Stupidly good looking, that was what this guy was.
"Yeah?" the stranger asked. "Well, he's also an asshole."
"I, ah, no one is denying that," I said, trying for levity even though my breakfast felt like it was trying to find its way back up my throat.
"Harm..." Jones said, sounding apologetic. As he should. We'd have a talk about this later. When I felt better. When he had some room to analyze the whole thing. Act first, think second, that was Jones's motto. And it only ever got him into trouble. But he wasn't a complete dick. Once he had some time and space, he always realized he was being an ass, and apologized for it.
"It's alright."
"I just wanted to take you to lunch."
"Well, how about you take your skinny ass out and get her lunch, and bring it back here to her?" the stranger said, more of a demand than a suggestion.
"I, ah, yeah. That's a good idea," Jones agreed. "Chinese?" he asked, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, an old sheepish gesture he used back when mom used to chastise him as a kid.
"Yeah. Oh, and can you, ah, pick me up a few things from the store?" I asked, feeling a bit sheepish myself with a hulking stranger listening to our whole interaction.
"He can," the stranger agreed, and I almost wanted to laugh at the way Jones immediately started to nod.
"Yeah. Just text me your list."
"Thanks."
"Yeah. Ah, should I wait—"
"Nope. Go." Again, the stranger was making decisions for me. I should have been offended by him overstepping, but I was still pretty annoyed with Jones, so seeing someone boss him around for a change was amusing.
"I'll be right back," Jones said, giving the stranger a long look that he probably thought looked threatening. And maybe to anyone other than an outlaw biker, it would have been.
With that, he jumped in his car, turned over the engine, and peeled off.
"You gonna get off the ground now?" the stranger asked, looking down at me, blocking the sun as I glanced up.
"I, ah, yeah," I said, nodding, not wanting to seem like the freak he probably thought I was. I'd actually prefer to sit for another ten or so minutes, but sometimes you had to power through to appear normal.
With that, I got to my feet, brushing off the seat of my pants.
"I, ah, I'm Harmon," I said, offering my hand. I didn't know much about bikers, but making nice right off the bat seemed like a good idea. Especially if they just did a nice thing for you.
"Huck," he said, taking my hand, nearly crushing it for a second before dropping it. "Probably should have introduced myself when you moved in. But I'm not the baking sort," he said, eyes bright.
"I'm not exactly an 'I'll keep an eye on your house when you're out of town' kind of neighbor anyway," I admitted, shrugging. "So there didn't seem to be a need to make introductions."
"So... you good?" he asked, waving at the space where the car had been.
"Oh, yeah .Yeah. Jones is a good guy. He can just get pushy about some things he shouldn't be pushy about. Thank you for stepping in."
"Yeah. It's nothing. If you need anything," he said, already turning to walk away.
"Huck?" I called, wincing when he turned, not knowing if I was asking too much.
"Yeah?" he asked, turning back, brows raised.
"Can you... is it possible for there to be one hour a day when the music is turned down a little? I mean, I just... I work from home and I need about an hour without background noise. I can be really flexible. And I mean, it doesn't have to be off or anything. Just..."
"What hour?" he cut off my babbling.
"You know... whatever hour works best for you is fine by me."
"Harmon, what hour?" he asked.
"Oh, um, eight?"
"Morning or night?"
"Morning."
"You got it."
And with that, he was gone, making long strides across our properties before I could even thank him.
So, I'd finally met the scary biker neighbor.
Who wasn't so scary after all.
And, what was even better, I was finally going to be able to get some work done again.
All the excitement was over.
Or, you know, so I thought.
Chapter Two
Huck
The music was on to make sure no one heard the screaming.
Before they finally found someone to bite on the place next door, it hadn't been much of a concern. But once we saw the moving trucks , we knew we had to improvise.
So up cranked the music.
Then we went ahead and opened the doors for parties, giving ourselves dozens of people who could attest to being in the house, and not hearing or seeing a thing. Just in case the body would be found. When we were done with it.
It worked because we were banking on the fear-factor connected to a biker club, believing that no one in their right mind would call the cops on us for a noise complaint.
And she hadn't.
But I kind of felt like a dick that she hadn't been able to work now that I knew.
I hadn't given that any thought. I hadn't even considered the fact that our neighbor would probably need some uninterrupted sleep every now and again.
Well, now I knew.
I would try to keep it down on occasion. The blasting music had just been easier. Now, I would check on shit, make sure there were times when the music wasn't blasting.
Especially since the woman clearly had some issues. My sister who'd worked in the medical field, always used to say that the crazies got a little crazier when they didn't get enough sleep.
We'd find a way to give the woman a break here and there. Just in the interest of not being assholes. Sometimes doing shit just because you could get away with it wasn't the right move.
"What was that?" Che, my Road Captain, asked, nodding toward the front window. Tall, fit, with dark hair, dark eyes, and his olive toned skin from his Cuban heritage, he'd once been a street racer, then one of my right-hand men when I'd started chopping cars years back. Before we'd decided to make the small leap to becoming an actual MC.
"Meeting the new neighbor," I said.
"The guy with the spiked mohawk, or the girl with the blue hair?" he asked.
She'd moved in about two weeks before, but no one had ever gotten a look at her. She was never coming and going from the house. In fact, she didn't even have a car, even though we lived in an area where you needed one. I guess I now knew why.
"With the blue hair," I told him.
"Looks young," he said, getting up when I walked over to turn down the music slightly.
"I dunno. Mid-to-late-twenties. Something like that."
"Who's in their mid-twenties?" McCoy, my vice president, asked, coming up from the basement. Not covered in blood for a change. I guess he'd been feeding the man down there. He had to eat if we were going to keep him alive for more questioning.
McCoy was dark-skinned with long, loc'd hair, dark eyes, and had a more solid build than the leaner Che.
"New neighbor," Che supplied.
"Yeah, she's pretty," I admitted. Because it was the truth.