Page 14 of Hot as Hell (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #2)

Chapter Twelve

Leaning over the pool table, Hemlock lined up the winning shot.

Truck and Razor should know better than to bet him in pool.

“Eightball corner pocket, boys,” Hemlock called his shot, stood back, and smiled watching as the cue ball sailed down the rail knocking the eight ball into the corner pocket.

He loved the look on his brothers’ faces when he beat them.

Like it was a shock. The look never got old.

“Son of a bitch,” Truck said, shaking his head and laughing as Razor tossed the pool stick on the table. “I swear I don’t know why I subject myself to this crap.”

“Lucky bastard.” Grumbling, Razor dug money from his wallet. One day he would learn not to bet against the kid.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, boys,” Hemlock responded as he picked up his beer. Everyone had something they were good at—pool was his. Well, pool and a few other things. However, luck with the ladies was not one.

Thinking about ladies, he thought about the girl he was currently sharing his home with. Determined not to be distracted by Charlie Rose, he answered Truck’s question, “The answer to your question, Truck. You’re a sucker for a bet.”

Truck laughed and tipped his beer back. Taking a sip, he watched Hemlock rack the balls again. “So, tell me why you’re here and not at the house with cinnamon girl?”

Hemlock knew it would come up at some point with the brothers. It was common when he was involved with the fairer sex. “I gave her a place to stay, it doesn’t mean she owes me anything.”

“Is that because you’re scared of her kisses?” Razor asked before he burst into laughter.

Hemlock saw where the conversation was going.

As he slowly sipped his beer, he listened as the brothers ragged on him before commenting.

Unless his luck with women changed, he would continue to be the butt of his brothers’ jokes.

What was he supposed to say, that Charlie was right up his alley.

Having her in his home kept him awake at night.

That everything from the smell of her shampoo to the way she walked through a room grabbed his attention.

“Hemlock!” Truck snapped his fingers, bringing the kid’s attention back to the now. He knew that look; Hemlock was into Charlie Rose Cote. It would end like the rest had before her, with Hemlock disappointed.

“What?” Damn, he really needed to get his mind off the girl.

“Break the rack, brother.” Truck pointed to the balls on the table. “Where were you just now?”

Ignoring the question, Hemlock turned his attention to the game. “Hold your horses. Are you in a hurry to lose?” Hemlock set his beer down and chalked his stick. He needed to keep his head on the game. Lining up his stick with the cue ball he shot the stick forward, breaking the rack—badly.

“That was a crappy break.” Razor chuckled.

“You can break next time, asshole.” Hemlock set his pool stick aside and took a seat as he waited for the others to take their shots.

Lighting a clove cigarette, he watched Truck and Razor pondering their moves.

He could tell they were waiting for him to tell them about Charlie.

The question was, did he want to talk about her with them.

It was one thing to talk to Truck about shit, but Razor he wasn’t sure about. Not yet.

Truck stood holding his pool stick in front of him as he watched Razor lining up his shot.

Glancing over at Hemlock, he worried the kid was falling for the pretty brunette staying at his house.

The girl was a pretty thing. Hell, if Hemlock hadn’t met her first, he would think about making a move on her himself.

“Hemlock’s somewhere else tonight.” Truck heard Razor say when he leaned into him.

“He’ll talk to us in his time.” Turning his attention to Hemlock he saw the kid was deep in thought. Truck left him sitting quietly and waited his turn at the table.

“Razor, how’s Lottie doing at the clinic?” Truck asked trying to take the focus off Hemlock.

“She’s a great addition to the staff. If I can keep Dr. Primo from running her off with his offhanded remarks and insults,” Razor said, sinking the cue ball.

Leaning over, Truck waited for the cue ball to roll out. “I’m sure Lottie can handle herself with the old man,” he commented placing the ball on the table.

Razor chalked his stick. “I think he asked her out and she turned him down.”

Truck choked on his beer. That was an image he didn’t want to have in his head. “How old is the doc? 108?” Truck asked, smirking.

“Nah, he just looks ancient,” Razor commented as he watched Truck sink his shot. Setting his beer on the rail he lined up his next shot. It took Razor three consecutive shots to win the game and take Truck’s money. “Brother you should stop betting on pool.”

