Many thanks to midnightandahalf for her help in keeping it real and keeping it readable. All mistakes are mine alone.

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Chapter 6

I come awake instantly and do a quick assessment. Not my bed. Warm body draped across mine. Steph. I grab my watch from the stand beside me. 0458. I turn the alarm off so it doesn't wake her up in two minutes. I can manage on less than two hours of sleep but she can't. I move out from under her slowly so I don't disturb her. I slide the pillow I was laying on under her arm and feel a little envious of it when she hugs it close. She murmurs my name and my dick hardens. She was moaning and crying out my name not too long ago.

I resist the urge to crawl back in bed, and instead grab my clothes off the chair. A quick shower removes the lingering smell of sex and I dress in gym shorts and a t-shirt. No one would say a word if I showed up at the Rangeman gym reeking and wearing yesterday's clothes, but my private life is none of their business.

I move to the kitchen to write a quick note. Her grocery list is on the top sheet. Buy bullets? Sweet mother of God. I'll make sure to leave a box in her cookie jar later. I rip the next page out of the pad.

Dinner at 7 on 7?

I know better than to make it a statement. She hates to be told what to do. Indecision is a foreign emotion, and causes me to pause, pen poised over the paper. All in, remember Manoso?

Love, Carlos

I stare at the note. I haven't signed a note or letter like that since mi Abuela made me write home to my mother each week after I was exiled to Miami as a teenager.

I leave the page propped against the coffee maker. Time to get my day started. Tank is meeting me to spar at 0530. Then there will be clients to stroke, systems to approve, and paperwork. Always paperwork. Slick's off-duty following his shootout last night, so covering his patrol will at least get me out of the office for a while.

The grill of Tank's F150 is in my rear view as I pull into the garage under Rangeman. If it were Santos there would be a smart ass comment, but Tank just gives me a nod as we head up the stairs to the third floor gym.

"You're lookin' a little tired this mornin', Rangeman," Tank says. "You sure you're up to this?"

"What are you, my mother?" We circle each other on the mats. I won't admit this to anyone, but I'm dragging a little this morning. Another indication I'm getting to be an old man playing at a young man's game.

I feint and he lunges, just like I knew he would. I use his momentum to drive him to the mat. He's too well trained to be provoked but I try anyway. "Looks like you're the one taking a nap."

He's fast for a large man and before my brain registers the leg sweep, I'm on my back staring at the ceiling. Fucker. An arm locks around one of my legs taking away my leverage. I pivot, turn into him and bring my other leg up. His neck is thicker than an average man and the sleeper hold is more a distraction than a defensive maneuver.

We don't need words in the sparring ring. We communicate with a grunt or expulsion of air from a well placed kick; the sound of flesh striking flesh; the thud as a body hits the mat. Strike, block, counter. Muscle memory from hours spent sparring with each other.

He lands a lucky punch to my ribs, drawing a hiss of pain."Where's your head, man? Cause it sure as hell isn't here."

"Fuck off." I know he's trying to get under my skin. Maybe I'm not at the top of my game this morning, but I don't owe him or anyone an explanation.

Others are entering the gym to begin their morning workout, but I can feel their eyes on us as we continue to spar. Bobby once told me watching Tank and me spar is like watching a violently choreographed dance between two Titans.

At the end of our session I'm feeling every punch, kick, and take down. We never hold back, but it feels like there was something else going on with Tank.

"You got a problem with me this morning?" I ask as we start our cool down stretch.

"Might say that," he responds, rolling his head to loosen the muscles in his thick neck.

I wait. If he has something to say, he'll say it. Without another word, he walks away from the mats and heads for the locker rooms. Guess he's not ready to share.

I head to seven to grab a quick shower before I start my work day. I should have time to get through some paperwork before my first meeting. No way in hell I'm working late tonight if I can help it. That reminds me, Steph needs wheels. I message Hank and tell him to drop off a fleet vehicle for her later this morning. Then I text Al to see if there is an update on what caused the fire in the one she was using yesterday.

With that taken care of, now I can focus on the three security system designs that need to be approved. They're pretty standard, but I take my time to make sure we're giving the best possible coverage. There's a reason Rangeman Security has the reputation for being top of the line and I intend to keep it that way.

A quick glance at my calendar confirms my memory. Two client meetings back to back this morning. Slick's patrol this afternoon. I should be able to swing by the PD to pick up the reports I need on the Frati Jewelers break-in. And as long as nothing goes to shit, I'll be back in plenty of time to meet Steph.