Page 6 of Surrender (Angels Halo MC Next Gen)

Rage.

Jealousy.

It was a dangerous cocktail. “Shouldn’t you already be at work?”

His head snapped around. Even with his sunglasses on, I could tell he’d narrowed his eyes on me. “You already busting my balls, little brother?”

“If they need busting, sure.” I stepped around the front of my truck, glaring up at the third floor. “Stop manhandling my new intern.”

Mine.

Pull it together, you dumb fuck.

He dropped his hands like he’d been electrocuted. “Shit. Sorry, Sammy. Did I hurt you?”

“I’m good,” she said with another laugh. Was she flirting with him?Deep breaths. Don’t kill your brother.“I guess I should go. My boss seems to be in a mood. Maybe we can run into each other like this again tomorrow. I kind of like being manhandled.”

Noted.

“You’re dangerous,” he said with a half-amused, half-pained groan.

I could picture the hole I wanted to throw him into before turning on the cement mixer and watching it cover him. I’d keep him alive and conscious so he could feel the terror while it slowly hardened, making it impossible for his lungs to expand, cutting off his ability to breathe completely.

“Get your asses to work,” I called up to them, opening the driver’s side door with such force, it was a wonder I didn’t rip it off.

They were still standing there when I pulled into traffic. My brother had his head thrown back, laughing his ass off, while Samara had her hand on his arm.

Yeah, she was fucking flirting.

Did shelikehim?

Reid was too old for her.

So are you, dumbass.

Telling myself I didn’t care, I stopped at Aggie’s for a breakfast sandwich and a few pastries for the office staff. My mom would appreciate a treat, and the receptionist—whatever her name was, I couldn’t remember it for shit—always seemed to work better with a little sugar incentive on Mondays.

As I ordered from the waitress at the counter, looking at the options beneath the miniature glass displays, I wondered what Samara would like the most. They didn’t have a lot to choose from, unlike at the little bakery across town that had a selection of every pastry, muffin, donut, and dessert. Aunt Quinn bought the diner’s pastries from a single mom who needed extra cash. She baked them every night and then dropped them off on her way to her job every morning.

I thought these were more delicious than the ones the coffee shop/bakery sold, but maybe Samara would want a chocolate-filled croissant. Or one of those coffees that required a foreign language degree to order…

Irritated, I picked a few extra assorted muffins and paid for the food. Ten minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot at work just as Samara was getting out of her car.

“Do you prefer apple-cinnamon or blueberry muffins?” I called, reaching back in for the box and coffee.

Curious, she met me at the rear of my truck. “Are those my only options?”

“There was one double-chocolate—”

“Dibs!” she cried before I could finish, making me laugh. “Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

“Glad I got it, then.” Opening the box, I let her snatch the muffin. Falling into step together, we walked toward the front door. “You have a good chat with Reid?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t realize how easy he is to talk to. He always seemed so standoffish in the past. But really, he’s just…intense.”

I paused to open the door, jaw flexing, fingers clenched so hard on the door handle they ached. “And you like intense?”

“It can be fun,” she said with a smirk.

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