“No shit,” Truck mumbled. Putting the stick in the wall rack, he took a seat next to Hemlock.

“My turn?” Hemlock asked when Truck sat down by him.

“Nope. We played without you. Razor won.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Hemlock shrugged. “Sorry.”

“That girl’s got you distracted.” Truck laughed, shaking his head. Before he could ask Hemlock what was bugging him about Charlie, Razor asked if they wanted another beer. “Grab us a bottle of Lalo. We need to loosen Hemlock’s lips.”

“Maybe he needs some lip gloss.” Razor winked at the kid, razzing him before walking over to the bar.

“She’s going to drive me nuts by the time she can move out,” Hemlock muttered.

Truck choked as he swallowed his beer. He coughed trying to catch his breath. Hemlock always managed to say something stupid when he wasn’t ready. “Fucker, you trying to kill me?”

What he wanted to tell Truck was that his dick liked her more than the head between his shoulders, but Truck would probably choke to death hearing him say that. “Nope.”

Laughing, Truck drew Hemlock’s attention while Razor was at the bar. “What’s going on with Razor and Lottie?”

“He refuses to admit he’s into her, but I see Razor watching Lottie all the time. I’ve even seen text messages between the two.”

“Are they scathing messages?” Truck waggled his eyebrows hoping for some juicy gossip.

“What are the two of you whispering about?” Razor asked as he walked back toward them.

“You,” Hemlock said without hesitation.

“Nothing,” Truck said, staring off like a guilty child as he chuckled.

“Which is it?” Razor said holding the glasses and the bottle of tequila.

Truck tried but failed and busted out laughing. “You and your denial about how you feel about a certain goth girl.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. I’m not interested in my nurse.” Razor cut his eyes between the two men.

“If you say so,” Truck and Hemlock said in unison.

Setting down the bottle of Lalo and the glasses, Razor dropped down into a chair choosing to ignore Truck and Hemlock curiosity about Lottie.

To take the heat off himself, he turned the conversation towards Hemlock and his house quest or guest, depending how the situation was looked at. “How’s Charlie?”

Hemlock lifted his head, which he’d just laid back against the chairs headrest. “She’s fine.”

“I noticed that.” Razor saw how quickly Hemlock’s head snapped around. Smirking, Razor stared at the kid and wanted for Hemlock to say something. When he received no response, Razor asked, “No comment?”

Glaring at Razor, Hemlock sneered at him, “Sometimes I think you’re a nice guy. Other times not so much.”

“Don’t be a princess.” Razor chuckled at the brother’s discomfort when talking about Charlie. He knew the feeling. Uncomfortable was one feeling he experienced regularly when talking about Lottie.

“Okay. Charlie’s sexy and pretty. She’s also the type of girl I’d love to be wrapped up in. Unfortunately, I don’t think this is the best time for her.” Hemlock heard Truck chuckle as Razor nodded his head. “Go ahead, tell me how the two of you would take advantage of her.”

“Not me. I wouldn’t take advantage of a girl like Charlie,” Truck said while he crossed his fingers behind his back.

Razor laughed pouring the drinks out. “Liar. You’d take advantage of her quicker than the rest of us, Truck.”

“Yeah, I would. Damn, you know me so well, Razor.” Truck laughed.

Hemlock picked up a glass. “Both of you are shits,” he said before tossing back the tequila.

Truck did the same, hissing as the tequila hit his stomach. “You need to stop worrying about things going sideways and put yourself out there. She did almost kill you.” Truck’s tone serious as he reminded Hemlock of the cinnamon incident.

“I’ll think about it.” There was no way he’d tell them that most nights he showed Charlie to her room and after closing the door, he stand in the hallway debating with himself before going to his room alone.They’d have a field day with that fact.

Tipping back his beer he thought about taking the next step with Charlie.

His phone ringing broke into his thoughts.

Seeing it was Charlie, he answered it, “Hey, you home?”

“No. I just walked out the door and found the car has a flat,” tapping her fingers against the steering wheel as she told Hemlock about the tire. She hated making the call, but she didn’t know where to even find the spare.

“Can your boss stay with you until I get there?”

