West (The Henchmen MC 19)

By the time he got back to our gathered group, it was all gone.

His hands reached for the kitten again, holding it aloft. "Don't you worry about that bad man, you sweet thing. He's never going to get to you again. No, he's not. You're going to come home with me. Yes, you are. We'll get all that bad paint off your toesies, won't we?" he asked, holding the kitten to his chest as he walked away from us, going around the side of the building, likely making his way to his car.

"Well, that was some shit," West observed, gaze moving toward the man clutching his crotch and groaning a few feet away. "This isn't going to come back on you?" he asked, looking at Huck.

"Some dog-fighter? Nah. Not worried about that."

"The club has cameras," West observed.

"And a manager who was real happy to get a new hood for his Porsche without having to pay shop prices," Huck agreed.

"You got a lot of connections in this town, huh?" West asked. It was a probing question. And while I understood why he asked it, I could feel my heckles rising a bit.

Of course, he couldn't know who Huck was from several states away. But my brother was somewhat of a big deal among certain circles in this town. He'd worked his ass off over the years to make that happen, and I bristled a bit at someone questioning that. Even if it wasn't personal.

"I know some people," Huck agreed, downplaying it.

"Ey," Teddy jumped into the conversation, slipping a Scally cap on his head. It would have looked absolutely absurd on anyone else, but he somehow managed to make it work. "We should be heading out of here," he added. "We going back to The Yard?"

"Yep," Huck agreed. "You want to go grab some of the girls?"

"Happy to," Teddy agreed, turning, making his way back to the club door.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing your ass sometime tomorrow," Huck said, addressing me. "Try to stick with Ayanna. She keeps you out of trouble."

"You're not coming back to The Yard?" West asked, and I actually found myself looking for some disappointment in his voice. And that was not very like me.

"Gus has issues with my housekeeping skills."

"Or complete lack thereof," I shot back. "There are cans in your pantry from two-thousand-seven, Huck."

"I didn't fucking put them there."

"But they're there. When they should be in the trash."

"Neat-freak?" West asked as though the idea didn't make sense.

"If neat-freak means that I prefer not to have to wear a Hazmat suit to sit down somewhere, then, yes, yes I am."

"She's being fucking dramatic," Huck said, shaking his head. "But, no, Gus doesn't hang around The Yard if she can help it. You gonna go to the hotel to grab your things before heading over?" he asked West.

Grab his things.

Huck was inviting him to stay.

See, The Yard was a junkyard and an actual, certified mechanic shop. They did repairs and everything. Some of them more legal than others. It kept the local cops from sniffing around too much. But the shop part of the business was situated under a small six-unit apartment complex. Our father had rented them out for extra income to feed his gambling habit when he'd been alive, but Huck used them to put up his men if they wanted to be there.

Huck, Che, McCoy, and Remy lived there full-time. Teddy kept his place, but only ever used it as a fuck pad or a place to sleep off the booze before he headed back to his much bigger, much nicer place just a block or so from the beach.

Five men.

Which left an empty unit.

One he was offering to West.

Albeit temporarily.

And West, likely wanting to really infiltrate the group to get to know them better, to get an idea if they were, I don't know, biker material, was going to leave the luxury of a nice hotel room to slum it in one of Huck's matchstick apartments. They didn't have a single item in them that wasn't completely necessary. I'd be surprised if the empty unit even had a couch.

Yet West was going to be moving into it.

And that, well, that certainly worked out for me, didn't it?

I would know right where to find him.

"Apparently, I need to pick up some bleach on my way too," West agreed, rocking back on his heels.

"Don't listen to her. She exaggerates."

"I sat down on the couch in the common area last time and got grease stains on my shirt. Grease. On the couch."

"I run a junkyard and a shop, Gus."

"You could wash your hands, Huck," I shot back.

To that, he rolled his eyes, shrugging. "I'll see you back at The Yard," Huck said, nodding at West, likely taking off first to go straighten some things up. Because as much as he made fun of me for thinking it was a sty, he knew it wasn't exactly fit for company either.