The cacophony of hair dryers whirling around the bustling beauty salon fails to capture my attention from the gossip that Sherrel and her old crew are exchanging.

"Jimmy was found all bloody, barely clinging to life," one of the ladies clamors with fervor, gesticulating animatedly with her hands.

"Poor Harold, he must be devastated," Sherrell adds.

"Maybe you should go over and cheer him up." The woman named Maddy bumps her elbow against Sherrell.

But their teasing can't distract me from the anxious flutter that tugs at my stomach. The day Jimmy tried to take advantage of me flutters to the forefront of my mind. Who knows what would have happened if it weren't for Nolan stepping in? Would anyone care?

I couldn't even sleep a wink that night, and Nolan's ruckus in the bathroom didn't help either. He left quite a mess of bloodied gauze in the bathroom's waste basket. To add to my sleepless night was a more eventful morning with the news constantly running on Jimmy's assault. They are still looking for witnesses, but no one has come forward.

I take a deep breath and steady myself as the truth sinks in. All signs lead to one suspect, Nolan, but why would he do this?

Because he cares. But I quickly dismiss that hypothesis.

Yet, that lingering feeling intensifies. My teeth gnaw nervously on my fingernails, betraying my inner turmoil. A warning glare from Sherrell urges me to remain silent. Not that I need any reminding. I have no intention of divulging my suspicion.

I can't help but feel relieved that Jimmy will no longer torment me. "God, what kind of human being am I to wish ill on someone," I whisper to myself.

"Did you say something, sweetheart?" The hairdresser appears next to me, placing a bottle of water in front of me.

"No-no, tha-tha-thank you, ma'am," I murmur as I stare into the hairdresser's brown eyes, silently begging her to help me.

These women around here, even though they look as harmless as a kitten, wouldn't bat an eyelash if I stuck a knife in your throat," Sherrell's words echo in my mind, unsettling me. I couldn't believe that she'd threatened me. Then again, she's a lady biker — the President of the Death Reapers — and would do anything for her grandson.

"Hopefully, he recovers really soon," Sherrell adds.

As we drive back to Sherrell's house in her old pickup, the tension is palpable, hanging thick in the air like a dark cloud. Sherrell appears unhappy, not with me, but with the entire Jimmy situation. We pull up to the house, and Nolan's motorcycle stands out against the colorful bed of flowers in the front yard. Sherrell hobbles over, and as she stands before the bike, a wave of sadness washes over her face.

As we step inside, Sherrell lets loose on Nolan. "God damn it, Nolan, what the fuck did you just do?" she screams.

Nolan sits on the couch with a beer in hand, unfazed by Sherrell's reddening face. "What the hell are you talking about now?" he asks, taking a swig of his drink.

Sherrell smacks him behind the head. "You know goddamn well what I'm talking about. It's all over the news, you fucking idiot," she spats.

"Again, I don't know what you talking about." Nolan dodges a second passing for his head.

"You beat up Jimmy so bad he's barely hanging on."

"The little shit had it coming. I damn told him not to go touching what isn't his. But he wouldn't listen. "Nolan retorts callously, shocking me with his nonchalance.

Sherrell coughs deeply, gasping for breath. "Come on, Sherrell, we've had a long day getting ourselves pretty. Let's take a break." I help Sherrell to her room, trying to ignore the animosity radiating from Nolan as he follows us.

"God, woman, you have to take it easy," Nolan chides, though his voice has a hint of concern.

Resting now on her bed, Sherrell beckons Nolan closer. He hesitates before kneeling beside her bed. Without warning, Sherrell hits Nolan on the shoulder with the bible she keeps to kill lizards. Nolan doesn't even try to block the hit. It's an everyday occurrence in their turbulent yet loving relationship.

"Shit!" he curses, rubbing the spot where she hit him.

With a victorious tone, Sherrell declares, "That teaches you to be rude to me," a spark of mischief glimmering in her piercing blue eyes as if daring Nolan to challenge her.

