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Even after all the shit that went down with Bested by Crows, we never had a security talk. And you
know, maybe that was my fault. I should've brought it up before, but we all been through so many
changes as of late that my brain's scrambled up like this morning's eggs. Still, we're better prepared
here, now, than we were for Broken Dallas and Bested by Crows at the hotel. We'll get the hang of it
eventually, I guess. It's adapt or die at this point.
I touch my .38 reverently and then tuck it into my pants. I ain't gonna use the damn thing, but it's
there just in case. No such thing as being over prepared.
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of engines in the distance, like the roar of a jet plane taking
off. It is that fucking loud, but it's also a thousand times more pleasant. There's a life, a voice, to the
sound of those motors running. I lick my lips and taste salt and wind, opening my eyes and scanning
the street. I've looked it up and down twice already, but like I said, no such fucking thing as being
over prepared. If I know where to stand, how to hide, how to move, I can take on any threat. This is
the magic behind the scenes, the things Gaine, Austin, and Kimmi won't ever know about me. I should
be teaching them, maybe, but it's hard. I don't know if it's something I could even instill in them or
anyone else. I was raised like this. It's a part of my DNA.
I stretch my arms above my head, leather vest crinkling as I pull my cig from my mouth and yawn,
tossing it down to the pavement with a sigh. No ladies and no rest. Some vacation, right?
What'd you do last night? I ask Mel, knowing that nobody but me would bring this shit up right
before a confrontation. That's how I roll, though. Like a fast hog down a slow hill. Don't make no
sense, but that's me. Pretty sure the universe has been trying to figure out what to do with me forever
and a day.
I sat in my room and I read a book, Melissa says, which is the absolute last thing I ever thought
I'd hear her say. I glance over, at her face which is still pretty but etched with fine lines. She's tired, I
know she is. And grieving. But she looks better today, just a smidgen. Amy gave it to me, and I
swear to God, it's the hottest sex I've had in years. I grin at her, nice and wide.
Shoulda let me come in there and help you out with those lady blue balls, my friend. What, you
don't like me anymore? I give her a faux pout as Triple M'ers start to pour out from the building,
walking nice and casual but with muscles taut and drawn. I know they're still wary of Austin as the
Pres, especially since it kind of just happened and nobody fucking talked about it. I get it. But I also
know they see in him what I see. Otherwise, they wouldn't be here. We've had a handful of deserters,
but less than I can count on two hands, so I know this can work. All we have to do is find our little
niche in this community. We might not be able to get back what we had before, but we can find
something new. It's all about riding out the storm. And if there's one thing I know we're all good at, it's
fuckin' ridin'.
Let's make this a peaceful exchange. We're not in their actual territory, just close to it. Nobody
owns this beach. Austin comes out of the building with Kimmi by his side. I don't see Gaine or
Mireya, so I figure they got stuck babysitting again. I try not to grin too wide. And we're not here to
start trouble. We're just passing through. I watch as Austin takes a deep breath and pulls himself
together as the first bikes come around the corner.
Seventy-seven Brothers isn't riding hard, just leisurely sliding into view. Doesn't surprise me.
What's the rush, right? They are more than a match for us. If they wanted to mow us all down, they
could. I'd make sure they lost a lot of blood first, but it would be inevitable.
At the helm is a man with three 'V' shaped sergeant stripes on the front of his vest. Sergeant at
arms then. I don't look for their President. Believe it or not, most of the time you never see the stupid
fuckers. Austin, Kent, Tray they're anomalies. Presidents of clubs too small to matter much. When
you've got a club this big, the President is kept behind locked doors. Besides, why get your hands
dirty when you got others to do it for ya?
The bikes pull up in front of us, a much more cohesive unit than our mixed bag o' tricks. Everybody
looks perfect, polished. Their rides are so fuckin' clean, they look like they belong in a Goddamn
showroom. And they're all American built choppers. Every last one of them done up in silver, white,
and blue. Hot damn.
I glance over at Austin, but his face is neutral, carved from stone into a pleasant enough expression.
Shoot, he looks like he's about to take a stroll on the damn beach.
The men in the other club cool their rides down, pausing right there in the center of the road. God
help anybody who comes down here now. We ain't movin'.
Are you Austin Sparks? the Sergeant at arms asks, climbing off his ride and pausing in the
sunshine, dark hair reflecting back the sun like a mirror. His cool, blue eyes sweep the group, and a
smile lights his face. It's not entirely unpleasant, but there's something creepy about it, too.
I am, Austin says, taking a step forward and holding out his hand. The man looks down at it and
moves forward, grabbing hold tight and shaking firmly. What can I help y'all with? The sergeant at
arms takes a step back and glances over his shoulder, letting his eyes move down the row of men
straddling their choppers. None of the others bother to climb off. I take it they don't plan to stay long.
That's a good thing, though. I sniff the air and taste a hint of violence on the back of my tongue. If we [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
