Adler (The Henchmen MC 14)

"Well, can't deny that, can I? I'm Adler. Yer new neighbor."

"And you thought chasing me down on the street was the best way to introduce yourself."

"Maybe I have a pie in the oven for ya."

"Do you?"

"No," I admitted, lips quirking up as her brows knitted.

"Great. My new neighbor is a fucking weirdo."

"Welcome to Navesink Bank," I told her, leaning back onto the wall when she released me, taking a careful step back, out of my reach. "Ya kinda can't swing a stick without hitting at least one criminal, one weirdo, or one guy who wants to fuck you until you lose yer voice."

"And which of those would you be?"

"Can't be all three?"

She snorted at that, shaking her head.

"Well, Adler, I'd say nice to meet you, but..." she waved out a hand, turning to walk away.

"I didn't get your name," I called after her.

"No, you didn't," she agreed, shooting me a look over her shoulder that could only be called saucy.

So, that was how I met my new neighbor."I like her," Lenny declared, perched on top of the glass case where the cigars were located, twisting a dart around between her fingers.

"Right?" I agreed, taking another shot of whiskey to try to warm up my insides that had felt chilled ever since I had gotten back to my apartment that morning.

"You don't think she's from around here?"

"Had a bit of an accent," I told her, shrugging before taking aim at the board, determined to wipe the floor with her smug ass one of these days. Never met someone with such good aim before.

"What kind of accent? English? Spanish..."

"Nah something New York. One of the boroughs. Bronx, maybe. But just barely there."

"Bronx would make sense with her badassness. It's a bit of a rough area."

"A bit?" I asked, lips curving up.

"Well, we do live in Navesink Bank," she said, hopping off the display case so she could ring up some fuck's vodka that he wasn't supposed to be buying at this hour of night, but Meryl was a bit lenient about state liquor laws. And Lenny wasn't paid enough to care either.

"True," I agreed, hissing when my dart landed nowhere near the bullseye. "This coming from a chick who lives on Third Street turf."

She shrugged that off. "So, you haven't been able to figure out anything else about her except she runs in jeans, has some moves, and is immune to your charms."

"Take that back," I demanded, pouring another glass from the bottle we had taken from behind the bar. "No one is immune to my charms."

"Except me."

"Ya don't count," I said, shrugging. "Yer ass belongs to that growling bastard."

"Whose name is Edison."

"Yeah, yeah, that fuck. Like I stood a chance against his Romanian arse."

"Arse," she chuckled, as she often did with some of my words. Been in and out of the states a good chunk of my life, but some words just never stuck the way they had from other countries. "He does have a great Romanian arse," she agreed. "But we're talking about this badass Latina's ass."

"Moved all her shite in within half an hour. That's about all I got."

"And she's been there how long?"

"Couple weeks."

"Doesn't leave for work? Go out with friends? Sounds like she's on the run. Leave it to a fucking Henchmen to find a woman with a problem."

"Think this woman is a problem," I mused, shrugging. "Doesn't strike me as a damsel in distress."

"Do I?" she asked, brow raising, daring me to say yes so she could try out her Systema Vulcan nerve pinch shite on me. I'd been on the receiving end of that twice. Wasn't lining up for a third.

"Nah."

"Exactly. But I still had a problem," she reminded me, a guard slipping down over her eyes for a long second, put there to keep anyone from seeing the pain buried beneath, no doubt. Lenny was a lot of things, emotionally secure was not one of them. But which of us was? Life fucked with some more than others. Some of us didn't come out what others would call 'well-adjusted.'

"It's not that I don't think it is possible she gets herself into situations. I just get a trouble vibe from her. Like she brings it."

Lenny's lips quirked up at the edge, her dark eyes dancing a bit. "And we both know how much you love trouble."

"Me? I'm retired."

"You're an arms-dealing biker," she reminded me, a hint of humor in her words.

"Yeah, exactly," I agreed, smirking as I sent a dart flying, finally getting a bullseye. It was too late; she was going to beat me, but it felt good not to go down in flames. "Retired."

"What a life you must have led before if all that club crap that is always going on is like retirement to you."

"Aye, what a life," I agreed.

"Come on. One hint!" she demanded, snatching the bottle away from me before I could pour another round. "Give me one hint, or I am chugging this myself."