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Seeing Hawk, he called him over. “Take her back to the clubhouse and do not leave her side.”
“Yeah, got it, Sarge.”
Rubble grabbed a fistful of Hawk’s leather jacket and brought the other man closer. “If any goddamn thing happens to her, it’s your ass.”
A flicker of fear flashed in Hawk’s eyes. “I’ll keep her safe until you get back.”
“Text me when you’re there.” Rubble dropped his hold and glanced back to see Jupiter watching them.Good, the woman better realize she’s driving me insane.“Hawk’s taking you to the clubhouse.”
“Wait, why?” She pinched her brows together, her frown cuter than he deserved. “You said you’d keep me safe, and now you’re passing me off on some other biker?”
He tucked her hair beneath her hat. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. I can’t think straight when you’re near me. You steal my focus, Jupiter.” His cock jumped at the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips. It felt like months since he’d savored her.But now’s not the time.
“Stay with Hawk, and for the love of the goddess, don’t try to escape.” He placed a demanding kiss on her lips and walked in the opposite direction. The applauding crowd drowned out any response Jupiter called his way. He couldn’t afford to hear it anyhow. He had a job to do.
Meeting up with Doc and Kevlar, he pulled up the surveillance on his phone. “Lyle was last seen near the Grand Old Hotel on the main drag. If we catch him tonight, it’s all over.”
Kevlar swiped through the footage. “Kita’s on standby if we need her.”
“Let’s get this bastard,” Doc finished, tossing Rubble the keys to a truck parked nearby.
Rubble never let up on the gas pedal, and they made it to the hotel in under five minutes. Their arrival would’ve been more dramatic on Harleys, but the winter weather dissuaded that approach.
The crunch of the snow beneath Rubble’s boots the same sound he wanted to inflict on the man they were there to confront. He caught sight of Boulder and four prospects at the door. His club was already ahead of him, but they’d let him make the entrance.
“You all remember the plan?” A chorus of silent yeses greeted him. “We’re not here to bash heads. It’ll be civil.”
“There’s nothing civil about you scaring the devil into him,” Kevlar added with a nod.
Rubble rolled back his shoulders. He’d do more if nobody stopped him. For now, scaring would suffice.
Two prospects held open the doors for the rest of the bikers to file into the hotel’s lobby. It was one of the nicer places in the city. The floors were waxed daily and there was a shiny chandelier above their heads.
“Room 210,” Brewer said, catching up to the vanguard.
Rubble took the keycard. He didn’t want to know how the redhead obtained the room number or key. They split up, half going up the stairs, half riding the elevator.
Once they made it to the second floor, three men in dark-colored suits greeted them. The flash of metal on their hips didn’t daunt anyone. They all carried.
“Mr. Jones is expecting you,” one of the men said, motioning to the room, door held open by another bodyguard.
Kevlar, Brewer, and Doc exchanged glances. They were all thinking the same thing.It’s a trap.Since the other half of their posse hadn’t arrived, Rubble assumed more of Jones’s men were keeping them at bay. It was the four of them versus God knew how many in the room plus any hidden throughout the hotel.
Rubble shoved by the man who spoke, his shoulder colliding with him as he passed. It knocked the hired hand off balance and Rubble smirked. The gun in the small of his back itched to make an appearance, but he resisted. One wrong move and the whole place would erupt in bullets.
Crossing the threshold, Rubble swept his eyes around the room. Three more men were inside, surrounding their boss who was sitting on a comfortable looking couch with the TV on in front of him.
“Yes, yes, come in and have a seat.” Lyle clicked to a new channel, a pay-per-view one with music as bad as the acting, before he turned to greet them. “You all must be the infamous motorcycle club, Macha.”
Kevlar jutted up his chin. “And you’re the asshole who beats women.”
Lyle chuckled, crossing his left leg onto his right knee. “I see my lovely wife has been running her mouth.”
“She’s not your anything,” Rubble growled, taking a step closer. Brewer shot out a hand to stop his approach and Rubble glared at him. The other man withdrew, but the apprehensive look on his face remained intact.
Sitting forward, Lyle grabbed a decanter of amber-colored liquor and poured it into a glass. He was too calm. Even the Texan accent sounded too serene. “Jupiter is myeverything, and you’re biker scum.” He grinned, the expression more vile than friendly. “And you’ve found her. Thank you for that. The last eleven months without her were hell.” He sipped the liquor. “But we’ll be reunited soon enough, and I’ll never take her for granted again.”
One of his bodyguards moved forward with a black briefcase, and Lyle said, “For your troubles, I’ve enclosed five hundred thousand dollars.”
