“Think they’ll kick him out?”
“Probably,” Z says. “Not really cut out to be a brother if he can’t follow basic instructions.”
“So glad I could serve as his litmus test,” I grumble.
Rock shakes hands with the other biker and strides away at a slow, unconcerned pace. For a few seconds, I continue watching the Vice President for any signs that this isn’t over before turning my attention to Rock.
The tightness around his mouth tells me his easy manner as he walks through the crowd is for show. He stops in front of me and lifts his chin at Wrath. The heavy arm on my shoulders is replaced by Rock’s. He pulls me closer, dropping a possessive kiss on my lips, almost knocking me off my feet. I curl my fingers into the leather on his shoulders to maintain my balance.
Breaking our kiss, but keeping a firm hold on me, he pulls back. Deep gray eyes search my face. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He’s silent. As if he’s waiting for me to elaborate. Instead, I take his hand, wincing at the blood on his knuckles. “Let’s get ice on this.”
“We cool, Prez?” Z asks, nodding at the last place the VP had been standing.
“Yeah. Talked for a minute about how hard it is to find good recruits. Small club. Don’t think he wants any trouble.”
“Let’s go grab a drink,” Wrath says, steering us toward the closest bar.
I’m still too unsettled for alcohol, so I ask Rock to order cranberry juice and seven-up for me instead before heading into the bathroom.
As I’m washing up, I stare at my face in the mirror. Despite the sunscreen I slathered on this morning, my nose is slightly pink and freckles I haven’t seen since high school dot my nose and chest. I pull a brush out and quickly run it through my wild and windblown hair. This humidity has made it double in volume.
The door swings open and a short woman with spiky black hair joins me. Almost as if she was looking for me.
She’s wearing a brand new Harley Davidson tank top. Crisp, clean jeans, and scuff-free boots. No jewelry, but a tan line around her ring finger. Almost like she woke up and decided to dress up as “biker chick” today.
“Hey, you’re a Lost Kings old lady right? I hear your gang’s the one to talk to for the good shit.”
“I’m not in a gang. I’m here with my husband’s motorcycle club,” I answer without looking away from the mirror, where I’m busy swiping gloss over my lips.
“Club. Right. Got you.” She gives me this weird, exaggerated wink. “I hear your club has the hookup. Looking for some pot and,” she lowers her voice. “A little meth.”
“Huh?” Granted, I haven’t been privy to many, okay any, drug deals in my life, but I sort of doubt it’s customary to walk up to a stranger and ask for drugs in such a cavalier manner. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh. Right. Okay. So your old man doesn’t like you to talk about it.” She puts her fingers to her lips. “Just tell me which one’s holding and I’ll talk to him.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a rolled up wad of twenties. “I have the cash.”
My heart beats faster, but outside I remain calm and impassive. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about.” I reach for the door. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Is it the big dude? He seems like the smart choice to be carrying for you.”
I almost snort and say something snotty like, “Yeah, march on over to Wrath and say that to his face and see what happens to you.” But I calmly push past her and grab the door handle instead. “You were given bad information.”
Relief washes over me as I step into the hallway. Z’s waiting for me and pushes off the wall. “Everything all right? I saw that chick go in there—”
I grab his arm and pull him aside. “Something’s not right about her. She kept asking if she could buy drugs from one of us.”
“What the fuck?”
“Right? It was so damn weird.”
He glares at the closed bathroom door as if he’s considering storming inside to shake some information out of the pesky girl.
While I’m relieved to see Z, I really need Rock. I scan the bar area my gaze finally landing on him.
Rage replaces my worry.
A whole load of rage I’m about to unleash on the woman with her hand on Rock’s arm.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What an afternoon.” Z stretches, showing off, and takes a good look around the bar.
“Why don’t you just stick a sign on your forehead that says ‘I need to get laid?’ It’d be more subtle.”
He laughs and slaps my arm. “I’m going to do a lap around the bar.”
