Niro (Henchmen MC Next Generation #1) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,1

all the wood and scream at the top of his lungs. A three-legged dog who refused to accept that he wasn't capable of jumping up on the couch like the rest of the dogs. A snake that once got loose and burrowed into the heating system for two days before we finally found out where it was and got one of the bikers' kids to go in and grab it.

"That's not happy," she told me, sounding sadder than ever. "The poor mama was probably looking for her babies. They do, you know. Animals aren't as heartless and dumb as people think. Mama bunnies will spend hours looking for them, thinking they just got away from the nest somewhere. It's devastating to think about."

Yep. That was an angle I hadn't considered. And I was out of other ideas. Nothing in my life had been very bright. At least not since she went away, taking the fucking sun with her, it seemed.

"Tell me what happened," I demanded instead, knowing she was someone who always needed to talk it out, to purge the pain so she could move past it.

There was a long pause, long enough for me to check to make sure the call was still connected. Then, with a cracking voice, she told me.

"He broke up with me."

I was already off the bed, grabbing my jeans from the day before off the floor, pulling them up, sticking my feet into shoes, grabbing a t-shirt.

"I'm on my way."

"You can't come here," she told me, trying to hold in a sob. "It's hours and hours away."

"I have hours and hours to spare," I told her, all ideas of sleep or work in a few hours forgotten. "I will text you when I'm close, okay? So you can unlock the door."

"Okay," she agreed, hanging up.

"Hey, Nugget," I called, rousing the small copper poodle mix from his chosen spot on one of Andi's sweatshirts covering his massive dog bed, liking to be close to her smell. She brought or sent him new ones every month or so for that very purpose. "Your Mom is sad. We have to go cheer her up," I told him, moving off into the main area of the compound I was calling home while I prospected. I grabbed his leash as he followed behind me, tail—and his entire butt—waggling like he knew where we were going.

He has to stay with you, Andi had insisted when she'd been packing for college. You're the one who helped me save him.

That was partly true. She had rushed into a half-frozen stream to save a cold, emaciated Nugget, fallen, and whacked her head off a rock. I had rushed in to save her. Then once I was sure she was at the hospital recovering, I went back for the dog, knowing she would never forgive herself for not being able to save him.

I wasn't supposed to have a pet at the clubhouse. Least of all an anxious little ankle-biter who howled and shook when there was thunder or fireworks, who had a penchant for eating shoes, who sometimes pissed when he got too excited. But since Andi was the offspring of one of the patched members—as was I—they'd made a concession.

It was sappy and pathetic to admit, but I wanted him because it was a part of her I got to keep. And also an insurance that I would see her again. No matter what happened in her life, what roads might lead her away from me, I knew she would always come back for Nugget.

I grabbed the keys for the club's SUV, knowing I would get an ass-kicking for taking it without asking but figuring that was a problem for my future self, then hopping in, and getting on my way.

Hours and hours away was actually only two. Stony Brook was in New York, just a stone's throw from our hometown in Navesink Bank, New Jersey.

I drove it in a blur, giving the middle finger to speed limits, trying to make it there in one and a half.

Andi's parents had splurged for an apartment just off campus, wanting her to have privacy, to have spare room for them to come visit, to be able to secretly take in her strays to help them recoup before finding them homes. She couldn't technically keep a pet, but she managed to hold onto some for a little while.

She lived on the fourth floor in a corner unit. I'd texted when I'd pulled into the lot, and