“True,” she agrees and tilts her head to the side while looking at my project like she’s considering it, “but I don’t think you’ll be done before winter break.”
I scoff and narrow my eyes at her. “You know I always pull through and get the job done.”
“You should make it a YIG project,” she suggests.
Honestly, it’s not a bad suggestion, but I sigh, “No, they’re all focused on getting last minute donations for the fundraiser. They need to do that more than I need help disco-fying this beauty.”
“Just remember how long it’s taking you because I know you’ll forget and then the next thing I know you’ll be complaining about how long it’s taking you to make a disco,” she pauses and waves her wine glass around a little, “I don’t know, Alamo or something.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline and I have to admit, “That’s kind of a great idea. I could totally make a disco Alamo.”
“Fuck,” she breathes out the word, holding it out and tilting her head back.
“You love it,” I tease her.
She grumbles something, which I take as her agreeing with me, while I focus back on the project at hand. The summer is already going fast, but I’m excited to see how the fundraiser and the fair goes this year. The kids have been working so hard, and the town won’t let them down.
CHAPTER 2
RYKER
The sun is beating down on us, and I’ll be really fucking glad when I pull through the gates of the Saint’s Outlaws MC clubhouse. You know those summer days when that big ball of gas just waiting to burn up is relentless in reminding you that hydration isn’t an option, and you’re not 20 any fucking longer.
My ass started to go numb half an hour ago. But I can’t stop, not this close to the clubhouse. Not when we’re transporting soclose and are escorting a shipment of weapons and storing it for a little while.
There’s a hefty sum attached to the storage since that’s not usually part of our whole transport schtick. Things have been quiet in our territory for a while and the risk is worth the reward in this case. Which is why I’m escorting the guns along with Sidewinder, my Sargent at Arms, Scratch, my Treasurer, Playboy, my Enforcer, Diesel, my Road Captain, and Wrecker, who is always good to have at your back.
It’s been quiet. Which is exactly what it should be. We’re just making sure something gets from point A to point B. That’s it.
Easy.
But my fucking back aches and I’m sweating buckets under my leather. And I feel fucking itchy because I’m not wearing my colors.
Clearly, not displaying who we are off the bat when escorting illegal arms is the smart decision. That doesn’t mean I like it. It makes me feel fucking naked.
Like those dreams I got early on in middle school where I was standing in front of the class naked and they were all laughing. Then I noticed the way girls checked me out, even if it was only because I was the son of the MC president. Before I was in high school, I was cured of those dreams.
Fuck, I was a cocky little prick.
I can’t help but smirk because not much has changed.
The sound of a revving engine coming from over my right shoulder has me glancing in my mirror. A flashy as fuck Corvette, a brand fucking new one by the look of the body style as it eats up the road, is coming up fast in the slow lane.
And it’s not like we’re tooling along and driving like fucking grandmas. They’re going fast enough that being dead on impact wouldn’t be a stretch if there was a crash, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be slowing down anytime soon. I move a little toward the middle of my lane, knowing my brothers will tighten up the formation in response.
They have to be seeing the same thing I am.
The Corvette lurches forward slightly and swerves, but the driver corrects quickly. My eyes dart between the road ahead of us and my mirror because my gut is screaming at me to not look away. I learned a long time ago to listen to that little voice, because it’s kept my ass out of the fire more than once.
What started out as a feeling of caution is now roaring at me. I slow down a little, just enough. The Corvette comes screaming past my brothers behind the transport and when the car passes me, I force myself to keep my eyes on the road while being very fucking aware of them.
And then time slows down.
The Corvette jerks into my lane and my front tire comes within millimeters of being clipped by its bumper. I swerve slightly, my body reacting to the impending danger before fully assessing the situation.
As one fucking does when your life is flashing in front of your eyes.
Which is exactly what is happening to me right now.
