Renegade - Kristin Coley Page 0,2

for you, but it is for me,” I replied and her face twisted into a pout.

“You just had me,” she retorted, her hand sweeping over the bed. “Three times, if I counted correctly. You didn’t mind sharing then.”

“I just got out of prison,” I commented, leaning back as her hand came up to slap me. “I wouldn’t turn down a good fuck, but I’m not sharing an old lady.” Her gaze threatened to blister me as I picked up the shirt I’d dropped, about to tug it over my head, when her hand on my side caused me to pause.

“You didn’t have this before,” she murmured, tracing the reddened ridge of flesh on my side. “A knife?”

“Shiv,” I muttered, yanking the shirt down and covering the still healing scar. “It’s nothing.” She eyed me, her ire disappearing under sudden curiosity.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” I repeated, tugging my jeans out from under her leather pants. She made a noncommittal sound, but didn’t press the point to my relief. I had to make a conscious effort not to cover the wound with my palm as the memory of a pair of terrified doe eyes flashed through my mind. I shook off the recollection as I started to pull on my jeans.

“Come back to bed,” she invited, patting the bed beside her. “I won’t mention your girlfriend again,” she promised, looking about as trustworthy as any naked redhead could while lying on silk sheets. “Scout’s honor.”

“Ex,” I muttered under my breath, my gaze sweeping the floor for my boots. I raised my voice. “I’ve been gone long enough,” I excused, not wanting to admit I was no longer interested. I didn’t delve too deeply into why as the wound on my side throbbed, a reminder that I’d done at least one selfless deed in my life.

I stuffed my feet into boots and ran my hand over my jaw, the short stubble scraping my palm. I hadn’t allowed myself to have a beard in over three years and the scruff felt strange.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped as I walked to the door and I hesitated. “I don’t want you to go,” she admitted, swallowing.

“I was never going to stay,” I said unapologetically and she flinched. “There’s only one place I belong. One place I call home.” She kneeled on the bed as I strode out the door, the need to see my brothers again driving me forward.

I didn’t bother to look back.

Chapter Two

Sloan

“Be careful,” Creed reminded me, a soft smile on his lips as he watched me leave the house. I waved cheerfully, backing the old truck out as I made my way to the salon. My phone rang before I’d even turned down the street and I answered, thinking it was Creed.

“You can’t possibly miss me already,” I giggled and silence met me. “Not Creed, huh?”

“No,” Johnny answered dryly. “Have you heard from Clutch?”

“No, but I know Crew talked to him and he’ll be here tonight.”

“Everything’s good with the homecoming bash?”

“Uh huh,” I replied, being careful to keep to the speed limit as I hit Friendly’s main street. “Norah is bringing the cake. Tori and Cord are in charge of decorations.” Johnny snorted. “They offered!” I inhaled through my nose, striving for patience. “Hank and Mary are cooking. Micah says she has the liquor under control.”

“Crew and Drea?”

I paused, trying to decide how to answer that without giving them away. “Oh look, I’m here. I’ve got to go. Bye.” I hung up before he could respond, then turned off my phone, for good measure. I hopped out of the truck, checking for oncoming traffic before walking toward the front of Ronnie’s salon. I’d thought about just going around the back to pick up Kara, but I wanted to check in with Candy to see if she was coming to Clutch’s homecoming party.

The red and white barber pole spun lazily, a throwback to when the place had been the sole domain of men, a far cry from its new life. Most of the club still came here for haircuts to support Ronnie since she was Hank’s daughter. It also didn’t hurt that she employed a few former club girls like Candy. The salon was considered classy by Friendly standards but I thought Ronnie had managed to create her own version of Steel Magnolias, Friendly-style.

The bells jangled when I walked in and I was greeted by several voices, one in particular standing out.

“Jailbait.” The nickname was said with affection and I sauntered toward Noah, planting a smacking kiss