He might not be smart, but he certainly wasn’t as dumb as Sig and Cage for touching an Amish girl. Sig and Cage’s last names could’ve been Shirley after those dumb shits fucked up and almost screwed up the relationship between the Amish and the club. That pissed off Trip to no end.
Shade wouldn’t make that mistake. He kept his hands to himself. No pussy was worth getting his colors stripped.
He went to the back of the van and grabbed Cassie’s bag with the things she’d need to humanely put down the homeowner’s pet.
A cat.
That was what Cassie said.
In truth, she could’ve come by herself. She could handle a cat on her own. But Shade didn’t like her going out on calls by herself if he or Easy were available. Not with all the Shirleys who were still breathing.
Judge appreciated his diligence. But he didn’t do it for Judge, he did it for Cassie.
He walked up the flower-lined brick walkway to the porch of the small two-story house. It was a simple red brick home with a black-painted door, black shutters and plain white trim. It had a two-story, two-car garage attached that almost doubled the size of the house.
He stood on the porch, staring at the door, wondering if he should knock.
He never should’ve let Cassie go inside alone. He raised his fist, but before he could rap on it, the door swung open.
A young woman stood on the other side. Pretty. Maybe about twenty or so. Long, straight legs. Too slender for his taste. No tits or curves to her. She had to grow up a little more. Become a woman. She needed more dips and valleys yet.
Her big brown eyes were red-rimmed, and her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled up into a long, straight ponytail, the same way he was wearing his. Her nose was also red and running since she was sniffling.
Obviously, she’d been crying. That happened often on these calls.
The owners cried. Sometimes a lot. Sometimes too much.
“Come in,” the girl said with a thick voice, swinging the door open wider. “Cassie said you were right behind her.”
He gave her a nod and stepped into the tiny tiled foyer. The staircase to the second floor was in front of him, a room was on his left, another one to his right.
He wasn’t sure which way to go.
“In here.” The girl pushed past him and headed to the right.
“There he is,” Cassie said with relief when she spotted him. “Mrs. Goodson, this is my helper, Shawn.”
Shawn. It was a name she came up with on the fly months and months ago, the first time they both went to a customer’s home. She didn’t think his road name Shade was a good way to introduce him. It might cause questions, especially if he wore his cut. Which he didn’t. Cassie didn’t allow it during working hours when dealing with the public.
Shade didn’t care. She could call him whatever. A name was just that, a name. It didn’t define who he was.
Only his past could do that.
So, he went with it.
“Shawn, this is Rachelle Goodson. She...”
Shade was focused on another girl sitting on the floor holding a cat wrapped in a blanket. She looked just like the twenty-year-old, but younger. Maybe seventeen or eighteen. He wasn’t sure.
Not that it mattered.
Naturally pretty, though. Boys probably were drawn to both girls. Sisters, most likely.
That one had a tissue crumpled in one hand and tears running unchecked down her face.
“Hello.” The greeting was husky but feminine. Also tinged with sadness.
He glanced up from the teenager holding the cat and focused on the woman standing next to Cassie. The one with the voice that caused his gut to heat up when he heard it.
Cassie was curvy as fuck. She had a surplus of tits and ass, plus thick thighs that would cushion a man’s hips just right. Judge’s ol’ lady was like prime rib. Just enough fat to make the meat tender, where some of the sweet butts were like gnawing on a porkchop bone. No meat, no fat, no flavor.
The woman standing next to her was curvy but not Cassie curvy. She also wasn’t as tall as Judge’s woman. She wasn’t petite, but her legs weren’t as long and thick, either. However, they were shapely, not straight sticks. More like a drumstick worth nibbling on.
He blinked slowly as he took her in, then let his gaze slice over the two younger women.
They could all be sisters.
Maybe.
Though the older one wore glasses and everything about her looked more mature. Her eyes held more wisdom, too.
She’d lived a life. She wasn’t just starting out.
No, not a sister.
Mother.
Same strawberry-blonde hair, same big brown eyes.
“Shawn?” Cassie prodded like she always did when he disappeared into his head and forgot to talk.
He shook himself mentally.
What did she want him to say?