Page 6 of Kilo's Edge

“Give me a minute,” I told her and went to the door. When I opened it and saw Overdrive there, I tried to shut it in his face.

The fucker stuck his boot in so it just bounced back open. “What the fuck, Kilo?” he said as he shoved past me. He stopped when he saw Camila sitting there. A slow grin spread over his face. “Well, hello, beautiful.”

Her eyes met mine, then she stood up. “I should go.”

“Wait,” I told her. “You don’t have to go. He was just leaving.”

“I am?” Overdrive asked, looking offended.

She just smiled and headed for the door, so I followed after her. I opened the door and leaned on the frame once she was outside. “Thanks for making me dinner, Camila.”

She shook her head at me and waved before going back over to her own house.

I watched her walk away and once she was inside, shut my door and went back to the dining room. “Oh, you fucking asshole,” I snapped, snatching my plate away from Overdrive. It looked like a feral coyote had gotten to it. There wasn’t much left, so I glared at him. “That wasmygoddamned dinner.”

“Fucking good,” he mumbled around a mouth full of food. “Who was the hottie?” he asked once he swallowed.

“New neighbor. And you scared her off.”

“Damn.” He eyeballed me. “You interested?”

“Yeah, she’s mine, asshole. Go fuck one of your own neighbors.” I’d known Overdrive since we were in diapers. He was the reason I’d joined the Saint’s Outlaws in the first place. Still, the only time I spoke to him this way was when we were alone. I wouldn’t disrespect him in front of the club. Didn’t matter that this was how we teased each other, it could be seen as me not knowing my place. I wouldn’t allow that.

He made a face. “Mrs. Dillers is eighty, and a little too feisty for eighty, if you know what I mean? And the other couple are lesbians. Slim pickings over in my neighborhood. I like yours better.”

“Not happening,” I told him, taking beers from my fridge and handing him one.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Woman looks like thatandshe can cook?” He let out a whistle. “Don’t turn your back, Bro, or someone’s going to steal her.”

Not if I had anything to say about it.

CHAPTER 3

Kilo

Unlocking the door and flicking on the lights, I went through my morning routine of opening up the business. Overdrive and I had pooled our money together a few years ago and bought an existing indoor shooting range and gun store. The owner had been old as dirt and ready to retire and we were all too happy to take over.

We each worked here three days a week and made damn good money doing it. It gave us both a lot of free time for club shit, too. And we had a couple of our club brothers who knew how to run the place in case we needed some time off.

Like a couple weeks ago when we’d gone up to the White Mountains to help out our new friends, The Viking’s Rampage. They had a club over in Tucson and had run into a bit of trouble. I’ll be honest, after a fight like that, I was jonesing for more action. It was like a hit of heroin to us former service members. I missed the days when war was my life.

I looked up from polishing the glass case as the door opened. The woman had that ‘harassed mother’ look written all over her face as she stuttered to a stop and blinked at me in confusion.

Smiling at her, then down at her daughter who was clutching her leg, I pointed behind her. “Next door.”

“Huh?”

“I’m guessing you’re looking for Tappin’ Toes?”

She blinked again, then nodded.

“This is Double Tap.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the wall of weapons behind me. “Gun store and shooting range. Dance studio is the next door over.”

Her eyes dropped to the tattoos on my hands as I pointed her in the right direction again. Her hand fluttered a little, then landed on her chest. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I told her with a grin. “Happens often.” Or often enough that we had a running joke about it with Jess, the owner of the dance studio. That tended to happen when gun toting men showed up in the middle of her dance classes.

“Thank you,” the mom said, smiling at me and guiding the little girl back out the door.

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