Page 49 of Lucky's Trouble

“She’s okay, My. I swear to God.”

She stands. “Well, go get her. She should be here with me, not at the clubhouse.”

“That’s not gonna happen. We can’t protect her here like we can at the compound.”

“Why does she need your protection?”

“Jesus fuck.” I scrub a hand down my face. Tinleigh kept her so in the dark that she doesn’t even know who she was working for. That’s a mighty heavy load for one person to carry.

“What?” she asks, exasperated.

“My, Neal’s not a good guy. He won’t let Tinny go easily.”

“Tinny?”

I need to get out of this. I’m digging my own grave at this point, and the hole keeps getting deeper and deeper.

“Isn’t that her nickname?”

“It’s my nickname for her.”

“Okay, sorry. I won’t use it again.”

Note to self: come up with a different nickname because, Christ, who names their kid Tinleigh? I care about the girl, but even she has to admit it’s a strange name. Tinny just rolled off the tongue better.

“What’s really going on here?” She narrows her eyes on me.

I feel like I’m betraying my friend by not answering, but I don’t know what Tinleigh and I are or how to define it. That should come from her sister.

“I told you everything I know.”

“So you’re not moving my sister in with you because you want to get with her?” Her head cocks to the side. “Because it’d be really fucked up to make a move on her at a time like this.”

“That’s not what this is about.” Lies.

“It better not be.”

“Get off my dick, Myla. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“You forget I know how you operate.”

“How I operate?” I repeat, getting pissed she’s throwing so much shit my way, even if she has every reason to be cautious.

“All I’m saying is Tinleigh deserves a man who can give her all of him, not some biker with a wandering dick.”

“You’re right. She does,” I say, not bothering to explain how her sister already owns every piece of me. Even I know it’s too soon to admit that shit to anyone, let alone Myla.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

I don’t say shit. Instead, I answer with a nod.

“I’m assuming she doesn’t have her cell phone with her?”

“I gave her a burner. I’ll text you the number.”

“Okay. Thank you for getting her out of there. I know she thinks I don’t know what kind of guy Neal is, but I do. That’s why I begged her to quit when I did, but she refused.”

I feel like a piece of shit accepting any kind of thanks when my motives weren’t purely genuine. Would I have ever even offered to help if she wasn’t my type? Probably not.

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