Page 12 of Kilo's Edge

“Not happening,” I growled at him. “Go find your own woman.”

“Meh,” he scoffed. “I don’t want to be tied down. Just want more tacos.”

A month ago, I would have agreed with him wholeheartedly. Now? I wasn’t so sure anymore. The girl next door kept calling to me. She was fascinating. I often caught fear in her eyes, but then a few days ago she strolled right into my shop and bought a gun. Then had bolted so fast, I hadn’t even gotten to chat her up more. She was a walking contradiction and I really wanted—no, needed—to get to the bottom of her.

“I’ll leave it up to Kilo to make new friends,” Overdrive added.

I glared at him over my shoulder. “Least I have a friend,” I told him.

He grabbed his chest, over his heart, and gave me a wounded look, then he flipped me off with a grin as he walked away.

I looked over and sighed when I found Ruck still watching me with an amused look. “Don’t go getting your hopes up. She’s cute. That’s all.”

“Uh huh,” he replied. “And that’s why you’re giving up a day off to go fix her window for her.”

“I have four days a week off,” I told him. “It’s not exactly a hardship.” The last thing I needed was Ruck shoving me into something I wasn’t ready for. I was handling that part on my own just fucking fine. If I stopped and thought about it, I was going to lose my shit and hole myself up somewhere while going on a bender. I didn’t need, or want, an old lady. It was exactly as I said. Camila was cute. Well, I’d downplayed that.

She’s drop dead gorgeous with a little body that I want to-

Breaking off the thought, I walked away from my president before I admitted something that I wasn’t ready for anyone to know. She’d invaded my mind and I couldn’t evict her. I went over to the garage and started picking through what I’d need.

“You need any help?”

I glanced over my shoulder at Bolo and shook my head. “I’m just framing in a window. You taught me how to do that years ago.”

He grinned. “Didn’t even know how to hold a fucking hammer back then.”

“And I madeyoua better shooter,” I pointed out. “Made your range masters a lot happier with your scores.”

If Bolo could, he’d just bash the enemy’s skull in every time. He was a big man and could fight like a damn demon. Guns looked like toys in his hands. It was no wonder he’d struggled during qualifications with the pistol. At one point he’d gotten pissed and just chucked the weapon at the target. When it hit dead center, he’d pointed at it. Like, see? I don’t need to shoot shit.

He was great with the shotgun and rifle. But it’d taken some work, patience, and some modifications to his service pistol to get him there with his handgun. Now he was damn near as good as I was. And still he’d choose snapping a man’s neck over shooting him if he had the chance. He was a man who was used to working with his hands.

“Thanks,” I told him. “But I’ve got it. I don’t want to take you away from this place for the day.”

Bolo was the reason this project was running smoothly. He’d worked with his dad at their construction company since he was a kid. Still helped out with it even though it was his older brother running it now.

Not that the rest of us were useless, we just didn’t have the experience.

Bolo nodded and got back to work. I started loading up the materials I’d need into one of the cage rides. It didn’t take long before Flir started hovering. “Go away,” I told him.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, looking at the pile of stuff I was loading up.

“What’s it look like?”

“Looks like eight hundred and forty-three dollars,” he replied, then frowned as he double checked his math in his head. “And thirty-eight cents.”

“Ruck said I could take it,” I told him. “Grab the other end.” Since he was here, hovering, I was going to make use of him. We gently put the window in the back of the truck and I strapped it down.

By the time I jumped out of the truck, Flir was circling like a shark, scribbling on a piece of paper. “Where’d you get that?” I asked, looking around.

“Do you have two, or three of those two by fours?”

“Four of ‘em.” I crossed my arms over my chest, content to sit and answer all his questions now that I was done.

“Why do you need two buckets of nails?”

“In case I need two of ‘em,” I replied. He glared at me, but wrote them down.

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