Page 11 of Rogue's Path
Maverick does fish face well.
“You should try a steamed dumpling.” She holds one up to his lips. “They’re very good.”
Never again will I believe Dahlia is afraid of anything.
“Dahl.”
“Taste. It’s good, I promise.”
Oh, this is good. No doubt about it. Why don’t I have a notepad?
“Dahl.” He opens his mouth and lets her put the bite in his mouth.
Can he even taste it? Probably not. Time to distract. “What should we wear?”
“I was thinking we could go tomorrow morning and pick out our outfits. I got the others that could come plane tickets.Most of them arrive around noon. We could have brunch and then head out.”
He swallows the bite. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not. I’ll be safe surrounded by ten or fifteen of my closest friends.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Ruh roh. A battle of wills is about to play out in front of me, and I don’t have any popcorn.
“No, you’re not. This is a girls-only event and you aren’t invited. But I think it’s a good idea for you to call the guys up. You can arrange a poker game. I’ll get snacks ready for you before we go. I’m sure Max would love an invitation. Why don’t I call him now and see if he has plans?” Dahlia picks up her phone.
“Dahl.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure if he’s in town, he will come. We should invite Imogene. She’d have fun.”
“Imogene isn’t available.”
Huh? Who are all these people? It’s like the two of them are having a secret conversation that I’m not part of. But watching their drama is better than thinking about my own.
Security
Rogue
“Did he tell you what this was about?” I step off my bike at the edge of Willow Street. There’s no need to worry about them being stolen. The security around here is intense. I could leave my wallet on my seat without a worry. Though I might have to rescue it from an unruly street kid.
“Not much. Just that they might have a lucrative job for us.” Havoc sets his kickstand and steps off his own, placing his helmet on the handlebars. He started wearing one about the time his son was born. Good example and all that.
I don’t have anyone to wear one for. The freedom of riding without is too much to give up without a reason.
We walk down the cobblestone street with little eyes following our every step. It probably isn’t often these kids see men like us. Though mostly, they’re probably drooling over our bikes.
“Hey.” A short stocky boy walks up to us. “Are those your bikes?”
He watched us get off of them. “Yes.”
“Are you Deathadders?”
Havoc holds his temper surprisingly well. “Do you see a silly snake on our backs?”
The kid leans over to peek at our cuts. “No. Does that mean you’re in a gang?”
“A motorcycle club,” I correct him.
