“You did the right thing, brother,” Traeger’s voice brought him to a halt.
“You a peeping Tom, too?” he asked without anger. He’d felt eyes on him through the kitchen windows and figured it was one of the guys. “Did you draw the short straw?”
Traeger exhaled loudly. “Nah, I was talking to Tiana when she entered the club and saw her watch you with those doe eyes before she left upset. I followed to keep an eye on her. You just happened to fall into my periphery. She’s a good kid, she’s just—” he trailed off.
“I know she’s a kid, Traeger, you don’t have to tell me or remind me. It’s why I did what I did tonight.” He began walking again, aiming for his bike.
“You cool to ride?”
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, sergeant,” he grated, itching for a fight.
“You don’t, and that’s a fact. Best not rattle a tree that might have a snake in it, Archer.” Traeger turned away before turning back.
“I’ve rattled a lot of trees with snakes, got the bites to show for it. You got something to say, or you want to fuck with me, let’s do it, but don’t threaten me. I’m not a boy. Don’t think I ever truly was.” He met Traeger’s stare with his own before he too turned away, giving Traeger his back, giving zero fucks that it was a show of disrespect. The other man did the same to him and in his mind, he had done nothing to garner such an act.
“You’re right, I’m sorry, brother.”
Mick paused in the act of putting his helmet on. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.” He didn’t say when because he wasn’t sure if he’d be back tomorrow or the next day. If King called him in, he’d be there, until then, he was taking a break.
“Don’t get lost, brother.”
Mick’s bike roared to life, the deep rumble made answering Traeger impossible or gave him an excuse to avoid answering. He gave a nod as he rolled past the other man, easing out of the compound, and headed toward LA, away from thoughts of what he couldn’t have. His life had been made up of two columns. What he could have and what he couldn’t have. One column had been filled past the point of full, while the other had been almost empty, unless he’d earned blessings. Fucking-A, he hated thinking of The Father and The Order. Fucking hated where he came from almost as much. The only thing he had good memories of were of his mother, but they were tarnished by her death.
The ride down to LA cleared his head and by the time he was getting into heavier traffic, he was feeling less tense. When he’d been a boy in El Salvador, he’d done similar things to center himself. The Mountain had been his home and his jail. His mother had been American, which had, in a crazy turn of fate, given him dual citizenship. The bastard who’d ruled them all, did so with an iron fist. He’d underestimated Mick’s mother, not realizing she’d have filed papers so that Mick would have the ability to enter the US legally. Not that she’d have taken him away or have been able to, but she’d still found a way to get the papers even though doing so and being caught would’ve meant a punishment.
When The Father would hand out a punishment, you never knew how he’d do so. He only resorted to his fists if he was caught without other means, but that didn’t mean he didn’t ensure you were punished properly later. His mother had taken more than her fair share of beatings for things that were not her fault. This time, when memories tried to encroach on him, he twisted his wrist, his bike accelerating under him. He maneuvered around cars and trucks, cutting it close a few times, the adrenaline rush helping him focus.
Mick slowed when his exit came near then another ten before his complex came into sight. He liked to live dangerously, but he didn’t have a death wish. Like he always did, he circled the block twice, checking to see if he noticed any unusual vehicles. Not seeing anything that made his neck itch, he pulled up to the gate, punched in his code, then entered the underground parking garage. His building had twenty condos with enough parking for all of them to park one car and a storage unit as well. He used the unit for his bike and the parking spot for his truck. The 1947 Dodge Power Wagon was his baby that not many people had seen. He eased his bike into the storage unit behind his garage, making sure he didn’t scratch the hunter green paint on the truck.
He didn’t bother locking the storage gate since only he had the combination to get into his little garage area. His truck was his baby, something his adopted father had before he’d died and was the only thing he had left of the man.
He took the stairs instead of the elevator, the chain jiggling on his hip. “Fuck, if someone was lying in wait, they’d hear me coming a mile away,” he mused.
Of course, he wasn’t scared of dying, he didn’t really have a lot to live for. A young beautiful face popped into his mind, staring up at him with warm caring eyes. He slammed a lid on thoughts of what he’d like to do with her. At the top of the stairs, he went to the door and hit it with the flat of his hand, making his injury throb. He felt a prickle of alarm just as he stepped into the hallway. Looking to the left and then the right, he didn’t see anything out of place, but he slowed his steps, listening carefully as he passed the doors to the other apartments. There were only four on the top level, since they were the largest and most expensive. He didn’t know the other tenants personally, but he was cordial when he’d run into them. They were health nuts next to him, while the two apartments across the hall were both owned by business professionals. Each had a small enclave that wasn’t within view of the hallway. He listened, trying to hear if anyone was waiting to attack him, but as he passed the first set of apartments, there was nothing. He was coming up on his apartment. That prickle that had saved him many times had him slowing his steps, his hand going for the knife he kept strapped to his thigh.
“Well, shit,” he muttered. “Probably shouldn’t have drank that last bottle of tequila.” He burped. It was a skill, burping on command.
Since he’d already made a shitton of noise, he didn’t try to be stealth, instead he allowed his right foot to drag as if he were stumbling. Thanks to the alarm he’d had installed, he knew his apartment was secure, otherwise he’d have been alerted him if anyone would’ve entered. When he’d picked his condo, he’d specifically chosen one on the top floor without a balcony. He wasn’t a master chef who wanted to grill and shit, nor did he feel the need to open his fucking windows and smell the fog. Security was being too high up for someone to access him easily or have a landing they could jump onto from the roof. However, a clever asshole could get to his floor and hide in one of the alcoves. A stupid fucker could lay in wait. However, whoever was breathing heavily, was going to find out just how hard it was to sneak up on him.
Mick took the last two steps to his entrance, ducking at the last second and coming up with his left hand holding the knife, the right held the gun he’d pulled out moments before. He’d learned you could never be too prepared. He faced Marco, Pete’s cousin with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other. He’d met the man several times when he’d first gotten out of the hospital but had never liked him. Feelings had been mutual, he was sure.
“What the fuck you doing here?” Mick didn’t lower either weapon, his gaze took in the other man’s attire, noticing he looked a lot different than the last time he’d seen him. He was leaner, cleaner, and angry. The latter was nothing new. The last time they’d met, Marco had been lounging on a chair with a woman between his legs giving him a blowjob while another was rubbing his shoulders from behind. He’d looked like he was a Spanish god being serviced by his harem or something that night. Unlike tonight where he was dressed in black slacks and a T-shirt with a leather jacket.