“Wear a condom,” Wrath yells as Z walks away.
Z not-so-discreetly flips his middle finger in our direction.
Wrath gives the bar a more critical look. “I might call some of the guys and have them meet us here,” he says watching a group of loud-mouthed men in the back corner. Their colors aren’t visible, but there’s a good chance they’re bikers.
“If Z can manage not to hit on someone’s ol’ lady, no one should bother us.”
“Doesn’t mean shit and you know it.”
“Fuck this. I’m ready to go home.”
“Best thing you’ve said all week, Prez.”
“What happened to us?”
“Uh.” He glances around. “We’ve been here. Done this. And it’s fucking old.”
“We’re fucking old.”
“Speak for yourself.” He levels a sterner look at me. “I ain’t in the mood to carry you through some midlife crisis, Rock. So, go fuck your girl or do whatever you gotta do to reclaim your youth. But knock this shit off.”
My mouth twists into a grin and I slap his chest. “That’s what I keep you around for.”
He shoves me toward the bar. “Buy me a drink.” He wags his phone in my face. “I’m gonna make a few calls.”
I step up to the bar and order our drinks, keeping my eyes on the back hallway for Hope.
“Hey there, Prez,” a high, sickly-sweet voice greets. I don’t recognize the voice or care for the familiar way she addresses me so I answer without even looking.
“Keep moving.”
“Aw, come on. This is supposed to be party week.”
Ignoring her, I tap my fingers against the bar. The movement must draw attention to my wedding ring.
“Wifey didn’t choose to join you? That means it’s time to party, right?”
Christ, what is it with this chick? I turn to glare at her and find five-feet-nothing of blonde hair, and big tits dressed in black leather grinning up at me.
“Not. Interested.”
Persistent, she pouts and touches my arm and I shake her off. This time she’s more blunt with her come on. “I can give a blow job that will blow your mind. Best you’ve—”
“It’s a shame a girl your age has already suffered such terrible hearing loss.” Hope interrupts. Even dripping with irritation and sarcasm, her warm, silky voice wraps around me and chases away my foul mood. She rests her hand on my shoulder and presses the weight of her body into my side. I slide my arm around her waist.
“Huh?” the girl says, eyeing Hope up and down.
“My man politely told you to get lost.” Hope leans forward with her face inches from the shocked bunny. “Now, I’m telling you. Not so politely.”
The girl blinks up at Hope.
“There are plenty of bikers here.” Hope gestures to the area around us and then wraps her hand around arm. “This one belongs to me. Got it?”
“Uh…”
“Nod so I know you understand.” Hope remains calm and focused. My stealthy lioness protecting what’s hers.
The girl bobs her head. “Sorry,” she mumbles before slinking away.
“Friend of yours?” Hope asks with an arched brow.
Christ. How had this never occurred to me? She’s probably wondering if we’ll run into some random ex-hookup of mine while we’re
here. “She was probably in grade school last time I was here,” I growl.
She squeezes my arm. “I was teasing.”
I slide my hand down, grabbing her ass until she squeals and slaps her palm against my chest. I yank her closer and nuzzle against her neck. “Love when you’re all feisty and territorial.”
She leans in and hums against my ear. “I felt more violent than feisty when she put her hand on you.”
“Your hands are the only ones I want on me.” This craving for my wife never seems to lessen. I lean in closer. “And your mouth is the only one I want wrapped around my dick.”
Her eyes spark with desire. “That can be arranged, Mr. President.”
I lean past her, pretending to check out the hallway leading to the bathrooms. “Any privacy back there?”
“Hmm,” she answers, distractedly, staring across the room. I follow her line of sight to the persistent little bunny as she chats up Z. “I think I’ll lose what little respect I have for Z if he invites her back to his room,” she murmurs.
I snort and take the drinks the bartender places in front of me. “Surprised you still have any.”
