Page 102 of Property of Tacoma

“Don’t even start,” Tacoma shoots back, his eyes narrowed. “Can’t have some punk sniffing around my daughter.”

“They’re ten, honey,” I point out. “I don’t think there’s any kind of sniffing around going on.”

“Don’t care if they’re five,” Tacoma grumbles, dropping down beside me and pulling me against his side. “No boys.”

Mason laughs, his eyes lit up with amusement. “Just wait until she’s sixteen. You’re really gonna lose your mind then.”

“I’ll lock her in her room,” Tacoma mutters darkly.

Saylor sighs dramatically and plops down on the grass in front of us, pulling out her phone. Within seconds, she’s completely absorbed in whatever game she’s playing.

“Where’s Jagger?” I ask, scanning the crowd.

“Over there,” Tacoma nods toward the basketball toss booth where Jagger is showing off for a group of girls. “My boy’s got game.”

“Bit of a double standard, don’t you think?” Mason says with a grin.

“Fuck off,” Tacoma grumbles, squeezing me tighter against his side.

I roll my eyes. “You two are ridiculous.”

They both look at me and grin, and I shake my head.

This—them getting along—is still kinda weird for me.

Two months ago, these two were at each other’s throats. Now they’re thick as thieves, trading insults and laughing like old friends.

I still don’t know exactly what happened that night after we got Jagger back. All I know is that Mason and a half dozen Saints showed up at the clubhouse, and right after, he and Tacoma disappeared into Tacoma’s office for hours.

When they finally emerged, both of them were drunk off their asses. Tacoma had a black eye and a busted lip, and Mason’s knuckles were bruised and swollen.

When I asked Tacoma about it later, he just shrugged and said he had it coming.

Men.

They’re so dumb sometimes.

A yawn escapes before I can stop it, and I quickly cover my mouth with my hand.

Mason pops a brow. “You tired?”

“A little,” I admit. “It was a long job.”

“Why don’t you let me watch the kids?” he offers, surprising the shit out of me. My brother isn’t what you’d consider babysitter material. “Tacoma can take you home to rest.”

I open my mouth to protest, but another yawn cuts me off.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Tacoma says, standing and pulling me up with him. “You’ve been running yourself ragged, Angel.”

“I’m fine?—”

“You’re exhausted,” he interrupts, cupping my face in his hands. “Let your brother watch the kids for a couple of hours. We’ll come back and get them later.”

I look at Mason, who just shrugs. “I got this, sis. Go home and rest.”

“You sure?” I ask, feeling guilty about leaving.

“Positive,” he confirms. “Besides, Cora and Beckett are on their way.” He pulls out his phone and glances down at the screen. “They should be here any minute, actually.”