Niro (Henchmen MC Next Generation 1)

And I was so hungry that my stomach was letting out noises that sounded downright demonic.

"Toll," I said, turning, finding him leaning against the outside wall of Chaz's—a local bar owned by a family of loan sharks.

I'd crossed paths with Toll at least three times since the fight, finding him suitably cautious and almost, I don't know, apologetic about the whole thing. And, really, I couldn't be too mad at him about it. Both he and Niro had been tricked into a different fight than they'd signed up for.

"You look beat, angel," he said, shaking his head.

"Long day."

"Yeah? Doing what?" he asked, looking over my light blue scrubs.

To that, I pressed my lips together.

"Mostly, neutering puppies."

To that, Toll let out a rumbling laugh, his lips curving up. "If that is some sort of veiled threat, honey, got it loud and clear," he said.

"Oh," I said, letting out a strange choked laugh, "I totally didn't. But, ah, you know what? Take it that way. My father keeps telling me I am not mean enough to men," I added, shrugging.

"Your old man sounds smart. Where you headed?"

"Food. You don't hear my stomach growling?" I asked, pressing a hand to it.

"Figured it wasn't appropriate to comment on it," he said, giving me another smile. "There's a pizza place down that side street over there. Want to go grab a slice?" he asked.

I knew maybe it was inappropriate since his club and my father's club were, if not rivals, then something close to it.

But it was just a slice of pizza.

"Sounds good to me," I said, giving him a smile.

I wasn't interested in dating right now. And even if I was, Toll was probably not an option. I mean, men who used their fists for fun, you couldn't trust them.

Look at Niro.

Though back at the club before the fight, Toll had told me that it wasn't the kind of place he frequented, that it wasn't his sort of thing, that he got dragged there like I had.

So maybe there was hope for him too.

Who knew?

"So how are you settling back into town?" Toll asked as we carried our box of pizza out front since the inside was packed. There were benches out front that were not exactly meant for eating, but it worked well enough with the pizza box opened across both our laps, working as a table and plates at the same time.

Across the street near the convenience store, a group of men were standing around in the parking lot, their laughter echoing back over to us, making it feel a little less like we were very much alone in a date-like setting.

"Good. I got out of my parents' place. I love it there. I'm just... I'm too old to be home, I guess. And the job is going well. Plus, it is nice to have all my family and friends around again. How are you, uhm, liking Navesink Bank?" I asked, knowing that his bike club was relatively new in town as well.

"It's a nice town. There's always something to do. Legal or otherwise," he added, giving me a smirk.

"Where did you come from?" I asked, watching as his face went guarded. "Sorry. I'm not prying. I was just curious. Like I am from here. Then I went to New York. State," I clarified. "And now I'm back. There are things I like about both places, but this has always been home, y'know?"

"Yeah, I get that. I have been all over. Most recently, and for the longest, I was in North Carolina, though. It was a little quieter than here, but I am liking the busy here."

"So you're staying?"

"Yeah, angel, we plan on staying."

"Really, I didn't mean to put you on-guard," I told him, realizing that was what I was doing. "I'm not, you know, part of the club or anything. That's none of my business. I was just making conversation."

"Sorry. Getting defensive can be knee-jerk. Part of the job, I guess."

"I understand," I told him, because I did. I might not have been a member of the club, but I sure knew how it worked. Personal information could be valuable in the wrong hands. My childhood included a lot of sit-downs with the adults around me, explaining why I couldn't tell people what the clubhouse looked like, what was in the basement, anything about the paramilitary camp—Hailstorm—we went to when there was trouble.

Even into adulthood and in a new area, I had to be very careful about what information I divulged. I don't think I'd realized how strange that was or how much of a disconnect it created until I got back home and was able to talk about all that stuff with friends and family again.

"So, Andi, can I..." Toll started, drawing my attention to him. And with his eyes on me, we both missed it.