Glancing at the restaurant through the rear-view mirror, she couldn’t go back inside because the alarm had been set. “Everyone’s gone. I closed by myself tonight.”

“Okay, stay in the car and lock the doors.”

She tried for humor. “Not to be fresh, but I’m not gonna stand outside of the car.”

Hearing her words for what they were… worry, he didn’t entertain them. “I’m on my way.”

“What’s going on?” Truck asked seeing the worried look on Hemlock’s face.

“Charlie just walked out of work to find the car has a flat.” Shoving off the sofa Hemlock said off handily, “I just put those tires on the car.”

“Hang on, I’m rolling with ya.” Truck said, getting to his feet. There were no coincidences in their world. And with Charlie’s exes something could be going on.

“Wait, I’m coming too,” Razor said as he tossed back the shot of Lalo. “It’s better to have plenty of backup.”

When they arrived, Hemlock found Charlie sitting in the car with the doors locked.

She looked every bit freaked out. He couldn’t blame her, the parking lot of her workplace was ill lit.

With the large dumpsters and beaten up wooden fence that was partially missing, the place looked like crackhead central.

Walking up to the car, he saw when she noticed him and gave her a little wave.

Signaling for her to roll down the window, he told her to stay in the car while they changed the tire.

Once the flatten tire was off and swapped out for the spare, Hemlock inspected the tire, searching for a nail or something that would have punctured it.

What he found was a large gash in the tire wall.

Hemlock cursed under his breath. A gash like that wasn’t something you’d get from a nail or a sharp object lying around. It wasn’t just a flat tire; it was deliberately done. Someone had slashed it.

He stood and wiped his hands on a rag, glancing around the parking lot. The shadows were thick, the kind that made you feel like you were being watched, even though there was no one around. The dumpsters loomed like silent witnesses to whatever had gone down.

He turned to the car where Charlie was still staring wide-eyed out the window, her hand gripping the door handle like she was ready to make a run for it.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm but with an edge to it, “you good?”

Charlie nodded quickly; her expression still frazzled. “Yeah, I … Idon’t know how it happened.”

“Don’t worry,” he cut her off gently, “it’s not your fault. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. It’s not random.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered, her voice dropping.

Hemlock’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to say something reassuring, but he didn’t know if he could. Something felt off, and it wasn’t just the tire. It was the whole setup, the vibe of the place. The way the air felt too still, too quiet. He wasn’t one for coincidences or random acts.

“Let’s head home.” He’d be right behind her, making sure nothing else happened to her or his car.

Charlie couldn’t sleep. The nightmares came in waves, each one wrenching her from rest with a sharp jolt. Finally, she threw back the covers and slipped out of bed, tugging Hemlock’s oversized T-shirt down around her thighs as she padded into the hall.

At the top of the staircase, she hesitated. The open space below felt vast and watching, so she quickened her steps, nearly hopping across it until she reached his door. She knocked softly, hoping she wasn’t waking him.

His voice came quietly from within.

She opened the door.

Hemlock sat propped against the headboard, a book in his hands, the page mid-turn. His expression was relaxed—until he saw her. Concern flickered across his face, replacing the calm. He set the book aside immediately.

“Charlie?” His voice was low, thick with sleep but lined with instinctive tenderness. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he could see it. The tightness in her shoulders, the pale cast to her skin.

“Nightmare?” he guessed.

She nodded, unable to speak past the knot in her throat. Her fingers clung to the hem of the shirt, like holding herself together.

Hemlock moved at once. “You’re cold,” he murmured, guiding her to the bed. His hands were steady as he pulled back the blankets. “Here—climb in.”

The moment she slid beneath the covers, his warmth reached her.

Hemlock’s brow furrowed slightly as he shifted in beside her. Serious, but calm—like always. “I’ll stay right here,” he said gently, helping her settle against the pillows. “You’re safe here.”

And she believed him.

He didn’t rush her. He didn’t press. He just sat with her—his presence solid and grounding as the nightmare’s shadow slowly began to recede.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly. No pressure. Just the offer.

Charlie shook her head. She didn’t have the energy to drag the dream into the light. The woman with the knife still felt too real, like if she spoke it aloud, she might summon her all over again.

For now, she just needed the silence. The stillness Hemlock offered.

And that was enough.