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“I have money,” Curly said in a bored tone. “A fuck ton of it, but you know this.”
Lobo wasn’t deterred. “I’m talking a steady stream for you and your men. Good fucking money coming in every goddamn day.”
“And I’m guessing to get his money, I’ll need to patch you and your crew into my club?”
“Nuh-uh.” Lobo shook his head with a wry grin. “I like being in charge. I’m not interested in bowing down to you. All I want is a business arrangement. Use of your guys for transport, meetings, pick-up.”
“Ah, and what will we be transporting, meeting about, and picking up?”
“Methamphetamine,” Lobo said with glee, as though describing a chest full of gold bars. “Pure as the fucking snow. I’m talking incredible shit like you’ve never had.”
The words hardly left Lobo’s mouth before Curly said, “No.”
Lobo blinked. “No?”
Curly nudged his leg, so Scott hopped out of the booth. “I’m not interested, and my club’s not interested.” He shrugged. “Guess the meeting’s over. See ya around, Lobo.” He climbed out of the booth.
Lobo sat there, stunned, mouth partway open.
Scott had to press his lips together to keep from laughing. And fuck, how much did he want to give the prez a high-five? Damn, that was fun.
Together they made their way toward Ty and the exit.
“This is happening. You can be a part of it, or you can be in my way,” Lobo called out.
Without bothering to turn around, Curly snorted. “Consider me a human roadblock then.”
“I’ll go to your men on my own. Bet half of them will walk away from you when they hear the kind of cash I’m offering.”
“Knock yourself out,” Curly called, still giving Lobo his back. It took fucking balls to stand with his back to a potentially hostile room. After being in prison and even injured at one point, Curly’s skin had to be crawling with discomfort.
Maybe that was just Scott’s.
“Challenge accepted,” Lobo answered.
That was the final needle working its way under Scott’s skin. What the fuck did Lobo know about how the MC worked? Not a damn thing. The stupid asshole had no idea the hell the Handlers could rain down on him. If that asshole thought a few dollar bills would break their loyalty, he had another think coming. Scott’s nostrils flared as the familiar hum of anger began to pump through his veins.
“Keep your shit locked down, Spec,” Curly muttered for his ears only. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. You got a woman waiting for you. She’ll skin you alive if you come back busted to hell.”
A woman waiting for him? His steps almost faltered. Shit, it was true. Olivia was at Brooke’s. Waiting for him. Worrying about him. Maybe even wanting him. All he had to do was leave this shit behind, walk through that door, and hop on his bike. Then he could collect his woman and spend the rest of the night buried inside her.
His blood rushed faster.
Damn, that sounded worlds better than heading home to clean split knuckles and apply ice to new bruises.
“I’m cool,” he whispered.
Curly nodded. “Let’s get the fuck outta here. What a bunch of bullshit.”
Following Ty, they pushed through the door and out into the night. Neither of them paid Hulk any attention as they strode by.
“You know this might escalate tension between us,” Scott said as they approached the bikes. “If he forms an official club, it could turn into war.”
Curly stopped walking and met his gaze. “Good. Let them bring war. Lucky for me, I have a fucking special ops soldier on my side, huh?”
Scott grinned. “Ooo-fucking-rah, Prez.”
The rest of the guys sat astride their bikes. No discussion of the meeting would occur there. They’d hash it out back at the farm. “Church at nine tomorrow morning,” Curly said as he threw a leg over his motorcycle. He revved the engine and then sprayed an arc of gravel toward the bar as he peeled out.
Scott made eye contact with Tracker, who nodded then followed the prez. One by one, they left Lobo and his band of assholes behind.
The ride home passed in a blur of anticipation and a fucking semi-hard dick. It took everything in him not to push his bike to its limit to get to Olivia faster. He’d never experienced this before—an intense need to see a woman. To be in her presence. To get his hands on her to touch her and be connected to her. But the need was a living thing inside him now, and if he didn’t feed that craving, he’d lose his mind.
As soon as they pulled into Curly’s driveway, the women came flying out of the house. Brooke ran straight to her ol’ man, throwing himself in his arms. Olivia kept running past the embracing couple and right to him. He wrapped his arms around her and fused their mouths in a hot, claiming kiss. She tasted of wine, fear, and relief. They kissed for long moments. Her hands roved all over him as though checking for wounds.
