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Twenty-One
Leo
When the rain stopped, they took the bus to the centre of town. Skye was craving fish and chips, and the only decent place was next door to a newly renovated pub.
“What’s with all the bikes?” she murmured curiously as they cut through the parking lot.
Leo scanned the line-up of motorcycles. “Bikers, Skye.”
The pub was huge, had stone columns along the front entrance. There was no sign up yet, but there were construction workers moving in and out, working through the rain.
Leo’s eyes cut to a few figures out front, smoking cigarettes in a tight circle. Leo frowned as he eyed the bikers in their cuts, yammering away, completely at ease. They appeared friendly—as friendly as bikers could be, anyway—but Leo knew better.
Recently, his father was getting increasingly stressed by their presence. They had started out small a couple years back, buying a few shops around town. But slowly, they grew in numbers, their presence taking over Brown Bay, street after street. It was expected—Itani damned himself for not reacting sooner. This was the way of the bikers: they took their time. And by the time you realized the danger, the damage was already done.
Now you couldn’t walk down the road without seeing a Warlord banner strung up on a shop front or proudly displayed on the back of a car. Supporters and hangarounds converged, spreading the positive word, but it was all part of the deception.
An uneasy feeling washed over Leo. The men appeared like they were conversing intently, but he spotted the way they glanced sideways, seeming guarded. His footsteps wavered, and for a moment, his instincts told him to leave.
But Skye was humming along, collecting droopy dandelions along the edges of the sidewalk. At one point, she leaned into his side and settled a dandelion behind his ear, laughing. “You look pretty, Leo.”
Leo’s shoulders relaxed as he shot her a look of amusement. “You’re a goof, Skye.”
He didn’t take the dandelion off—didn’t care if he looked ridiculous with it. If Skye wanted to decorate his entire head with flowers, he’d wear them proudly.
“You love your dandelions, don’t you?” he mused on a smile.
She smiled back. “A dandelion’s roots can survive the harshest winters, Leo. You can always count on them.”
They entered the fish and chip shop and took a seat at a table by the entrance window. Skye gutsed herself on food, eyeing a few bikers who were sitting in a booth across from them.More of them.They really did multiply, didn’t they?
“Stop staring,” Leo warned quietly.
Skye looked away, giving him a teasing look. “Yes, master.”
He didn’t smile back. “You don’t want them to notice you, Skye.”
“Why not? They’ve been pretty charitable around Brown Bay—”
“Don’t fall for it,” he cut in. “They’re just leading everyone on.”
She just stared at him, dubiously. “For what reason?”
“To win everyone over.”
She sipped her drink, choosing not to respond. She didn’t believe him. He didn’t want to have to explain that everywhere these bikers went, they left behind carnage and bodies. They were gritty in their kills, too, not discreet the way the High Table dealt with threats. No, the Warlords were happy to decorate the streets with the guts and blood of their enemies just to prove a point.
As she dug into her food, Leo watched as more bikes blew into the parking lot. Christ, how many of them were there? He sat rigidly, assuring himself he was blending in, that he wasn’t a threat even if they knew who he was.
Besides, they seemed distracted as it was, looking over their shoulder every few moments with shielded expressions.
Something was up.
A strange tug formed in his gut.
“Now who’s staring,” joked Skye.
He looked back at her. “I’m staring atyou.”
