Page 28 of Decoding Morse

This time, I locked the room behind me when I left.

10

Amelia

THE MESS HALL was brimming with families this morning, and nobody sat alone. Laughter, shit-talking, and genuine affection filled the room, making it clear this was one tight-knit group of leather vest-obsessed people. It was easy to see why Morse had built a home among them, but I huddled by the entrance, sticking out like a sore thumb in my leggings, sneakers, and long, baggy T-shirt.

Despite my earlier bravado about mingling, I was doing my best not to make eye contact with anyone when an adorable little boy stopped in front of me, meeting my gaze through his shaggy brown hair. Hooking his hair behind his ears, he flashed me a crooked grin. The kid couldn’t have been more than ten—all knobby knees and elbows—and man, he was cute.

“Hey.” I nodded in greeting.

“Hey, babe.”

It had been ages since anyone had called me that, and I bit back a laugh. “Babe, huh?”

His grin widened for a split second before he seemed to remember that he was trying to play it cool. He not-so-casually checked me out. “You look like a babe to me. You lost?”

“Nope. I’m right where I need to be, waiting for a friend.” I extended my hand. “I’m Amelia, by the way.”

He gave me a too-cool-for-school head nod and shook my hand. “Trent. I’m the man your daddy warned you about.”

A bark of laughter slipped free before I disguised it with a cough. “Oh?” That was unexpected.

Before he could answer, one dark-skinned, tatted-up arm slid around the kid’s shoulders, holding him in place. A second hand connected with his head, sliding knuckles across his scalp as he squirmed and laughed, trying to wiggle out of the hold.

“Hello again, Amelia. I apologize for this hooligan’s mouth. Sometimes he requires a little lesson in manners, but we’ll get him sorted, isn’t that right, twerp.” The newcomer’s rich baritone was as recognizable as his massive size.

“Havoc, right?” I asked.

“Good memory.” He stopped delivering the noogie punishment long enough to shake my hand. “How are you? You have everything you need?”

“Yes. More than we need. I can’t thank you guys enough for letting us crash here.”

He dipped down, grabbed one of Trent’s legs, and turned the now squealing kid upside-down. “We take care of our own around here.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m beginning to see that.”

He gave the boy a gentle shake. “Apologize to the nice lady, Trent.”

When the kid didn’t immediately respond, instead folding his small arms across his chest in a comedic show of defiance, Havoc shook him harder.

Trent screeched and laughed. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Geez. Let me up.”

“I will, as long as you behave yourself, kid.”

Havoc turned him right side up, lowered his feet to the floor, and softened his hold.

Trent immediately wriggled free. He stumbled back, a triumphant smile stretching from ear to ear. Once he was well out of reach, he patted his chest and announced, “I’m not a kid anymore, I’m a man. I got hair on my balls.”

I choked on air.

Havoc lunged for him. Trent bolted, and the big man missed. The boy only made it three steps before his sneakers screeched to a halt, and everyone turned to stare. A woman had stepped between him and the door. With a baby on her hip and fire and brimstone in her eyes, she stared Trent down. A familiar blond biker squeezed her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Wasp, the club’s vice president, was another one I’d met during last night’s meeting. Kissing her forehead, he slid the baby from her arms before reaching his free hand out to Trent.

“Come on, boy. We need to have a chat.”

Trent’s shoulders drooped, but he stepped forward and took the proffered hand. Wasp tugged him out of the door. When the two disappeared around the corner, the woman approached me, shaking her head.

“I’m so sorry for whatever inappropriate nonsense came out of my child’s mouth. He turns twelve next month, but that boy already thinks he’s grown, and I am at my wit’s end.”

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