Page 22 of Heart of Stone

“Actually,” a gravelly voice interrupts. Duck appears behind Hawk, squeezing past him into the kitchen. “Itisour problem. Club business.”

Hawk’s jaw ticks. “Duck.”

“Hawk.” Duck helps himself to coffee. “Ginger had a good idea.”

“Ginger has shit ideas.”

“Hey!” Ginger protests.

“The prospects need something to do,” Duck continues as if no one else is speaking. “And the clubhouse has the most space.”

“There are hotels—” I start.

“Which cost money you need for other things,” Duck cuts in. “Like diapers. And food. And lawyer fees.”

I deflate. He isn’t wrong.

“Besides,” Duck adds with faux innocence, “having you here makes it easier to keep an eye on things. With all the…problems… in the neighborhood lately.”

Something ugly crawls into my stomach. “Problems? What problems?”

Duck and Hawk exchange a look—one loaded with meaning I can’t decipher.

“Fine,” Hawk growls. “One night.”

“A week,” Duck counters.

“Two days.”

“Five.”

“Three,” I interrupt. Both of them turn to me. “I’ll call the utility company tomorrow and get this sorted. It’ll probably take another day, maybe two, to turn it all back on.”

“Deal,” Duck agrees with a satisfied smile. “Welcome to the clubhouse, kid.” He ruffles my hair then points a finger at the prospects who are hovering nearby. “No parties or public displays of affection until these kids are outta the house–you got me?”

Whatever answer the prospects may have offered is lost as Adam chooses right now to spit up all over Ginger’s shoulder.

“That’s my boy,” I mutter, reaching for napkins. “Showing them exactly what they’re getting into.”

Ginger laughs, already heading for the sink. “Please. You think this is the worst bodily fluid that’s been in this kitchen?”

“Or on your body, for that matter,” Tank says, strolling into the kitchen. “Need a hand, babe?”

“I got it.”

“And on that note,” I say quickly, “I need to get the girls ready for?—”

“Already done,” Ginger sings out. “Steel’s got them dressed and their teeth brushed.”

I blink. “How did you?—”

“I’m efficient.” She winks. “And Steel’s good at following orders. Speaking of…” She turns to Hawk. “Your room or the guest room?”

The muscle in Hawk’s jaw jumps. “Guest.”

“Shame.” She grins. “Your room has so much more… space.”

If looks could kill, Ginger would be a smoking crater in the floor.