chapter 138

Trystan

“Surprised to see that you have a fucking doorstep when Dolores Fisher is sleeping in a tent.” Dolores is just shy of ancient with bad hips and a hernia she likes to bring up every other sentence. But she’s a great lady, and an institution in the West Pack.

Unfortunately, Cooper doesn’t have an ounce of empathy in him.

“The woman survived two heart attacks. Nothing short of a gunshot wound to the head’s gonna nail her.” He leans a hip against the door and eyes me. “What do you want?”

“Can we come in?” I demand, a little impatiently. “We’re not here to admire the garden shed.”

Cooper’s shit-eating grin spreads wider, and he steps back, opening the door to let us pass into the dimly lit room. He looks at Sable like he wants to take her for a test drive, a flash of interest in his eyes. It takes all my willpower not to lay him out on the floor like the trash he is just for looking at her the wrong way.

The place is literally a garden shed—one room, walls lined with gardening tool