Huck (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 1)

"Good. I'm glad. Considering. I am going to need to hear from you, though, okay? Twice a day," he clarified. "Just so I know you're okay. Until all this is over."

"Okay," she agreed, nodding.

"Promise."

"I promise," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Okay," Jones said, glancing over at me. "Take care of her," he demanded.

"I will," I told him, words like a vow.

"Good. I will see you guys in a few days," he said, turning, walking away, his words hanging in the air like an omen.

"Why does he make it sound like we're heading to a funeral?" I asked when he was gone, turning to look at Harmon.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she said, snorting, making me feel a small bit of relief. For just a couple seconds. Before she finished her thought. "A funeral would be a lot more enjoyable."

Fuck.

What the hell was in store for us?

Chapter Nine

Harmon

I was pretty sure that within an hour, Huck would have preferred getting gunned down by unknown assailants than having to be my date at a family function.

I honestly was half-hoping to hear the rumble of a car and the rat-tat-tat of an automatic weapon as I stood in front of the mirror, putting my makeup on my face. But not the way I typically did it. The dramatic eye and the red lip would be considered garish. I'd needed to brush my hair into a low side bun behind my left ear, securing it in place with a white flower barrette my grandmother had once given me.

I would normally already be in my outfit by the time I got to my makeup, but the blue A-line dress with its thick straps and demure square-cut bodice looked stiff and uncomfortable, making me want to limit the amount of time I would have to spend in it.

Dread was a familiar thing, snaking around my throat, coiling tightly in my stomach, making me feel jumpy and breathless.

I endured one to two events a year with the family, depending on how insistent they got, or how worried I was about my mother.

Christmas was the most negotiable for me. Everyone knew my presence brought less joy to the season, so they were just as happy to leave me out unless they were having company, and needed to put out a united front.

But the summer party, that was always the mandatory one.

I went because if I didn't, I knew my mother would suffer because of my absence.

So I dealt with the anxiety, I stripped away the layers of myself, put on the mask they expected from me, and I went. I endured. Then I spent a few months licking my wounds, trying not to let myself obsess over it too much.

It got a little easier year by year, but I had yet to get to the point where, on the way home I didn't feel like someone had driven hot pokers through everything I was and would ever be.

Shaking my head, I applied a small bit of mascara to my lashes, darkening them, but not making it appear like I had makeup on.

Finished with that, I stood there in my panties and strapless bra, scraping the nail polish off my fingers, not having any acetone to work with.

That was how Huck found me, as he walked into the bathroom in a white short-sleeve dress shirt and sand-colored slacks, looking a bit like a guy from a fifties gangster movie, big and intimidating, but dressed nicely.

"What's this?" he asked, brows furrowed as he looked over me.

"This is my ritual," I told him. "It usually takes me a few hours of pep-talking to get into a dress and shoes and out of the door."

"It's that bad?" he asked, keeping his gaze on my face.

"No. But yes. Somehow those two at the same time. You might not even notice it," I told him. "It is all very subtle. There will be a lot of pointed comments, jabs, that don't make any sense without context."

"Tune 'em out," Huck suggested, shrugging. "If you can't tell them off, tune them out."

"That's a lot easier said than done."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But you'll have me there to run a little interference," he said. "Are you ready to play pretend?" he asked, the way his words dropped low and the meaning they had behind them making a little shiver of anticipation move through me.

I hadn't been so wrapped up with the memories of all the ugly things my family had said to me over the years that I hadn't had more than enough time to fret over the fact that Huck and I were going to have to play the happy couple.

Which likely meant his hands would be on me, something that I knew was going to be problematic to my system that already wanted him more than was wise.

"Sure," I agreed, my voice coming out squeakier than I intended, stranger than I'd ever heard it before.