Tex (Hell's Ankhor #5) - Aiden Bates Page 0,29

the floor.

“That kind of behavior’s not tolerated here, buddy,” I told the guy firmly. “Heath, call Gunnar.”

The side door opened. “Not necessary.”

Tex walked into the front room with Siren and Maverick close behind him. He was wearing a pair of Ankhor Works work coveralls halfway off, the arms tied around his slim waist. The sleeves of his plain black t-shirt were cuffed around his biceps, and the shirt stretched across the muscle of his pecs. Even though he was in a work uniform, he still wore the Stetson, and somehow it didn’t look out of place.

Determined, serious anger was clear in the set of his jaw, and I gripped the guy’s wrist tighter to keep myself focused. Tex was distracting when he got like this—low-voiced and angry and badass.

I remembered it being easier to be around him a few years ago. He’d gotten stronger, tougher, more… capable since I’d been gone. And I liked it. I liked it a little too much for my own good.

Jonah cleared his throat, and when I glanced his way, he gave me a knowing look.

I turned my attention back to the complaining biker under me. If I wanted to show Tex I was a reliable enforcer, I probably shouldn’t get so obviously distracted when he just walked into the room.

Unfortunately for me, though, I had a feeling that not showing my cards might be my biggest challenge in the weeks to come.

8

Tex

I wiped away the sweat beading on my brow beneath the brim of my hat. Despite the air conditioner’s best efforts, the shop still grew hot and sticky with the engines and the early summer heat outside.

The heat was not helping my mood. I was annoyed, and pissed off, mostly at myself. Why had I said that to Jazz yesterday? Right when things had started to even out between us. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him—I did, I trusted him with my life—but I knew that all it would take was one slip-up for him to end up out of the club, or back in jail, after his past mistakes. And with my new duties as road captain, I wouldn’t be around to keep an eye on him. The thought that he could end up...somewhere not with me? Was unacceptable.

“Hey, Tex.” Maverick walked up, toweling sweat off his head. “Everything good over here?”

I nodded distractedly. The truck I was working on needed new spark plugs—an easy fix, and I was pretty much finished.

“You sure?” Maverick asked. “You’ve been a little off all day.”

Siren was in the shop as well, working as enforcer, and she hopped down from where she was sitting on the trunk of a fancy sedan waiting on a tire rotation. “He’s right,” she said. “You’re distracted.”

“Sorry,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll pick up the pace.”

“Your pace isn’t what I’m worried about,” Maverick said. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Jazz, isn’t it?” Siren narrowed her eyes accusingly at me. “He ended up with me yesterday, running through the training—I’d been shocked he wasn’t learning it from you. What’d you do?”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Siren never beat around the bush, nor pulled her punches. “I said something shitty to him yesterday.”

“Shitty how?” Maverick pressed.

I grimaced with shame as I recalled the brokenhearted look on Jazz’s face when I’d said it. “I told him I was worried he’d repeat his past mistakes.”

“Oh, yikes,” Siren said.

“Because,” I said defensively, “He really needs this second chance, and I don’t know if Blade will be so willing to give him a third. It’s hard for me to believe he can jump from prison right into enforcing. That’s a hard transition for anyone.”

Maverick exhaled, and then pressed his lips together. “I don’t blame him for being pissed. I’d be pissed, too, if I were him.”

I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I know. I don’t know why I said that—why I said it the way I did.”

Talking to Jazz was like talking to myself—I had no filter. I just said whatever came to mind, bouncing thoughts off him until they made sense to me. And I’d never given it a second thought. Now, though, I had to wonder—had I hurt him like this before, and he just wasn’t willing to tell me?

Damn, I could really be a dick sometimes.

It’s just that I couldn’t get the nagging thought out of my mind of him ending up back in prison, of being separated from me again, buried in my brain like a splinter. Jazz