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My body was aching, and I was feeling a little dizzy trying to concentrate my best on just making it to Athens. I was fucking late. But I was so damn fucking determined to make it to Meyah that I’d bought a cheap ass fucking suit a couple of cities back. I changed in the car a few minutes before we hit the clubhouse, jumped out of the car and onto my bike, and turned around heading back to town, hoping like fucking hell she’d hear me out when I told her why I’d been so damn late.
The last thing I needed right now was to wreck my bike.
Especially after the last three days I’d had.
There were still a million fucking thoughts running through my head. Things that made me fucking happy, things that were going to change, and things that could throw us into a fucking shitstorm. All stuff I was willing to risk if it meant having Romeo’s back.
I had my family back together, and if someone was going to come for them, they would have to face me first. Years ago, I made choices, weak choices, which resulted in me losing the people who meant the most to me. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
I had nothing to lose by fighting for them and everything to fucking gain. And I had a clubhouse of dangerous motherfuckers at my back.
I dare you to try and take them from me.
It all kind of passed in a blur like I was on autopilot. I made it through Huntsville and out the other side. I’d just past the road to the clubhouse and was a few minutes from Athens when I heard the sharp sound of police sirens come up behind me.
“Motherfucker,” I cursed, assuming it was Deacon or one of his boys ready to just throw up my middle finger and continue on my way. But instead, I pulled to the side, thinking maybe I could get a fucking police escort into town and really make a stir.
Groaning in annoyance, I eased my ride down through the gears and used all the muscles in my tired body to pull her off to the side. I took a deep breath as I swung my leg over my bike and stretched out my limbs, pulling off my helmet and shaking my head as I fought to stay alert.
Heavy boots crunched the gravel at the side of the road. I looked up, squinting toward the headlights, and trying to make out a face as a police officer I didn’t recognize walked the few feet between my bike and his car.
“License and registration?” he asked with no emotion, his voice gravelly and raw.
I studied him as I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket where I stored my ID and documents. He was an older man, late fifties most likely. His top lip was covered by a gray bushy mustache which matched the streaks in the front of his hair.
“You new around here?” I enquired, opening my wallet and searching for my license.
He didn’t reply. Instead, moving his hand to his waist and tapping the baton that hung at his side. My body tightened, and an uncomfortable feeling ran through me, one that had my senses, which were lazy and tired, suddenly very alert.
I handed over my shit and leaned back against my bike trying to seem like this was just a casual stop, but my muscles were tensed, ready for a fight. It only heightened when he slipped the baton from its holder after tucking my ID in his front pocket.
“You have a tail light out,” he pointed out, stepping closer and nodding to the back of my bike.
I frowned, my eyes following his indication. “I didn’t—”
Smash.
The end of his baton went through my rear light.
I watched it happen.
Gritting my teeth as he pulled the baton back and slipped it into his belt, his eyes watching me the entire time with still no emotion crossing his face. Not a smug smirk, not a grin that told me he was proud of himself, or even any sign of anger or annoyance which was usually the police’s reason to try and be all up in our shit.
Motherfucker was baiting me.
Rolling my shoulders, I tried to remind myself I needed to keep my cool, but honestly, after the bullshit I’d dealt with over the last day, I was not sure how possible it was going to be. Shit like the prison guards who looked at me as if I was scum. The visitors who were seeing their own family who looked at me in the same way—being treated like the shit on someone’s shoe while Matt, the club lawyer, was asked if he wanted coffee, or food, perhaps a more comfortable chair. All because he might not be on their side, but because he had a job that’s somewhat respectable.
They didn’t fucking know me, or what we did for the community. No.
I was ready to fucking kill someone. I didn’t give a flying fuck who it was. And this guy had just put himself on my shit list.
“Well, that was original,” I said dryly, raising my chin and folding my arms across my chest. “Can I help you with something, or you always salty this late at night?”
Still no fucking change in his face. Not one fucking show of emotion.
I was starting to wonder if he even could.
“I’m gonna run your details. Don’t move,” he commanded as he turned on his heel and walked back to his car.
