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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.
