Edison (The Henchmen MC 10)

"Gary, fuck off!" Lenny called without turning around. She walked for a few yards before she reached the end of the working streetlights, bending down suddenly to reach inside her boot where, I imagined, the switchblade was currently situated.

But crouching wasn't a great idea when you were drunk, and she began falling backward, sure to end up flat on the dirty sidewalk. But I was right behind her, hands going under her underarms, grabbing her, holding all her - not very considerable - weight for a long second. "Ugh, you," she said, tilting her head back to look up at me. "What are you doing here?"

"Walking you home."

"I am hardly a girl in need of an escort. I can take care of myself."

"Normally, I wouldn't doubt you. But I want to make sure you get there safely." I helped her back onto her feet.

"Fine," she conceded, straightening her jacket, then reaching to zipper it, hunching into the warmth. "I could drive you so you're not cold," I offered, getting only a grumble from her as she started walking again, a little straighter and sure-footed this time.

I bit back a curse when she moved to run across the street toward an apartment building, one I was familiar with because of what syndicate operated there.

Of fucking course she would be living in the Third Street building instead of, say, the much safer one owned by Shane Mallick.

"Alright. I'm here. I'm safe. This is where I am supposed to say 'thank you.'"

But not actually say it.

"What?" she asked, raking a hand through her hair, making it rearrange, falling softly to frame her face again. "Seriously? You're going to do the door thing?" she asked, looking at me like I had sprouted another head. "Fine. Let's go then," she demanded, waving a hand to the door that didn't even lock.

She took me up the stairs because, apparently, the elevator made a churning sound that reminded her of the old movie cliche of them plummeting, and she'd much rather trip over the junkies passed out in the stairwell and avert her eyes from the Johns getting blowjobs from the hookers who were looking to get in from the cold for a bit.

I had thought she was exaggerating, but we absolutely had to step over two junkies, one passed out, one in the process of shooting up. I didn't see - or hear - any Johns getting sucked off, thank God, but I didn't doubt her anymore about the validity of that claim.

"Okay, this is me," she informed me, stabbing her key into her lock. "I do not need you to come in and inspect things. Good night, Edison."

"I'll see you tomorrow, love," I offered, waiting for her to close herself inside and slide the locks.

On the cold walk back to my SUV, I had the strange, distinct feeling that things had just changed.

Why they had changed, and what change that was exactly was beyond me.

But there was no shaking the sensation.

I couldn't wait to see what the next day would hold.FIVELennyI woke up with my mouth tasting like yesterday's news, on my couch, Docs still on, one arm still stabbed into the sleeve of my jacket that I had half-dragged over myself like a blanket.

There was a slight jackhammer sensation in my temples, and a general dryness to my mouth, skin, and eyes. But it was nothing like the raging hangovers other people would have having drunk half as much alcohol as I had last night. You couldn't drink like I occasionally drank if you were laid up for a whole day after, nursing a migraine, mainlining Gatorade, and trying to soak up the booze with grease and carbs.

Me, I needed a shower, a tooth-brushing, a cup of coffee, and a glass of water, and I was fresh as a daisy.

But none of those little remedies could take the memories out of my brain, and I suddenly found myself a little jealous of blackout drunks who weren't plagued with their bad decisions the next day.

Because, what the hell had I been thinking?

Okay, well, I knew it the second that the tequila hit my tongue that I would likely do something I would at least roll my eyes over the next day.

I hadn't planned on trying to freaking kiss Edison.

That was other-level stupid.

Just normally.

But especially so when I had to get up and face him this morning for training.

I had a feeling it wasn't going to be something that stayed as a tequila-soaked memory. Edison's words had stuck with me too.

He didn't say if about kissing me.

He said when.

He planned on revisiting the events of the night before, but in the stone-cold sober light of day.

Christ, maybe even today.

Ugh.

Like I needed that thought in my head.

Today of all days.

That was the only reason I had agreed to be stupid and take Meryl up on the offer of booze. I knew today was going to be hard. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays were always hard. The worst, actually.