Conor exhales hard, clearly irritated as he glances around. He’s easily over six feet and gets a solid view of the parking lot. Then, his green eyes focus back on my face.
“I kill people, Monroe. There are plenty of rich kids who get ahead because of their mommies and daddies. Those bitches don’t get their hands dirty. I’m not one of them. If someone is coming for you, I want to be ready. Not only to protect you but to keep my people safe, too.”
Conor’s a smooth operator, even when threatening me. I catch the underlying menace beneath his words. Yet, he never raises his voice or changes his body language. He could be casually talking about sandwiches, but my secrets are on borrowed time.
“I should warn you,” I say, patting his cheek before taking his hand. “I have a bit of a temper. You shouldn’t threaten me unless you’re willing to throw down.”
Conor snorts at my words, smiling now as he walks with me into the restaurant. I know he thinks I’m kidding, but he’d be wrong. I’ve long understood how violence is a natural part of life. When I go down, I always do it swinging.
PART 2: FANTASY BECOMES REALITY
CONOR
Even before my first date with Monroe, I’m bombarded with questions as if I’m her official representative. First, Topanga hits me with six texts, asking what Monroe said about her mother and any other pertinent information. I tell her we only talked about my sweet ass, and I didn’t think that was relevant to her fishing expedition.
Then, her husband uses his black SUV to block me in when I’m trying to pull my motorcycle down my driveway. I pretend I’m confused over what he wants, revving my engine rather than turning it off. He finally flips me off and walks over. Once I shut down the engine, he rubs at his bearded jaw and frowns hard.
“The younger generation is rude as fuck.”
“When you were my age, you made a daughter with a bunny. Every generation has different priorities.”
Lowell looks ready to punch me. He doesn’t, of course.
“What happened after we left last night? I know you drove her home.”
“I wiped her tears over getting rejected by her daddy.”
“Can you be serious?” he growls, looking tired and ragged.
“I am. What do you want?”
“I know you have a thing for this girl, but do you really think she’s on the up-and-up?”
“As compared to her criminal father?”
“Now, I know you’re fucking with me.”
“Monroe told me what she told you. Nothing more.”
“Bullshit.”
“You hurt her feelings last night.”
Lowell narrows his eyes, distrusting me more than usual. “What did she expect me to do when she announced that shit in front of everyone? And she only said it after Topanga attacked her. And it’s just weird.”
“What exactly is weird?”
“To have a woman I think of as a club girl turn out to be my possible daughter. I mean, fuck, what would have happened if you hadn’t claimed her? She would have gotten passed around.”
“Are your morals spinning in their graves?” I ask, enjoying his agitation.
Lowell isn’t accustomed to me giving him shit. Usually, Wyatt is the asshole, but I took Monroe’s broken heart personally.
“Why would Needy leave town rather than tell me?”
“I assume Bambi or my mom threatened her.”
Lowell’s expression softens before returning to his resting bitch face. “Sounds about right, but she still should have come to me.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Is Monroe trustworthy?” he asks, desperate for an out to his current situation.
“Why don’t you just take the test and see if she’s your daughter before you worry?”
“I’m wary of her plan.”
“If Monroe had a plan, she wouldn’t have ended up at the Overlook. The blood test would have taken place weeks ago. No one would have gotten slapped.”
“How pissed was she about that?” Lowell asks, glancing over at his house across the street, where I assume his slap-happy wife waits.
“Monroe was more upset about your reaction.”
“Well, if she wanted a heartwarming moment, she should have created one instead of what she did last night.”
Crossing my arms, I size up Lowell. He’s normally the calm voice behind Bronco’s louder one. Today, he looks scruffy and anxious. I wonder if Topanga kept him up with questions or plans. The woman is like the Energizer bunny—just wind her up and let her go. Then come back in a day when she’s worn herself out.
“What if she is your daughter?” I ask and climb back on my motorcycle. “If she isn’t, well, then that’s her problem. The other guys take tests, and she gets an answer, and you’re in the clear. But if she is yours, do you plan on acting like an asshole?”
“What do I owe a twenty-one-year-old woman I don’t know?”
“Nothing, maybe. But I think if she leaves Elko, you should realize finding her might be difficult. So, whatever you choose to do better be what you’re comfortable with for the rest of your life. Because Monroe has trouble following her, and she’s worried it’ll show up here. If Elko isn't a safe haven, she’ll go underground, or trouble might end her. Either way, she’ll be gone, and you need to be okay with that.”
“I thought she didn’t tell you anything last night.”
“She didn’t, but I pay attention. If you had more sense, you’d have figured out she was your possible kid within days of her working at Rooster’s. Basic logic said she wasn’t eyeballing you out of lust.”
Lowell shrugs. “They’re all young when they show up, and they all get their attachments.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say two fucking words to her in that time. What was she getting so attached to, anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, probably feeling like a moron.
“Take the test, figure out your shit, and leave me alone. I’m not your fucking therapist,” I say, turning on the engine and riding through the grass to get around his SUV.
Lowell spits a cuss word after me, but I can’t hear which one. I used to worry about his approval. All the older guys—mainly the Executioners’ founders—were these godlike figures whose approval I required to breathe. They ran with my dad and would one day decide if I was worthy of Bronco’s spot. If I failed them, my life held no meaning.
Except Wyatt acts like a huge dickhead every day of the week, and few people call him out on it. Bronco can’t stand him but doesn’t do shit. Lowell hates Wyatt even more, but, again, nothing happens. Which begs the question of why I’m kissing their asses?
I’m still wondering about that when Monroe warns me not to make threats unless I’m ready to throw down. She’s so hot when her dark eyes narrow and her nostrils flare—like a lion cub playing the predator role.
I also enjoy how she takes my hand and doesn’t play coy. We’ve been doing that shit for weeks, and I’m tired of pretending.
Yet, when Monroe asks me to order her a sandwich, she’s clearly testing me. I approve of her tactic. A weak woman can’t survive in my life. My mom alone will destroy someone with a tender heart. No, I need a tough woman. Monroe may or may not be that person, but she’s off to a good start today.