“Then what the fuck we waitin’ for?”
She grabbed his cheeks between her fingers and squeezed them together, giving him duck lips. “You’re so cute,” she teased with a laugh. She released his face and walked out the door.
Cage followed.
“Cage...” she threw over her shoulder as she headed toward the rear exit.
“Yeah?”
“I need to know... Are you a show-er or a grower?”
A snort came from his left. He spotted one of their newer prospects, Tater Tot, standing just inside the prospect’s bunkroom.
Cage stopped in his tracks and shot him a searing look. “You supposed to be in here right now? Don’t you got somewhere to be?”
The chunky nineteen-year-old’s eyes went wide. “Don’t gotta be at Pete’s ‘til one.”
“Don’t give a fuck where you gotta be at one. Where you gotta be now?”
Tater’s mouth dropped open and he stuttered, “I... I...”
“I got a room full of dirty fuckin’ laundry. You got ‘til you go to Pete’s to get it all fuckin’ washed, dried and put the fuck away. You get me?”
The kid’s Adam’s apple jumped. “Yeah.”
“I find you missed one thing—a sock under my bed, a pair of boxers in my bathroom, one of Reilly’s cum-stained thongs hidden in my sheets—gonna find somethin’ even shittier for you to do.”
Tater stood frozen in place.
“Go!” Cage roared.
The prospect jerked, then lumbered past him and down the hall to Cage’s room.
He sliced his gaze from Tater back to Reilly who was waiting by the back door, appearing amused.
“My cum-stained thong?”
“Was told I couldn’t touch you. Never was told I couldn’t fantasize.” He grinned, stuck out his tongue at her and jerked his hand up and down in the air like he was whacking off.
Reilly arched an eyebrow. “Well, to make your fantasies more accurate, I don’t wear thongs.”
“No? What d’you wear?”
Reilly shoved the push bar to the back door with both hands, flinging it open. “Nothing!”
Cage stood there for a second, then rushed after her.
Within twenty minutes, they were pulling into the garage lot on his sled with Reilly wrapped around his back.
All four garage bay doors were wide open, which was normal for June.
What wasn’t normal was Rev, Whip, Rook and Dutch standing in a half circle around a large cardboard box on the ground.
Either they were inspecting some part that had been delivered or a litter of kittens someone dropped off overnight, which happened way too often. Assholes dumped their cats at their place thinking they’d need them for the storage yard to keep the rodent population down.
Cage was usually the one tasked with taking the abandoned animals to the local humane society. It was either that or taking them over to Tioga Pet Crematorium and...
No, those kittens didn’t ask to be born or abandoned.
Just like him and Rook. Unwanted by someone who was supposed to take care of them. Who was supposed to love them.
Cage rolled his sled into the spot next to Rook’s and shut it down.
“What’s going on?” Reilly asked as she dismounted and pulled off the brain bucket Reese insisted she wear. His attention turned from the men to her as she bent over, giving him a nice view of her perfect, juicy peach of an ass, and shook her long blonde hair out before flipping it back up.
“Don’t know. You see what I see,” he murmured.
As his gaze fell back on the group, he realized all of them had turned to watch him and Reilly.
Or maybe just Reilly.
A whoop whoop made his heart jump into his throat as a Manning Grove PD cruiser rolled into the lot and up to the garage crew.
What the fuck was going on? What the fuck did Rook do now? Did that asshole break parole?
“Someone going to jail?” Reilly whispered.
“Beats the fuck outta me.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “She was legal, right?”
“Didn’t even know her fuckin’ name, Reilly. How the fuck would I know how old she was?” He grimaced. “Hope to fuck she was.”
“Better hope so.”
Yeah, he more than hoped so. Unlike his brother, he’d only done a couple short bids in the county jail. Mostly for stupid shit when he was underage. Rook tended to like those longer state or federal vacations with bars. And not the drinking type of bars.
On his last not-so-tropical getaway, Rook became prison pals with Dodge, who now helped manage Crazy Pete’s.
As he strode across the front lot with Reilly on his heels, the black-and-white’s driver’s door opened and one of the too-many-badge-wearing Brysons unfolded from the seat.
Matt Bryson, to be exact. The pig who, along with his doctor wife, adopted Red’s baby, Levi, last November. He stepped up to the half circle.
“What the fuck,” Cage heard the cop whisper as he joined the group and stared down into the box. Reilly shoved her way in, too.
Cage glanced down and scowled. “What the fuck is that?” It certainly wasn’t a fucking kitten.