Roan (The Henchmen MC 17)

There was a galley kitchen to the left of the front door - white cabinets, white faux tile floor, white appliances, counters made of actual tile with grout in between - something I rarely came across in the States where everyone seemed more a fan of smooth surfaces. There was a moveable oversized wooden island that doubled as both storage space for the cooking ware and a dining space thanks to the two stools butted up to the side.

The living space was toward the front of the space, furnished with a matching sofa and armchair set in a chocolate brown material, the cushions oversized, the arms wide and square. The side and coffee tables were all wood, but mismatched, different styles - one table rounded, the other squared, the coffee table oval. There was a flatscreen sitting on a cabinet against a wall, awkwardly situated away from the furniture, making it so the only way to watch it was if you were lying on the couch. Not that it mattered. I didn't remember the last time I watched TV.

I had a couple books stashed at the bottom of my duffle if I needed distraction. Books, for me, would never go out of style. They were portable and silent, had no battery to die on you if you found yourself on a never-ending stakeout, or stuck on a plane or boat. I preferred nonfiction these days - so far removed from the books of my youth. But life had made nonfiction necessary. New languages, cultures, customs, survival skills. Really, anything you wanted to learn how to do, you could find a book about it. Which made even my downtime useful.

And, well, it looked like I was going to have a lot of downtime on my hands now that I had - for reasons I still didn't fully understand - decided I was going to be in the same place for a while.

I could power up my laptop, get on the dark web, put some feelers out for jobs in the area.

I could train.

In the apartment or the gym in the basement, since hitting any gym in the area made it too likely I might get seen. Especially in this incestuous town where all the organizations were connected to one another in some way or another, would be on the lookout for me if The Henchmen put the word out to keep their eyes peeled.

I was stuck for the time being. Save for short trips out for necessities, I was going to be spending a lot of my time in this apartment.

Longer, I imagined, than I had ever been anywhere.

I was going to go stir crazy.

Bringing my duffle down the short hallway that featured two doorways - one to the bathroom in all white with a shower-tub combo with a liner smelling freshly of new plastic, and faded gray bath mats - the other to the bedroom that boasted a queen-sized bed with white everything, and a matching nightstand and dresser set.

I put the duffle on the bed, opening it, going through motions that were so familiar, I could do them in my sleep.

Check the guns.

Stash them around the apartment.

Same went for the small assortment of knives and tasers.

Then I found the little package, pulling the plastic from the cardboard, slipping the watch batteries in, then taping the alarm to the sides of the door, the type that - when it was turned on and the door was pulled open - screamed loudly. A poor man's alarm system.

The windows didn't open in the living room, and were too high for anyone to scale anyway, so I didn't bother with those. I highly doubted these bikers were sophisticated enough to pull a move straight out of the action movies and propel themselves down from the roof in harnesses with glass cutters just to get to me.

I likely had more to worry about from the guy across the hall who was so obviously going through a divorce that it was pathetic, eye-fucking me in the elevator and suggesting he was down if I was ever looking to 'party.'

It was a sad set of affairs from a grown ass man to think adults partied like college kids.

And I had a feeling that the longer I was around, the more chances there would be of him showing up at my door drunk, trying to wedge his way in, or catching me in the elevator.

I couldn't decide what he needed more - a ruthless rejection, or someone to tell him to go back to his wife, learn to fuck her right, and listen when she talked because there was a rat's chance in a snake's tank of him finding a better life than he had with her.

I guess we would see what opportunity presented itself.

After checking the locks, adjusting the thermostat, and figuring out the password to the weak wifi, I sat down on the couch with my laptop, looking around for jobs, ordering groceries that could be delivered to my door, reading some articles, catching up on the news, doing absolutely everything I could not to focus on anything except what I knew I needed to figure out.