Sinful Protector (Roughshod Rollers MC 2)

“I swear,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes. “Every time you tell me you’ve finished an assignment, another one comes to take its place the next day.”

“Don’t I know it,” I say dryly. “You try living through it.”

“No thanks, brainiac,” he teases. “I’ve done my time. It was hard enough going through Brook’s traineeship and doing my certification in that. Though that might be because Brooks never let me sleep.”

“How’s he doing, anyway?” I ask.

One week ago, Brooks fell down and broke his leg. I still remember the panicked phone call I got from Kyle when it happened. Even though the circumstances were bad, I couldn’t help but feel pleased that Kyle was coming to me in his time of need. It was about time I got to help him for a change.

“He’s fine,” Kyle says with a shrug. “He keeps hobbling around the garage, telling me everything I’m doing wrong. I swear, the old man comes in every day just to annoy me. He doesn’t even do anything useful.”

His face is twisted in annoyance. But I know him well enough to know that he would worry more if he didn’t see Brooks at all.

“It’s nice that he’s trusting you to handle everything on your own,” I venture.

Kyle grumbles, but a faint flush rises to his cheeks. It’s been no secret, in recent months, that Brooks has been angling for Kyle to eventually take over the business. As his only other worker, and the only one he personally trained, it doesn’t surprise me that Brooks would want this for Kyle.

“Damn old man keeps talking about fucking retirement,” Kyle says with a scowl. “I think he’s joking around; he’s going to outlive all of us from spite.”

I smile softly, deciding not to comment on that. To Kyle, Brooks has been like a father, taking up the mantel after his biological father passed away. I just pat his arm and stretch.

“What about the house?” I ask. “The one your club is using. How’s that going?”

Kyle’s face brightens. Two weeks ago, some incredible news came through; the town hall finally stopped dragging their feet and decided to sign over the house as public property. It isn’t owned by the Roughshod Rollers, but they are leasing it. On top of that, they struck a damn good deal with the authorities; they’re paying a pittance every month under the condition that the club fixes the place up themselves.

The Roughshod Rollers definitely got the better end of the deal, but, privately, I think the council knew what they were doing. I saw the house before they started any work on it. The place looked like a stiff wind could blow it over. They definitely have their work cut out for them.

“It’s pretty good,” Kyle says, pleased. “Ethan finished drawing up the plans for it; we’re thinking about just knocking some walls out and starting again.”

“I think that’s the best way to go about it,” I agree with a laugh. “It’s better for you to bring the roof down yourselves instead of have the thing come down on top of you when you aren’t expecting it.”

“That’s what Ethan said,” Kyle says with a grin. “We’ll keep the foundations and work our way up.”

“Are you hiring some builders to do some of the initial work?” I ask curiously.

Kyle shakes his head. “We have a few guys that build as a trade, so they’re doing us a good deal,” he explained. “But we have to tear it down ourselves.” He winks at me. “Want to grab a hammer next week and work off some stress?”

I beam. He knows me so well.

“Yes, please,” I say with feeling. “Will the roof be down by then?”

“It’s coming down this weekend,” Kyle says. “We’ve spent the last week moving everything in it out. Not that there was much left; a few items and some furniture. Grant offered to store it at the bar after checking to make sure it was okay with the owner. There’s a backroom that no one uses, so the stuff will be okay in there for a little while.”

“Sounds like you guys have been busy,” I say, impressed. “No wonder this is the first time I’ve seen you since Wednesday.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Kyle says sheepishly.

“It’s fine, I understand,” I assure him. “I’ve been pretty busy myself.” I smile at him. “But I’ve been looking forward to our date.”

I don’t know much. On Thursday, Kyle sent me a message to ask if I wanted to go on a date on Saturday afternoon. Intrigued, I accepted, and he told me he would pick me up at two o’clock for a late lunch. When I tried to ask him where we were going, he refused to say.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Actually, have you been avoiding me so I don’t bug you?” I ask suspiciously.

“No,” Kyle says, but it doesn’t sound convincing. He clears his throat. “Almost ready to go?”

I roll my eyes at his clear avoidance, and snap my book closed. “Fine. Let me get my jacket and helmet.”