Nitro raked his fingers through his hair as he lifted his chin at me. “Thanks.”
I took a good look at him. Tatum wasn’t kidding when she said he was exhausted. It was written all over him. “You doing okay, Nitro?”
Hyde interrupted us with an impatient look. “King just texted. He wants us back at the clubhouse.”
Nitro nodded and dropped a quick kiss on Tatum’s lips. “Don’t wait up, I’ll be late.”
She reached for him as he stepped away from her. “Be safe.” She spoke softly, but I heard the concern in her tone. Something was off here because it was unlike Tatum to speak like that to Nitro. She knew he was capable of looking out for himself, and while she always worried, she never felt the need to voice it to him.
He stopped and turned back to her. Taking her face in both his hands, he said, “I’ll call you as soon as I can after this is done.” For a man who wasn’t tender, Nitro had a way with Tatum that was as close to tender as I was sure he’d ever get. It seemed to do the trick. She nodded and motioned for him to go.
A few moments later, Hyde took off in Nitro’s ute while Nitro’s bike roared down the street.
Looking at Monroe, I said, “What’s going on? I’ve not seen you this worried before.”
She took a deep breath, straightening her body and pushing her shoulders back. Anyone would have thought she was the one going into battle. Some days, I figured she probably felt like it. “One of their guys was murdered. They’re looking for payback, and I know it’s not going to be pretty.”
“Shit.” No wonder she was concerned. I wasn’t sure how she managed to cope with this type of stuff. If the man I was dating went to work with the threat of murder over his head, it would be enough to make me spend my days worrying.
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. This isn’t going to end well for someone. I just hope that someone isn’t going to be Storm.”
Chapter 11
Hyde
Someone was banging on my front door. Loudly and fucking insistently.
“Jesus,” I muttered to myself as I left my bed, pulled my jeans on and stalked down the hallway towards the door.
What fucking time was it anyway? It couldn’t be later than eight. After only getting to bed at about three this morning, the last thing I wanted to be dealing with was some asshole wanting shit from me.
The bashing on the door quietened before a female voice called out, “Aiden, are you home?”
I slowed.
My heart rate kicked up a notch.
Charlie.
What the fuck was she doing here?
She commenced bashing on the door again. “Fuck, Aiden, open the door.”
I yanked the door open and stared at my daughter. On one hand, I wanted to welcome her with open arms. On the other, the father in me kicked in and I knew I had two things to do here—pull her up on her attitude and call her mother to make sure she knew where her daughter was.
Our eyes met. Hers swirled with emotions I wasn’t sure I was ready for. I’d imagined this moment thousands of times over the years, but I hadn’t nailed it in my mind. Not if the way my daughter glared at me was anything to go by. I’d expected anger, but not this
attitude rolling off her.
Crossing my arms, I said, “Does your mother allow you to swear in her house?”
My question caused her to hesitate, but only for a moment. “No, but this isn’t her house, is it?”
“I don’t appreciate it in mine either.”
Her brows lifted before she casually ran her gaze over me, zeroing in on the ink covering my chest and arms. “You look like the kind of man who couldn’t give a shit about swearing.”
“I’m the kind of man who gives a shit about how his daughter grows up, and growing up with a foul mouth isn’t how I imagined that to go. When you’re in my house, you don’t swear.”