“Aw, don’t pick on Z,” she says, completely contradicting her earlier statement. Love her for it too. The way she looks out for and worries about all my brothers. Even the most degenerate of them. “He came to rescue me when I was in the bathroom.”
My glass hits the bar with a thud. “Rescued you from what?”
“Sorry. I was so rage-blind when I saw that girl talking to you, I forgot to tell you what happened.”
I snort. “Rage-blind? You’re the sweetest person I know.”
“Not when it comes to you.” She pats her vest. “Came close to yanking my little pepper gun out and blasting her with it. But I didn’t want accidentally spray you.”
Laughter rumbles out of me. “Fuck, I love you.”
“Oh.” She leans in, lowers her voice, and explains the strange encounter with the woman who sounds an awful lot like an undercover cop. A bad one. I don’t want to say that to Hope and freak her out, though.
She takes a sip of her drink and sets it on the bar. “I’m guessing she’s a narc?”
I almost choke. “I don’t know if anyone says narc anymore. But yes, sounds like it.”
“Well, she was pretty obvious. Maybe they need to send her back to narc school.”
I laugh even harder and she narrows her eyes. “I’m not that funny.”
“You’re fucking adorable.” I rub my knuckles over her cheek. “Wanna go?”
She tips her head Z’s way. “I think we should stay with him.”
A few minutes later, a heavy arm lands on my shoulders, yanking me to the left. I lean back and find Z’s flushed, happy face inches from mine.
“Hope fill you in?”
“Yup. You investigate?”
“Not much to do. She went out the back door and got into a black sedan and left.”
“So much for the biker chick,” Hope mutters.
“What else is on your mind?” I ask Z. I glance at his other arm, still draped over Hope’s shoulders, hugging her to him.
“Something ain’t right with that persistent little bitch,” he says, tipping his head to the side.
Hope snickers and takes another sip of her drink. “Respect maintained,” she mumbles.
Z quirks an eyebrow at her, then glances my way. “Should I fuck her to find out what she’s up to?”
“Respect lost.” Hope shakes her head. “Easy come, easy go.”
“Do whatever you want with your dick,” I growl, shrugging his arm off my shoulder and knocking his other arm off my wife. “Just stay alert and out of trouble.”
“She’s not really my type,” he says, glancing over his shoulder.
“You have a type?” Hope deadpans.
“I’m getting more discriminating in my old age, Hope,” he assures her.
She presses her index finger and thumb together, forming a circle. “Oooo-kay.”
Like the asshole he is, Z shoves his finger through the hole, into Hope’s hand. She laughs and pushes him away. “Rock’s right. You’re a degenerate.”
He grins even wider. “Worked hard for that title.”
“It’s not a compliment,” I grumble.
Z straightens up. All serious VP again. “I swear she had a “property of” tramp stamp.”
Hope rolls her eyes. I fix my “don’t start” stare on her and she wrinkles her nose. While she’s accepted her own property patch and what it means to my club, the idea of other clubs treating girls as communal property still irritates her. This trip’s illustrated many things I’ve tried to explain in the past.
“If she’s property of another club, then definitely stay away,” I warn, surprised Z would consider being so careless.
Hope still seems annoyed and I reach out to capture her hand, dragging her closer and bumping Z out of our way. “You my girl?” I say low enough for only her to hear.
She slings her arms around my neck. “Yes.”
Z shuffles a few steps away from us. “This is getting annoying.”
I raise an eyebrow and he shrugs. “You, Wrath, Murphy, Teller. Got no one left to—”
“Aw,” Hope coos. “You can’t possibly need a wingman, Z.”
He rolls his shoulders and grins at her. “No. I don’t.”
“Where’s Dex?” she asks.
“Fuck if I know. Probably in his room sulking.”
Irritation about the girl who approached Hope in the bathroom and that another club might have sent one of their girls after us won’t leave my mind.
Except for the brief altercation outside, we’ve done a good job of blending in—as much as a crew that includes several six-foot plus bikers can blend in—with the rally crowd.
