West (The Henchmen MC 19)

"They miss me, and you know it," I countered. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"Appreciate it. You're doing a good job there."

Those were good words to hear, ones I didn't know I needed so much.

"Hey," Huck's voice broke into my thoughts, making me jerk hard enough that I almost fell backward on the chair.

"Hey, man. What's up?"

"I got a favor to ask."

"Alright."

"We have a plan tonight to do some recon. Any chance you can drop this piece of shit back off to my sister? She can drive you back here after. Unless you have plans."

"No, I'm wide open." And looking for any excuse to spend more time with Auggie. Despite my better judgement.

"Appreciate it," he said, rubbing a hand across his neck, leaving grease in its wake.

"Huck, that asshole is here about the Mercedes," McCoy said, making Huck roll his eyes before excusing himself, heading out to deal with who was clearly a difficult client.

"You need me to leave?" I asked when McCoy just stood there, looking at me.

To that, he shook his head, moving to close the office door. "Nope. I need you to keep your ass right there. We got some shit to discuss."

My stomach tightened at his tone, at the unyielding look in his eyes.

Like he knew something.

Like he knew.

Fuck.

"In general, West, your business is your business. Who you fuck, that is your business. Who you fuck over—when that woman is like a sister to me—that is when it becomes my business."

"McCoy—"

"I'm not done," he cut me off. "I get that Gus is a force of nature. I get that she can get her claws in. And I get that she can make it seem like she is invincible. Or that she never catches feelings. She really wants you, and us, and everyone, to think that. But that girl, she feels deep. And if she ends up feeling deep for you, and your ass takes off to Jersey, and she is a little less happy—even a fucking smidgen less happy—than she is right now then I am going to have to make that right. You feel me?"

"I feel you," I agreed, nodding. "Does Huc—"

"Huck is not stupid," he cut me off again. "He doesn't know yet, but he is gonna know. And Gus has busted her ass to make him understand some more progressive crap. So he lets shit slide. But me? I'm old school. So I'm here. And I'm saying shit. And I'm making sure you understand me."

"I understand it. And I respect it. I get why you're here and why you're saying this. I've been where you're standing."

"So you get it. That's good," he said, turning, opening the door, before glancing back. "Because I like you, West. But I love her. And that family love shit, it's worth anything I might have to do to you."

With that, he was gone.

I'd never gotten that speech before. Likely because I never got to know a woman well enough to get acquainted with all her friends.

Maybe the average guy doling out threats would have been ninety-five percent bullshit.

McCoy, though?

McCoy was dead serious.

And while I didn't believe there was even a small chance that Auggie could catch feelings for me, I knew that if she did, and if I hurt her in some way—even without meaning to—that he would follow through with his threat. Even if Huck told him not to.

I had no plans on hurting Auggie.

As I went back upstairs to throw together lunch, I considered trying to end shit now. Tonight. When I dropped her car off.

It wouldn't be hard.

Just say we'd had our fun, that it was smart to move on.

I even came up with a goddamn speech. I practiced it in my head.

Then I grabbed Auggie's keys, and climbed inside.

To be overwhelmed with the scents I was starting to equate with her.

Strawberry shampoo.

A baby powder scented perfume or deodorant.

Hand sanitizer.

In my experience, it didn't seem to matter how neat a woman kept her apartment, her car was typically packed. If not messy, then just cluttered.

Auggie was no different.

There was a chapstick in the cupholder, another in the door cubby, a third rolling around the floor on the passenger side. There were about three sweaters in the back amongst a couple bathing suits, towels, a party dress, and a giant pile of shoes on the floor.

A hairbrush with ties around the handle was on the passenger seat along with an empty box of graham crackers and a giant water bottle.

Turning the car over, I reached for the volume, cranking it up to see what she was listening to.

Old school Britney Spears.

And not the dance stuff.

Nope.

The more ballad type songs.

Interesting.

I was early again, choosing to go in, all the while trying not to analyze why I wanted to catch her in candid moments, why it mattered who she was and how she was at work when I had been working on the 'this is over' speech in the car on the way.