Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(25)

Because none of us would walk up the front sidewalk. Not Dad. Not Nick. Not me. None of us would set foot on the place where Mom’s blood had once stained the cement. You couldn’t see the stain anymore. The rain and snow and sun had worn it away.

But it was still there.

Nick and I had both tried to get Dad to move out of that house. There were too many memories there, too many reminders of what we’d lost.

But those memories had a different effect on Dad. He stayed in that house because it was where he’d lived with Mom. To him, she was in the walls. The ceiling. The floor.

He’d die in that house before letting her go.

A chill crept over my skin and I shook it off, reversing out of the driveway and heading to work. When I pulled into the parking lot of the garage, I was in a shit mood.

Why would Dad need a day? Why wouldn’t he want to talk about Amina and how she’d been killed? Didn’t he want to find the person who’d framed him?

Had Bryce been right? Did he have sex with Amina? Who was that woman besides an old high school friend? To my knowledge, Dad hadn’t been with a woman since Mom had died. Maybe to punish himself. Maybe because he didn’t want another woman in his life. Sleeping with Amina would have broken one hell of a streak.

It unsettled me some, the idea of Dad with anyone else. He’d been loyal to Mom. Always. He hadn’t done anything wrong. So why was this bothering me?

I walked into the garage and found Emmett underneath the hood of a Chevy truck. “Hey.”

He looked past me, searching for Dad. “Where is he?”

“At home.”

“What?” He scowled. “We need to talk.”

“I know. But he wants a day. We’ll give it to him.”

“Who wants a day?” Leo asked, walking up to us with a bottle of water tipped to his lips.

“Dad.”

The water bottle dropped from his mouth. “Fuck that. We need answers. If it’s the Warriors setting him up then we need to—”

I held up a hand, my eyes cutting over to Isaiah, who was working in the next bay. “Not now.”

He nodded, clamping his mouth shut.

We all trusted Isaiah as a mechanic, but we weren’t going to get into old club business with him around—not just for our sake, but for his.

“Let’s just . . . be patient.”

Emmett scoffed. “Something the three of us excel at.”

“Yeah.” I took the phone from my pocket and walked over to a workbench, setting it and my keys on top. Then I looked at the workboard. The guys had the normal stuff covered, so I’d get to work on the Mustang. Work is good.

I could use some time with my tools and an engine. I could use some grease on my hands and time to think. Because come tonight, I needed to have a plan for dealing with Bryce Ryan.

I needed a plan for getting her onto my side.





“Get off my porch.”

I chuckled, tipping the beer bottle to my lips. “Hello, Bryce.”

“What are you doing here?” She stood in front of me, her hands planted on her hips. “How did you know where I live?”

“Do you really want to know?” I doubted she’d want to hear that I’d been following her around for days.

“No.” She’d come from the gym because her hair was up in a ponytail, a few tendrils near her temples still damp with sweat. Her black leggings molded to her lean legs. Her tank top was tight around her breasts and stomach, leaving only her graceful arms bare.

My dick jerked to life as I pictured peeling those clothes from her body, setting all her curves free. Best not to think about her naked, not when I was trying my new tactic.

“Beer?” I nodded to the six-pack by my boot, which now only had three bottles.

“I’ll pass.”

“More for me then.” I shrugged.

“Now that you know I don’t want a beer, take them and go home.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?” She tapped a foot on the sidewalk. “Just hop on your bike and be on your way.”

“You weren’t here. You made me wait for you and I got thirsty. So I had to drink three beers. Can’t drive now. Someone will have to come and get me.”

“I’ll call you a cab.”

“Can’t.”

“Why?” The tapping foot got faster. God, it was fun pissing her off.

“My bike. Can’t leave it on the street. Have to take it home.”

“So you’re just going to sit on my porch until you’re sober enough to drive home?”

“If you insist.”

She growled at me, then bent low to take a beer from the pack. Off came the cap with a twist, but instead of putting it to that supple lower lip, she surprised me yet again.

She poured my beer onto the lawn.

“What the—” I shot off the single concrete step, reaching for the bottle. But she put her shoulder in my way, blocking me, as my perfectly good beer soaked into the green grass. “Is there a reason you’re wasting my beer?”

“Yeah. I want you off my porch.” She set the empty bottle down and reached for the pack again. This time it was my turn to block her. “Relax. I’ll drink the other two and maybe by the time they’re gone, you will be too.”