Page 121 of Lamb

A strong, calloused hand captured my chin, turning my head toward him.

“You have gotten far too comfortable touching me,” I growled, tugging my head out of his grasp with a snarl.

“Put away your claws, kitten.” Mint chuckled, my warning falling on deaf ears. “You can’t scare me off with those measly things.”

I sent him a scornful glare, but Mint shrugged, unfazed. I did not like this one bit. I used to be scary. Intimidating.

“Fine.” Mint raised his free palm in mock surrender. “Tell me the truth, and I won’t manhandle you,” he proposed. “When did you last sleep?”

“Last night—”

I yelped, pain bursting across my forehead. I slapped my hand against my skull, the sting radiating beneath my touch. “You flicked me!”

“And you’re a liar,” Mint retorted, disarming his finger and thumb. He took a mouthful of his cheap coffee, his eyes cast out into the small section of the clubroom visible from my spot. Yesterday, it had been crammed shoulder to shoulder with people, and now, it was an empty wasteland, only a small buzz of conversation drifting in from somewhere deeper inside.

“Where did everybody go?” I sipped my coffee, redirecting the conversation away from myself. The warmth simmered down my throat and pooled in my stomach, an acidic aftertaste lingering in the back of my mouth.

“Staying out of harm’s way, I suppose.” Mint shrugged.

“Have we got problems?” I said, not touching Mint’s eyeline as I diverted my attention to some chipped paint flaking from the wall. Fascinating.

“Nothing to worry your little head about.”

I couldhearthe smirk on his lips. I had not fooled him. As fresh as Mint was to the brotherhood, he had earned his patch through loyalty and sacrifice. He would not give up club-sensitive information to an outsider, borderline foe, that easily.

“Lamb’s fine, as well.”

I hated how fast my head turned. I hated the smile Mint failed to fight even more. Seeing it creep up onto his face made my head turn back to my loyal wall, familiarising myself with the chip. “I did not ask.”

“No,” Mint agreed. “Not verbally.”

I frowned at him.

“I’ve seen you up here more times than not. A couple of brothers shit themselves thinking you were a ghost,” Mint explained. “Probably not wise to sit out here in the dark at night.”

My insomnia had been exposed through ghost stories. Who would have thought?

“Did they send you over”—I chuckled—“to exorcise me?”

“I don’t have enough salt or crystals to exorcise your demons,” Mint joked, but it soon softened. “But I would if I had. Yours and everyone else’s.”

I studied the young man in-depth for what felt like the first time. He was not much older than me, if not the same age, though our lives told vastly different stories. Still, I could not help but wonder: what took a man so prudent, honest, and dutiful as him to step into the life of an MC? He would look more at home in the emergency services than running drugs and guns through suburban neighbourhoods.

“Never took you for a martyr,” I mused.

Mint’s gaze wandered into the distance. It travelled far past the club walls, the gates, and beyond Fellpeak’s borders. “There’s a lot people don’t know about me. And a lot I don’t share,” he spoke. “Nor will I.”

I wanted to ask more. I wanted to pry. I wanted to know what had ruined and scarred this man so terribly. I let my curiosity wither in my chest. Something about that distant gaze made me think that if I did ask, he would be too far away to hear me.

“Mint!” A frighteningly loud voice jolted us back into our surroundings.

I whipped my head to the bottom of the stairs, hot liquid spilling over the rim of my cup and onto my fingers as I caught sight of wild, blond curls. A wide grin parted the boy’s plump,rosy cheeks, wearing a ragged set of overalls covered in patches of oil, paint, and who knew what else. His big bright eyes were set on the biker beside me, and even in the dimly lit hall, and my lack of glasses, I knew they would be a vibrant emerald green.

“Adair.” Mint frowned, his call-to-action softening. “What’s up?”

“Uncle Hummer’s lookin’ for ya.” He began to climb the stairs two at a time with wide, strenuous steps, not waiting for Mint’s response.

The large biker heaved a deep sigh. “All right, all right, kiddo. I’m coming.” Mint stood, collapsing his empty coffee cup in his palm, tracking down the stairs, and meeting the mountain climber in the middle. He dropped his shoulder, scooping an arm around the small being’s wriggling frame, and stood. Adair went limp under the brace of the large man, legs and arms dangling like wet noodles.

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