Page 30 of The Vows We Keep
Niro walks into the room and grabs me by the elbow. “We’re getting some food.”
“Wait, I need to speak to Neva.”
But he doesn’t stop. At first, he leads me by the elbow through the bar, but then his hand slides down my arm until he’s holding my hand as we walk into the kitchen. It takes me a moment to realize, and when I do, I quickly whip my hand out of his.
“You kidnapped me, drugged me, and tied me up ... you at least owe me holding my hand,” Niro says.
Saint is in the kitchen, and he chuckles. “You know that’s not how relationships work, right? Assuming that’s what the whole hand-holding thing is about.”
“We’re not in a relationship,” I say.
“Yet,” Niro adds.
I place my palms on the counter. “This whole situation is wild.”
“What’s up?” Clutch says, as he pulls the fridge open. He’s holding an icepack to the side of his face and his vice-president patch gives me momentary regret for my choices. VPs hold a lot of power.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
Clutch looks at me for a second, undecided in his view of me, I suspect, then he sighs. “All’s fair in love and war, yeah?”
I like his response, so I nod once. There’s a vibe to this club. The men are tough, but not hardened. I can’t explain the difference to their edges. They could have killed me and Neva, but they haven’t.
“How come he gets an apology after being kicked in the head, but I don’t get an apology for being abducted, tied up, and injected with shit?” Niro says as he throws down two large rolls that look like oversized bolillos.
I tip my head in Clutch’s direction. “Because he’s being stoic about it and not telling me I owe it to him to hold his hand.”
Saint rather annoyingly ruffles my hair. “I think I’m going to like you, Catalina.”
Clutch huffs. “Jury’s still out over here, but you get bonus points for pointing out Niro’s being a pussy.”
“I’m not a fan ofpussybeing used in that context,” I say.
“I’m not a big fan of being kicked in the head, but here we are. In my clubhouse,” Clutch replies.
Saint takes his coffee and follows Clutch out of the kitchen.
“So, what happens now?” I ask.
Niro rustles around in the fridge and grabs an armful of ingredients. “Well, first I’m gonna slice the hoagies open, and then I’m going to chop up some peppers and shit.”
“Okay, first, what’s a hoagie? And that’s not what I meant.”
Niro lifts the bread. Flirtation is written all over his face. His eyes flash with it. “If you’re from Jersey, it’s ahoagie. The rest of the world calls it asub.”
“Everywhere else that speaks American English. I mean, the world has nearly eight billion people on it, and I bet a quarter, maybe a half a billion people speak American English.”
Niro just looks at me, his mouth slightly open. “What?”
“You just spoke as if the rest of the world speaks your version of English.”
Biting down on his lower lip, he thinks for a moment. “Am I in trouble? Because this feels a lot like school when Mrs. Green used to tell me I was talking shit.”
I laugh. “No teacher ever told you you were talking shit.”
Niro slices the hoagie. “Got told I was dumb as dirt once too. Yet somehow, I stay on top of the finances of the club.”
“You’re the treasurer?”