Yeah, I’d had to meet up with Priest and a few other brothers, plus a few members from different clubs several times. Then there was the stress of Sway still being held in Alabama.
Shit.
“Wrath come back yet?”
Z nods over his shoulder. “He’s in the corner.”
“Stay with Z,” I say to Hope. I stare at Z, hoping to sober him up. “Watch her.”
Curious, he frowns but says, “Okay.”
I kiss Hope’s cheek and stalk toward Wrath.
“What’s got you so worked up?” he asks.
I slide into the chair across from him and motion him closer. “Hope got approached by an undercover in the bathroom.” I tilt my head to the side where the obnoxious little bunny is now hanging out with a different group of bikers. “And that one—”
“Wanted to climb on your dick?”
“Do you see me laughing?”
“What’s this about an undercover?”
I relay Hope’s story to him and his default scowl deepens. “That ain’t good.”
“Z said she left. But that combined with the tart who couldn’t take no for an answer—”
“I don’t like it.”
“Here’s my problem. Sway and Shadow got arrested—”
“No way.” He slams his bottle on the table, obviously figuring out what I’m about to say. “Sway annoys the fuck outta me for sure, but he bleeds Lost Kings. I can’t see him snitching.”
“What about Shadow? We don’t know him that well. He hasn’t been a member that long. Don’t forget, now he’s VP.”
“Murphy says he’s a real asshole too.”
“Interesting.” Murphy’s a pretty good judge of character. “Priest hasn’t been able to find out shit about what Sway’s being held on either.”
“That’s not good.”
His phone vibrates against the table and he picks it up. “Trinity.”
“Take it.”
“I gotta go outside. Can’t hear shit in here.”
“Go on.”
I turn to signal Z and Hope to join me, but there’s a greasy, out-of-shape old biker in my way.
I lift an eyebrow. “You need something?”
>
He blinks and backs up at the hard edge to my question.
“You were rude to our girl when she was just trying to be friendly.”
Fuck this shit.
I slide out of the chair and stand, pulling my shoulders back to emphasize how much he doesn’t want this to escalate.
“Your girl needs to learn manners.” I flick my eyes toward the group he’s with. “Doesn’t she have enough to keep her busy?”
He glances over his shoulder at his crew, then slides his gaze toward Z. A slow smile spreads over his grimy face.
If he’s thinking he’s got me outnumbered, I feel sorry for him. Z and I have taken on more than this ragged bunch and come out on top. Not to mention Wrath’s right outside.
What I don’t want is Hope in the middle of any of this, so for that reason alone I keep my fists curled at my side. Ready and alert.
“I’m only giving you the one warning.” He puffs up his chest like he’s accomplished something. “Next time be more polite.”
Years of fighting instinct coil in my muscles. “Do I look like a give a fuck about your warning?” I’m still a little jacked up from the earlier fight and ready to put this guy in his place.
When his fist comes flying at my face, I’m not even surprised. The blow glances off my shoulder, but I barely feel the impact.
Instead, I pummel him with my fists.
As soon as I lay him out, two more come my way. Their hostility doesn’t incite fear, it fuels my murderous anger.
Consumed with the situation in front of me, I don’t even bother looking for Wrath. He’ll be here any second.
The next two don’t waste any words or bother with a warning. One pulls a knife, raising the stakes to our scuffle. My own knife rests in my pocket, but I don’t want to squander time going for it.
Z better have hustled Hope out the door.
The asshole with the knife thrusts it at my face. I weave to the side and grab his wrist, giving it a vicious twist. The knife clatters against the floor. My foot shoots out, kicking the long, pointed blade under the table.
I’m pretty sure I broke something in his arm, but I punch him twice in the face and once in the throat just for being an asshole.
His friend launches himself at me headfirst, hitting me in the side. I grunt from the impact, but handle him by grabbing a fistful of his hair and slamming his face into the table.
After Burn Page 13