BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(40)

“Where’s your tape measure?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Concrete drill?”

“Huh?”

He nodded toward the pictures. “How’d you hang those?”

“With those sticky things. Command Hooks, or whatever they’re called.”

He tilted his head toward my artwork. “Those pictures will be on the floor before the sun sets.”

I wasn’t an idiot, and I didn’t like being treated like one. “They’re designed for thirty pounds,” I said matter-of-factly. “I weighed the pictures. Twenty-four.”

“Thirty pounds on a clean surface. A brick is basically compacted dirt. I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long.”

“Oh.” I blushed heavily. I felt like a fool.

“Give me five minutes,” he said. “I’ll be right back with some tools.”

I wanted to object, but I didn’t. Seeing a man with power tools in his hand was a huge turn-on for me.

“We’ll be here when you get back.” I looked at Holly. “At least I will be.”

“I’ll be here,” Holly blurted. “Until we’re done.”

Baker flashed a smile. “Be right back.”

I assembled my best laser sharp glare and shot it at Holly.

She gave me an innocent look. “What?”

“Surprised you didn’t offer to show him your tits or something.”

“He looks a lot better in person than he did from your window,” she said dreamily. “I love his hair.”

“He’s. Off. Limits,” I said through my teeth.

“You said you were just--”

My face went hot as my temper flared. “Off limits. Off limits. He’s off. Fucking. Limits.”

Her gaze dropped to my feet. “Ohhh Kaaay.”

“I mean it,” I seethed.

“Okay.”

She fidgeted with my rolodex for a minute and then looked up. “Does he have any friends?”

I gave her a look. “Does he have any friends that would want to fuck you is the question.”

“That was rude.”

“I’m mad at you right now,” I snapped back.

“Why?”

“Really? You were drooling.”

“He’s cute.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. Off limits. He’s yours.”

“That’s right,” I said. “He’s mine.”

As the words came out of my mouth, it dawned on me what I’d said. It was a false claim. Baker wasn’t mine. Not at all.

Nor was I his.

I feared I wanted all of that to change.





TWENTY-FOUR - Baker





Andy’s insistence that she stay in California only left me with one option: telling the club the truth. Telling the complete truth about how things happened with Andy seemed impossible. For me to say it, I had to believe it. Believing I allowed lust to lure me into fucking her still made no sense to me.

While gathered in the clubhouse in a heated discussion about what we planned to do, the air between Cash and I thickened with tension.

“There’s a big difference between killing a bitch on the street and murdering someone in a third-floor apartment next door.” I looked at each of the men. “People get away with random killings all the time. No one gets away with murder.”

“As a matter of California law,” Tito said. “They’re both murder.”

“You know what I mean,” I snapped back.

I surveyed the group. Four of the men were in deep thought, seated at the couch. Cash, on the other hand, was pacing the floor nervously.

“I vote we kill the bitch,” he hissed.

“You’ve made yourself clear,” I said over my shoulder. “But, everyone has a voice.”

Reno stood and began pacing the opposite side of the room. “Out of the blue, this bitch shows up. Just so happens she gets a job next door. Just so happens she’s from Indio, and she gets this job in San Diego. Just so happens our clubhouse is one brick wall away from her office. Just so happens she moves in one brick wall away from your crib. Too many coincidences if you ask me.”

I alternated glances between Goose, Tito, and Ghost. “Anyone else have an opinion?”

“Knock her out with a chloroform rag, put her in a wetsuit, and take her out to sea with a surfboard tethered to her leg,” Reno said before any of them could respond. “Sharks will eat most of her. It’ll look like a surfing accident.”

“Trihalomethanes will show in the toxicology report,” Tito said. “The cause of death would be drowning, at least initially. They’d determine she was unconscious from inhalation of trihalomethanes, though. They’d view it as murder for sure.”

“Trihalo-what?” Reno asked.

“Trihalomethanes. Chloroform is a trihalomethane. If she breathes enough of it to become unconscious, she’ll have it in her bloodstream.”

“Got a better idea?” Reno asked.

“I trust Baker,” Tito said. “He’s never led us astray.”

“He’s thinking with his dick,” Cash snarled. “Not his brain.”