From The Inferno by Leah Sharelle

Author:Leah Sharelle [Sharelle, Leah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-14T18:30:00+00:00

“So how are things going with your neighbour?” Hoove asked me three hours later. After the meeting about Knox, Mike thought that busying ourselves with some good old-fashioned truck washing was in order. So here we were, soaping up truck number two out in the yard. Washing wasn’t enough for Mike, though. Oh no, he thought a thorough polishing of every single chrome piece on the trucks would be fun, too.

Fun my arse. This part of the job was more of a punishment than a morale-building exercise. Heaving out a sigh, I faced Hoove.

“Did you grow a vagina, Hoove? Why is my relationship with Jamie any interest to you,” I asked with a snarl, but I was only pulling his leg. Hoove and I had a close bond. Jason might have been the one to pull my head out of my arse years ago, but it had been Hoove and Carson that pulled me out of a gutter, drunk as a skunk. They saw that I made it to work on time after a major bender or picked up the slack around the farm when I was too hungover to get out of bed. Without them, I shuddered to think where I would be today.

All of that didn’t stop me from yanking Hoove’s chain just a bit.

“As a matter of fact, mate, I am very much in tune with my feminine side. Tate tells me regularly it blows her mind how much I know about the workings of the female mind.”

“Oh, really. Do you also know what sarcasm is? Maybe you should ask Tate,” I said, ribbing him. I had no doubt Tate deserved a trophy for being the most tolerant wife in the world.

“Is this avoiding the question, Chase?”

“Fine. Yes, everything is going well with Jamie. We are taking things slow and steady, but as far as I am concerned, she is the one for me.”

Hoove dropped the sponge in his hand to the bucket at his feet, a big old fat smile on his ugly mug.

“Well, I will admit that is good news, mate. She suits you, Chase, even better than Melly did,” Hoove said quietly. Hoove might be a big guy in size and very intimidating to those who didn’t know him, and to some who did, but the man was a marshmallow inside.

Whenever he spoke of Prue or Mel, he used a quiet, respectful, almost reverent tone of voice. He surprised the shit out of me six months after Prue died when he came to work one day with a small ladybug tattoo, no bigger than a five cent piece, on the inside of his wrist to honour the life of Prue. My little bug.

I am man enough to admit I cried when he showed me. The next day, I went and got one for myself, my first and only tattoo.

Hoove felt shit deep, but not many other than the guys he worked with, his family, and his wife saw that in him. He even had

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