Page 27 of Heart of Stone
I glance between them, confused when they stare at me expectantly.
“Um, okay?”
Squealing, they climb onto my bed, taking my unknowing invitation as gospel.
I glance at my phone. 6:15 AM. Jesus Christ.
“Your aunt know where you are?”
They both shake their heads, curls bouncing. The one not burrowing under my blankets lifts her arms in the universal “up” gesture.
I scrub a hand over my face. What the hell has my life become?
The blanket burrower manages to crawl onto the bed, examining my tattoos with sticky fingers.
“Pitty.”
Her sister emerges from under the blanket, crawling closer to inspect the skull inked on my skin.
“Mmhmm,” the bed burrower agrees.
Great. Not even seven AM, and I’ve got art critics.
“Hungy,” the first one announces, patting my chest.
The other nods, vigorous and solemn. “Hungy, hungy!”
Christ. How does Andi do this every morning? Speaking of which…
“We should wake Andi,” I suggest, hoping to redirect this toddler invasion.
Their little faces drop like I’ve kicked a puppy.
“Pahcake?” one asks, voice hopeful, eyes wide.
Her sister catches on fast. “Peeze?”
I’m the sergeant-at-arms of an MC. I’ve been in firefights, bar brawls, and more than one knife fight. I’ve broken bones, taken hits, and given worse.
But these two tiny humans, with their big eyes and hopeful faces?
They’re going to be the death of me.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But we’re quiet, yeah? Let your aunt sleep?”
They nod solemnly… and immediately start giggling.
Cute—for a pair of runts.
Scooping them both up, I carry them through the house, trying to remember if the kitchen even has pancake mix.
“Weeee!” one squeals.
“Shh,” her sister scolds.
At least one of them listens.
The kitchen is still dark, early morning light barely filtering through the windows. I deposit them both on the counter, keeping one hand on their backs so they don’t topple off.