"What do you want me to do? I told the kid not to go messing with what isn't his." Nolan turns to me, his gaze as fierce as a lion's. "But he wouldn't listen," he growls.

Sherrell shoots him an odd look as if something had just clicked in her head. "Asatira, could you make me some of that lovely tea you made this morning?" she asks sweetly. But I know she wants me to leave the room to speak privately with her grandson.

"Su-su-sure, Sherrell," I stutter, quickly leaving the room.

"Nolan," she says in a chiding tone, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but that girl has gone through enough. And now, stuck with your ass, she doesn't need this extra guilt upon her."

I take Sherrell's hand in mine, trying to reassure her. "She just needs to get over it. Now, tell me what the doctor has been saying. You ain't looking that good, Sherrell." But I can see the worry etched on her face, and I know something is wrong.

Sherrell holds my gaze, and for a moment, we sit in silence. "I'm okay, Noly," she says finally, patting my head sweetly. "God, you look so much like your father." But her voice trembles and a sheen covers her eyes.

Then she smacks me upside the head. "Goddamn stupid," she mutters under her breath.

"Hey!"

Before I can continue, Sherrell unleashes a torrent of coughs, and I quickly grab her oxygen mask and place it over her mouth. "Nolan, you know my days are numbered," she wheezes. "And I'm grateful you brought me Asatira... even though you wanted to sell her first. It has made my days enjoyable."

My throat tightens as she speaks, and I know what's coming next. "Sherrell, don't talk like that," my voice cracks.

"Noly, I know why you did it, but couldn't you have thought things through?" She coughs again, and her labor cough shakes her entire body. She adjusts herself on the bed to an upright position. "You shouldn't have left a body."

Her words don't shock me. Sherrell is a Lady Reaper through and through. She knew what had to be done.

I'm not surprised by her words. Sherrell is a Lady Reaper through and through, and she knows what needs to be done. "I thought you liked Harold. How would you feel if I killed his grandson?"

Lippity shit nothing," she mutters, clearly unimpressed. "I know what the little bastard wanted to do the moment he set eyes on Asatira."

"If you goddamn knew, why did you let it go so far?" I demand, my frustration growing.

"If you goddamn knew, why did you let it go so far?" My voice comes out angrily.

Asatira enters the room, interrupting Sherrell's sentence. The young girl gracefully places a tea set on the dresser and extends a cup toward Sherrell. With a soft smile, Sherrell accepts the cup and takes a sip, letting the warm liquid soothe her throat. "Just be good, son," Sherrell finishes with a gentle reminder, her eyes shifting toward me before returning to Asatira.

I rise to my feet and straighten my jacket. "Anyway, duty calls. Got some club business to attend to. I'll be back in a few days," I inform Sherrell.

Leaning down, I plant a gentle kiss on her cheek before turning to leave. As I make my way to the door, I hear Sherrell murmuring a prayer, her voice filled with a mix of gratitude and sadness.

I stare at Asatira, her lips moving as if she wants to say something. But she hesitates, her eyes darting around nervously.

I can't resist teasing her as we step into the hallway, "Now, you don't have anyone to listen to your little rock music."

Tears brim her eyes, and before I know it, she throws her arms around my waist and hugs me tight. "Thank you," she whispers, her tears wetting my shirt.

I feel a stirring within me, but I quickly push it aside and pet her head instead of pulling her against me. Yet, desire starts to rise again, and that's my cue to end this hug. I pry her hands off me and set them aside.

As I looked down at her, big doe eyes awakened something. I lean in. Her soft, trembling lips stir a primal desire within me. Her nervousness only fuels the fire.

My teeth graze her earlobe, and with a menacing tone, I ask, "Who do you belong to?"

She stammers, "Y-y-you."

I press her again, "To who?"

She squeaks out, "To Nolan," as I softly bite her earlobe.

With that, I bolt towards the front door. It's time for business.