Page 26 of Nightmare’s Playground

“Just bringing you boys some fuel,” I lied, glancing around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nightmare.

I knew he was there somewhere.

I’d seen his bike outside when I pulled in.

He’d also been my babysitter for most of the day at the bakery, and I may or may not have eavesdropped on his conversation with Rookie before he left.

A conversation where he mentioned helping my brother for the rest of the day.

Not that I was stalking him or anything.

Okay, I was stalking him.

As though I had summoned him from my thoughts, the man who consumed too much of my thoughts came around the corner behind outlaw and halted in his tracks when he saw me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“My brother lives here,” I sassed.

“Please tell me you brought some of those chocolate twist things,” Hoss pleaded from the couch, giving me an excuse to turn away from Nightmare’s prying eyes.

“Well…” I drew the word out. “We sold out of those this morning.”

The big man frowned, and I almost felt bad for teasing him.

“But don’t look so glum, chum. I made a fresh batch before I came over.”

The frown on his handsome face instantly disappeared.

In the two weeks Alex and his men had been in town, they frequented Sinful Sweets almost daily, which was why I knew their orders by heart.

Hoss got the same thing every time he came in—four glazed chocolate twists.

“You’re an angel sent from the gods, woman. A literal angel,” he boomed.

I snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Then, with more finesse than a man his size should have, he hopped over the back of the black leather couch and relieved me of the boxes.

“Well, okay then.” I laughed.

Carrying the pink boxes to the island like they were precious jewels, Hoss ripped the tape off the top one and hollered, “Come and get it, boys.”

That was all it took.

One by one, my brother’s team came crawling out of the woodwork.

It was the funniest thing.

Six grown men were elbowing each other over the goodies inside the pink box like a pack of raccoons on a dumpster.

“That’s mine.”

“Fuck you. It’s mine.”

“Hoss, you fat fucker. You got four. Put one back.”

“Fuck off, Slim Jim.”