn't already know - that tattoos were permanent, or telling me that they would make me look ugly in a wedding dress - because my only goal in life must be marriage - I was happy to chat with her for a few minutes.

Once that was handled, I took a cart with me, pretending like I was a very dedicated re-stocker when I would usually just leave them for the volunteers to handle in the morning since I technically wasn't supposed to walk away from the desk. You know, because of the cash box in the back. Full of dimes for late fees. We were really in danger of losing those fifteen dollars!

I shelved a few books in the romance and cooking sections before strolling through the travel guides, and finally landing myself in the American History section, finding Sugar leaning against a wall, foot cocked back on it, holding a copy of an old, outdated textbook about the settlers and the Native Americans, making it all about sharing and Thanksgiving and not about the systematic rape and murder that really happened.

"This is some bullshit," he informed me, flashing the cover at me that featured a picture of Natives handing a basket of corn to the settlers.

"I know, right? Reese purges the sections every once in a while, getting rid of beat-up or outdated copies. I don't know how that one slipped through."

"I'm pretty sure this was taught in my high school," he told me, shaking his head as he dropped it back into its place on the shelf. "So," he said, turning his wicked smile in my direction, eyes dancing. "American History because it is the only section of this place not covered by cameras?" he guessed.

"How..."

"Baby," he cut me off with a head shake. "Been in crime my entire life. I'd have been locked up ten times over if I couldn't figure out how security cameras worked. So, what? Do you have a book thief or some shit?"