A part of me wondered what they wanted. Couldn’t be anything good, though. Likely to find out what I planned to do. Maybe threaten me a bit. But I didn’t really care enough to find out.
I locked the door and turned to walk back to the living room. A chill skittered through me and I froze, my feet becoming nothing more than cement blocks. Someone was in the house with me. I could feel the shift in the air. It was like it was charged. Energized. An unfamiliar scent floated around the room.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw him. Waiting in the darkness of the living room. As if conjured from the shadows themselves, a man stepped before me.
Some guys were really good at football. Some guys were good at talkin’. I was good at knowing when I was out of my fucking league.
This guy…
He was tall, built and held a dark, savage look in his eyes. He wore a kutte with motorcycle patches all over it. My eyes stuck on one in particular, though. A flaming Viking skull flanked by axes. Battle Borne MC. One percenters—real bad guys. Big timers. Youdidn’t fuck with them…ever. Those that did were often found in pieces in the desert. If they were found at all.
A shiver went through me. I hated him on instinct.
He didn’t speak as he moved toward me. Fear swelled in my chest, forcing my breathing to shallow. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even properly breathe. How the hell had he gotten in? Was Bad Mooney involved with the Battle Borne? Fuck…were they going to have me killed?
My pulse hammered through my veins as the biker reached out, slowly, so fucking slowly that I swear my entire damn life passed before my eyes…
But he didn’t touch me. Nope. He just reached past me and unlocked the door, his hardened, hazel gaze never leaving mine.
“Who the fuck are you?” I choked out as I tried and failed to keep my voice from quavering.
Bad Mooney’s voice boomed like thunder behind me as he stepped through the doorway. “True’s my friend. He ain’t yours. You don’t wanna piss him off. So, I suggest you invite us in, listen closely, and we won’t have a problem.”
My gaze flicked between the three of them. They all shared similar features, those same golden-green eyes. Well, fuck. This was a whole family affair.
“Fuck it, yeah sure…come in.” I limped my way back to the couch and sat, grabbing the bottle of whiskey for what…comfort? Protection? Not that it would do much against these three. Bad Mooney was known for his temper, his redneck son knew how to scrap, and the other was a fuckin’ Battle Borne.
A bottle wouldn’t do shit against them. I wished I had my gun on me.
The biker snatched the whiskey out of my hand and set it down on the table, gentle-like, as if it were a wine glass with a delicate stem. Then he got down in my face and looked into my eyes.
“I want you…” He paused and held my gaze hostage. “To listen. And understand what you hear. You can’t listen if you’re drunk. That can wait until after we’re gone. This won’t take long, unless you piss me off.”
His voice was far smoother than I’d have guessed, but heavy with unspoken violence. Like a fine whiskey, the smoother it went down the more trouble you could get into.
Unable to speak, I nodded.
I watched in pained silence as Bad Mooney came to a stop before me and reached into his back pocket. Oh fuck…was this it? Was he gonna shoot me? I swallowed back the fear snaking around my lungs.
A wad of cash fell with a resounding thud on the coffee table, causing the pills to disperse. Not just a wad. Abigwad of cash. So big I’d be afraid walking around with that amount of money.
“Look,” he said, his voice rough like sandpaper or gravel. “You gotta problem, and I gotta problem. My nephew bashed your face in. Andyouburnt down his girlfriend’s trailer and threatened to hit her in public. Now way I see it, there’s two ways to go aboutit… One, we get the cops involved. It’ll be messy and stressful on everyone and I don’t really got time for that.” He cleared his throat. “Or two, you keep quiet, and leave Cheyenne Harris alone.” He nodded at the money. “You do that, and this here’s yours.”
I snorted, a bitter laugh escaping me. Rage and reason warred for dominance in my chest. There was nothing I wanted more than to get back at the bitch. Ruin her life before she tried to ruin mine with that damn kid of ours. But…
Despite the pain, I reached forward and fingered through the stack of bills. Five grand. Well, damn.
I chewed on my bottom lip, anger bubbling through me. Must be fucking nice to have enough money to just buy your way out of things. I glared up at Bad Mooney and then his sons, my gaze falling lastly to the Battle Borne biker.
They were no joke. And if Cheyenne was under their protection because of this…well, fucking with her was basically a death sentence.
Bad Mooney’s lips pulled up ever so slightly in the corners. “We gotta deal? You leave Cheyenne alone. You don’t involve the law, and we’re good?”
I bristled as he repeated the terms one more time, like I was some idiot kid who didn’t know my right from my left. But I didn’t really have much say in this, did I? Not unless I wanted beef with one of the most dangerous biker gangs in the southwest.
“Yeah, whatever,” I grumbled, nodding at the cash.
The biker stepped forward, his eyes holding a dark, dangerous glint to them. “Yes,sir,” he growled out. The frigid coldness in his words froze my blood. He hadn’t raised his voice, but my ears rang all the same.
