Jax (Titan #9)(5)

"Eek!" Seven squealed as Bianca tickled her neck, trying to get to her armpit. "Ow!" She giggled and caught her breath from the tummy dive Nolan had taken. "You two are killing me."

The rumble of the garage door opening stopped Seven as she flipped Nolan over and tickled Bianca. Only one person would dare come over unannounced and use the garage to gain entry except Victoria, and she had left for her honeymoon last night.

"Johnny," Seven yelled. "Why are you awake this early?"

Or maybe he hadn't gone to sleep yet. Seven would kick his ass if he had ridden to her house intoxicated.

Nolan clapped his hands and yelled for Johnny also, scurrying off the bed as Bianca followed in her more reserved way. So much for getting any news this morning. Seven grabbed the remote to turn off the TV and heard both kids traipsing down the hall—then they stopped abruptly. A quick worry ran through her. Muffled voices and the sound of the kids running back made Seven sit up. "Johnny?"

"No." The familiar voice matched equally familiar boot steps. "It's Johnny and—"

"Hawke?" Seven swallowed the ball of panic in her throat, wondering why Mayhem's club president was in her house. Had she gone too far with Johnny last night when she had warned him not to go behind Hawke's back? But then Hawke wouldn't be the one to have that discussion.

Bianca and Nolan scurried onto her bed as Johnny and Hawke stood at the mouth of her bedroom, neither with their best attempts at smiles.

Hawke kept his eyes on the ground. "You decent, Seven?"

She eyed the dynamic between the two men. "'Course I am."

"Hi." Her little boy waved to Hawke from a stack of pillows.

He waved back. "Hey, little man."

Nolan liked having men in the house, but Bianca could tell that something wasn't quite right.

"You kids want to go watch TV with me?" Johnny backed toward the hallway.

Her stomach jumped because Johnny was separating her from the kids, but Nolan cheered, leaping from the bed to grab onto Johnny's leg and begging her ex to walk down the hall with the boy riding on his foot. Johnny didn't play well and pried him off, though Nolan still laughed.

Bianca didn't move, and Seven worried the girl had instincts far beyond her years.

"Go on, honey," Seven urged. "Johnny can get you cereal if you want."

Johnny walked back in and held out a hand to help her off the bed, but Bianca did it herself. She fell into line without help. Whether she wanted to or not, Bianca understood that her little feet were supposed to start moving so the grown-ups could talk.

When Bianca was out of the room, Seven looked up at Hawke. "Is everything okay?"

"What do you think?"

Obviously not. It was a quarter past six in the morning, and neither one of those men had likely seen this time of day on purpose for quite some time.

Hawke's light-brown hair bordered on blond, and his beard had been salt-and-pepper-colored for as long as Seven could remember. Hawke was tan and weathered, gruff and to the point. He furrowed his brow, which upped Seven's anxiety, and all she wanted to do was get up and fold laundry—or anything. But that was her OCD tendencies trying to control her behavior. She needed to focus on why Hawke was there and not on her urges to crease, fold, and straighten the chaos out of her life. "You could have called."

He worked his jaw side to side. "Didn't want to."

Which could mean a hundred things. Most likely, it meant he didn't want a record of this conversation.

"Look, I was busting Johnny's balls yesterday." Seven threw her legs over the edge of the bed, smoothing her pajama bottoms. "You know I mean what I say. But I didn't intend any disrespect. Not to you, not to the club." Because Hawke had many years ahead of him as the club president, most likely. No one could predict the future. Nobody could predict accidents, fights, drama, or politics. But he had a solid grip on the founding charter, overseeing the role of all charters.

But his face twisted enough that she knew that wasn't the point of his visit. "I'm not here to get in the middle of your bullshit spats with your old man."

Now didn't seem like the appropriate time to remind Hawke that they weren't together. The not-his-old-lady talk could wait for another day, preferably when she wasn't in her pajamas. "What can I help you with?"

He ran his hand down his beard, stroking it. "The club's getting out of the game."

"I know." She also knew that Johnny was talking to people about how to avoid that. So would it really happen? She wasn't sure.

"Changing distribution isn't a black-and-white decision."

Maybe Hawke knew what Johnny was up to. "Okay."

"Our business partners and friends can't be left hanging. We have to keep our alliances happy."

Friends… Seven hated having a nice word applied to the corrupt DEA and ATF agents as well as the underhanded cops that networked from the waterways and borders across the highways. She had no idea how such a spiderweb of complicity was woven. Mayhem didn't have the organization to oversee payment structures or the connections to work the international agents on border countries.

Friends… But if Hawke didn't figure out how to get everyone happy—meaning whoever took over the distribution and therefore Mayhem's network—then the war wouldn't just come from the cartel and the gangs, but also law enforcement who expected paydays and would worry that they'd been cut off.