I fucking hate drama, which is why I don’t mess with the club girls.
“Logan,” she calls, her voice taking on a soft tone.
I hear Target cough, like he is trying to hide his laugh, Savage grinning behind her as she walks to me. Her hips are swaying but in all honesty, she does nothing for me. Since I have been back and seen her, she is like a whole different person.
Someone I do not know anymore.
Her hand presses on my chest, under my cut, and I inch back, not wanting her to touch me. Frowning, she licks her lips, trying to entice me to be on her side, but fuck that.
“Why are you dealing for the 794 crew? What do they have on you to keep you tied to them?” I ask.
She glares at me, her tongue runs over her teeth, and she looks to the left. She is going to fucking lie to me. Her arms cross in front of her body, shielding herself, from me and my brothers.
“It has nothing to do with you, Logan. Leave it alone.”
“No can do.” This comes from Racer.
She looks over her shoulder at him, rolling her eyes.
“I do not answer to you,” she tries again.
Racer closes in, and I see a flash of fear on her face.
“This is my territory. Rugged Skulls MC territory, and you and your crew are messing with my people.” His voice is low, firm, leaving no room for argument.
“I think we need to take this inside, Pres, or take her back to the clubhouse,” Rogue calls out.
I see him looking around the street; people are taking notice of us, making my spine straighten. We know the type of people who live in this neighborhood, and they scream trouble.
“I am not going to your little clubhouse. You never know what disease I might catch.”
I scoff. “Let’s go inside.” I take her elbow and lead her back inside.
She tries to pull her arm away but I hold firm, not enough to hurt her but to let her know that I am not letting her get away.
Flame pushes the door open, walks in, and scoffs while looking at us over his shoulder.
“You think you might get something from our clubhouse?”
“Fuck off,” is all she says.
Stepping into the dark room, my eyes adjust from being out in the sun, and I take in my surroundings. It matches the outside. Trash everywhere, except the chair and sofa. The place stinks of weed, stale beer, and sweat.
“Now I want you to answer Crash’s question,” Pres says to Val, who sits on the only clean chair in the room.
“Crash? Aw, how cute. You got your own little club biker name and it fits you so well,” she says in a sing song voice that pisses me off.
“Answer the question,” I fire back.
Rolling her eyes again, she crosses her legs and arms.
“They have nothing on me. I knew that when Vinnie got snatched, I needed a way to provide for myself and needed protection.” She shrugs like her admission of making the decision to deal drugs is not a bad thing. “I got money, and people respect me, or they fear me.” She smirks.
I stare at her, finally seeing her for the person she has become and is happy with how her life is. This is what she wanted for herself, yet blames everyone else for her brother going to prison.
My fists clench at my sides, my anger bubbling beneath the surface. She looks so fucking smug sitting on her throne, not caring that she is selling shit to people who could die.
She was never like this; she would fight for the little people, but now she is happy to sell them drugs that could end their lives and for what… money, power?
