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CHAPTERNINE
She’s Always a Woman
BEAST
The air smells of cigarette smoke and danger as I follow Kate out into the main section of the warehouse wearing Bryce-fucking-Freed’s clothing. Had Cleveland not knocked on the door a minute after Kate gave me the best blow job of my fucking life and told us trouble was brewing, I would’ve collected my own clothes from the fighters’ changing room. As it is, I’m grateful that the fucker Bryce is as built as he is, because there was no way I was fitting into Hudson’s fucking jeans and hoodie, the scrawny bastard.
Flanking Kate on her left, and with Cleveland on her right, we head towards the bar at the back of the warehouse. The place is dimly lit and filled with criminals with chips on their shoulders and revenge in their blood. Ordinarily, it’s unwise to mix crews like this, but Kate has three rules that any guest entering Tales must obey.
Number one: No weapons.
Number two: No drugs.
Number three: No fighting outside of the cage.
Anyone caught breaking those rules are shot dead on the spot. No exceptions.
The threat has worked so far. Though I’m getting the feeling that tonight that threat is gonna become someone’s reality, and they’ll be getting themselves a first class ticket straight to Hell courtesy of a bullet in their skull.
As we pass through the crowd, there are plenty of familiar faces and a fuck-load of new ones. Some catch my eye and nod respectfully, some look at me with interest, and the rest? Well, put it this way, if I weren’t supporting my missus right now I’d be playing knock down ginger with their faces, the rude cunts.
No matter, I’m good at remembering people, and if any of the fuckers who’re giving me the stink eye right now cross my path in the future and dare to disrespect me again, I’ll be living up to my reputation.
“Who has an issue?” Kate asks, pulling my attention back to her as Cleveland leads us towards the bar on the far side of the warehouse.
“A guy named Fitzpatrick. He brought some men with him. Said he was an old family friend of your dad’s. Dom and Harris have them cornered.”
“I don’t recognise the name,” I say, trying to recall if Carter ever mentioned a Fitzpatrick.
“I do. He’s been sniffing around since Carter’s funeral. I kneecapped one of his men for disrespecting me at the graveside. Haven’t seen him or any of his men since, but I am aware that he’s been asking a lot of questions recently.”
“Questions?” I ask, cricking my neck as I spot the group of troublemakers.
Dom’s currently pointing a gun at some ugly, balding, fat prick’s head. Just behind him, Harris is leaning against the bar casually cleaning his nails out with an eight-inch serrated blade. The guy is a gentleman with a deadly streak. Connall picked him up in Madrid. I’m pretty sure they’ve fucked.
“Yes, questions about what happened the night of my eighteenth birthday, your disappearance, that kind of thing.”
“Right. So he’s digging for information he’s got no right to be digging for,” I retort.
“Digging his grave more like,” Kate points out, her voice taking on a dangerous edge, and fuck me if my cock doesn’t appreciate it.
The way she holds herself, commanding respect and oozing power, gets me fired up like nothing else. Glancing over at her, I stifle a smile, because damn she’s sexy with her bruised-kissed lips, stiletto heels, sex-tousled hair and deadly fucking smile.
“Stop staring,” she hisses, a hint of amusement dancing around her eyes.
“Can’t help it if my woman turns me the fuck on,” I reply under my breath.
“Enough,” she demands, as we approach Fitzpatrick who’s sneering at her as though she’s nothing more than a piece of shit on his shoe. I roll my shoulders ready to kill the fucker. Kate briefly touches the back of my hand. “Let me handle this.”
“You got it, boss,” I reply, knowing that she’ll have his bollocks just for that look alone.
Behind him his crew of five men regards us, weighing up their chances of surviving the night no doubt. There’s only one of them who doesn’t look like he’s about to shit his pants all the way out of the warehouse. He’s the one I’ve got my eye on. There’s always one cocky cunt.
“This is no way to treat a family friend,” Fitzpatrick has the gall to say as he points at Dom then eyes Cleveland and me in quick succession, his top lip curling over his nasty-arse yellowed teeth.
This guy must have some mega ego or a total lack of sense if he thinks he’s gonna survive bringing trouble to Kate’s door. He’s not the first man to underestimate her, and he won’t be the last. Her own dad was a prime example of that.
Kate keeps a smile fixed on her face, her shoulders relaxed as she waves at Dom to lower his gun. He does so instantly, though I see the caution in his stance. Behind him, Harris sheaths his knife and leans his elbows back on the bar. He’s a good-looking fucker with an olive skin tone, deep blue eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.
