Craving Rose (The Aces' Sons 5)

“They’ll probably spend most of the day outside, anyway,” he said, sipping his coffee as I checked to make sure all of my tools were where I’d left them the night before. We didn’t have a problem with theft, the brothers didn’t steal from each other, but we damn sure had a problem with borrowing.

“Good,” I said. “Thanks for letting her hang at your place. I hate leaving her at home all day.”

“No worries,” Cam said easily. “Trix likes having a full house. Says it keeps the boys out of her hair.”

“Still.” I shrugged. “That’s one more kid to keep track of.”

Cam waved me off and walked away.

I hadn’t grown up the way he had, with honorary aunts and uncles pitching in to help with the kids, no questions asked. I was glad that’s how Kara was being raised, though. When I was a kid, I’d started looking out for myself by the time I was seven. My parents didn’t have the cash for a sitter, and we didn’t have any family or friends that would’ve kept an eye on me for free.

I could still remember the cold metal of the key pressing against my chest under my shirt all day at school. I’d been so afraid that I’d lose it and be locked out of the house that my mom had put it on a string and I’d worn it as a necklace for years.

I didn’t want that shit for Kara. I never wanted her to be worried when or if I’d come home. I didn’t want her to be afraid every time she heard a car pull up outside because she didn’t know if it was me or some stranger. She’d gone through so much already that I was determined to make her life as normal and secure as possible.

It took me a few hours to finish up the minivan I’d been working on, and by the time I’d parked it outside, I was dying for a cup of coffee and something to eat.

“Hey, prospect,” I yelled at the scrawny kid picking up cigarette butts along the wall of the building. “Drive the Camry into my bay, yeah? I’ll be out in a minute.”

I peeled my coveralls to my waist as I went inside the clubhouse, the heat of the day already making me sweat. When I got inside, there were a few brothers peppered throughout the room, and I waved as I moved past them to the bar, where a couple carafes of coffee were lined up.

“Where’s that pretty lass of yours?” Old Poet asked as I grabbed myself a mug. “She didn’t come with ya today?”

I shook my head. “She’s at Cam and Trix’s, hanging out with the boys.”

“She’ll have them trippin’ all over themselves,” he said, grinning.

“Don’t remind me,” I grumbled, holding back a groan as I got my first taste of coffee. Poet’s wife Amy always made the coffee at the club. I didn’t know what she did to it, but it tasted ten times better than the shit I made at home.

“Well, you tell her that I’m still waiting on my cribbage rematch,” he said, pointing at me. “I still believe she cheated.”

“I think she’s just good at it,” I replied, my lips twitching.

“She definitely cheated,” he argued. “Just not sure how she did it.”

“You sure you want a rematch?” I asked.

“Hell, yes. I want to catch her.”

I laughed at the disgust in his voice. The old timer was one of the scariest men I’d ever met—and I’d met some scary ones—but he was the biggest softy when it came to women and kids.

“I’ll let her know you’re waiting on that rematch,” I said, lifting my cup in salute.

“Do that,” he said with a nod. “You’re doin’ a good job with that one. Sweet as sugar and wily as a fox.”

I agreed and filled up my coffee before walking back outside. There was a door that went straight from the clubhouse to the garage, but unless it was raining, I preferred to walk out the front door and around to the open bays. It gave me a few minutes to get some air before I was stuck inside with the smell of oil and grease clogging up my sinuses. Don’t get me wrong, I loved what I did and I was damn good at it—I’d been working on engines since I was tall enough to see under the hood—but the smell was overpowering, especially when the weather was warm and there was no cross breeze.

“Camry’s inside,” the prospect called as I passed him. “Keys are on the seat.”

“Thanks, man,” I replied. Some of the guys treated the prospects like shit, but I didn’t. A little hazing went a long way, and they were already doing the shittiest jobs imaginable—sometimes literally. I remembered how it felt to be at the bottom of the pecking order all too well, and I wasn’t going to make it even more miserable for the poor fucks.