Killyama wiggled her cell phone in Hammer’s face.
“Call if you need anything. Want me to stop by tonight and bring you some dinner?”
“No. If I need you, I’ll call. And no, I don’t need a blanket.”
Jonas dropped the blanket he had picked up from the bottom of her bed.
“Go get a beer, get laid, or better yet, do both. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
The men finally left her in the peace of her apartment.
Seeing she was alone, Gollum lost his haughty attitude, rubbing against her and purring before rolling into Killyama’s side and curling up against her waist.
“You miss me?”
The purring response had Killyama lovingly stroking the sleek fur.
“I bought you a new toy. I’ll get it for you when we wake up.”
She was about to drift off when Gollum jumped off her. The cat only acted that way when he sensed someone was at the apartment door. Thinking it was one of her neighbors, she expected him to come back or to hear a knock at her door. When neither happened, Killyama got out of bed, seeing the cat’s eyes glinting from under the couch.
She went to her door and opened it. Confused at seeing no one on the landing, she looked down, finding a long box.
Locking the door behind her, she carried it inside, setting it on the counter. After removing one of the knives from the butcher block, she cut the ribbon on the box, opened it, and found herself staring down at two dozen red roses.
Picking one up, she held the fragile flower as she searched for a large tumbler in her kitchen cabinet. The blue tumbler nearly toppled over after she filled it with water and the flowers.
Gollum jumped on the counter to sniff the flowers, nearly sending them falling again. Killyama lifted the troublesome cat off the counter.
“I should call Jonas and tell him, the next time he sends me flowers, to buy me a vase, too,” she complained out loud, knowing she wouldn’t even mention the flowers to him, afraid she would hurt the sensitive man’s feelings if she didn’t get mushy. Letting the men be nice to her this past week was as much as she could take before busting some heads.
After digging out the catnip toys she had bought from her suitcase, she watched a movie before scooping her cat up to go to bed.
About to turn out the light, she paused, fear momentarily overriding her. She would be damned if she let Kane into her dreams. Like all monsters, they only hurt you if you let them.
Her hand went to her throat. The bruising on her neck would eventually go away, and so would the memory of him staring down at her with bloodlust in his eyes.
Turning off the light, she let herself be lulled to sleep by the purring by her head, unaware that the cat wasn’t the only one watching over her.
Moon lit a cigarette before offering one to Train.
Train shook his head. “No, thanks. I quit.” He had only occasionally smoked, and usually only when one of the brothers had offered him one.
Moon peered at him through the smoky haze of his exhale. “Go get some sleep. I’ll stay here until you get back.”
He nodded. “Archer is watching the back. I’ll be back in the morning.” Train hated to leave, but he had some business to take care of with Shade.
“I’ve got it covered. Enjoy yourself and get some sleep.”
“I will.” Train grimly kicked up his kickstand. Seven members were waiting for their own share of the fun, all eight original members must be present for the Last Riders to serve their own brand of justice.
His bike sped down the winding roads toward Treepoint, its headlight guiding his way as lightning streaked across the sky. Knowing the road like the back of his hand, Train seamlessly rode, determined to beat the storm.
Gliding over the pavement at breakneck speeds like a thunderbolt waiting to strike, at the journey’s end, the damage wrought would claim a victim.
18
“Which color?” Killyama held up the two fingernail polishes for Star to choose from.
Sex Piston’s youngest stepdaughter had her little mouth pursed as she debated which one to pick. “Why can’t I have that one?” Star pointed at the deep red that Killyama had used to paint Fat Louise’s nails earlier.
“What’s wrong with these?” Killyama tried to steer her toward the more subdued colors.
“They aren’t as pretty.”
“Your daddy will like these.” She wiggled the two polishes enticingly. “He’ll yell at me if I paint your toenails that shade of red.”
“Is he going to yell at Fat Louise?” The soft-hearted little girl looked worried.
“Yes,” Killyama lied unrepentantly. Sometimes with kids, you had to put the fear of God into them. If not God, then Stud was a good second for one who worshiped him. “That’s why she left before your daddy comes home.”