I smiled slowly. “I scare the living crap out of you, don’t I?”
He scoffed and reared back. “Scared of a woman? Please.”
“Then why are you so prickly?”
“I’m not prickly. Men don’t do prickly. Eat your eggs before they get cold.”
I did as he commanded, thinking I’d provoked him enough for one morning.
“What do you know about Richie?” Colt asked when I was halfway through my plate of food.
“Why are you asking about my boss?”
“Humor me.”
“I don’t know much about Richie,” I admitted. “He wasn’t around a lot.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, he would come and pick up each night’s receipts and cash and do the bank drop. But mostly, he was an absent owner.”
“Were the Iron Horsemen ever at the bar? Lurking around or hanging out?”
I shook my head. “Not until a few days ago. I was shocked to find Dev in the back with Richie. Dive Bar isn’t a biker bar—which is why I was confused as hell when you and Zip showed up. Whydidyou show up there?”
“Good brews. Good burgers,” Colt said.
I stopped chewing mid-bite to look at him. “You’re kidding me, right? You appeared out of the blue and a few days later Dev was in the back with Richie.” The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was something going on that I didn’t know about.
“You know what Richie was up to, don’t you?” I pressed.
“I have an idea.”
“Care to share that idea with me?”
“No.” He smiled. “Club business.”
“Is that the excuse you’re going to give every time I ask you a question you don’t want to answer?”
“Let’s get one thing straight.” He leaned toward me again. “You’re here because I allow it. You’re not family. You’re not a Blue Angel. If anything, you’re a pain in the ass who walked into trouble—the only reason you’re safe is because I took pity on you and let you stay in my house.”
The last bite of toast sat in my mouth partly chewed before I swallowed.
He wanted to make me feel small and inconsequential because I’d gotten close to him—close enough to see behind his mask.
I pushed back from the table and took my empty plate to the dishwasher to load it.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” I stated, pulling my shoulders back and standing tall, despite the fact that I felt cut off at the knees.
“I’ll wrap your cast for you,” he said gruffly.
I arched a brow. “I don’t need your help.” Without another word, I turned and walked out of the kitchen.
It turned out I did need Colt’s help if I wanted to wrap my cast, but I found a way around the issue; I took a bath instead.
It wasn’t relaxing and it didn’t help me work through the conversation I’d had with Colt in the kitchen.
How had we gone from swapping very personal history to Colt telling me to mind my own business, and that I was nothing more than a charity case he was stuck with?