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“You mean to tell me you keep a shotgun in the toilet?”
“And a handgun behind the refrigerator.” She gave me a pointed look as she rammed another round into the shotgun. “This is the MC world, darlin’. If you want to survive, you need to expect the unexpected and make sure you got enough firepower to cope.”
CHANCE
I saw him when I was hammering the last of the roof shingles onto the fisherman’s cottage. He was standing on the riverbank, staring across the water at me. A man dressed in black. But he was no ordinary man. He radiated darkness and bad news, and wore a skull bandana that covered half his face.
I rose to my feet, but he didn’t move. He remained rooted to the spot just fucking staring up at me like an intimidating ghoul.
When the sound of a shotgun blast rang out across the river, the shock of it violently crashed into me. Another blast only seconds later sent me shimmying down the outdoor plumbing to the ground below. But still Skull Face didn’t move. He continued to watch me from across the water, only glancing over his shoulder as two men raced out of the cabin and ran toward the driveway. When he looked back to me, our eyes locked and stayed riveted to one another before he slowly turned away and walked back up the riverbank toward his companions.
I ran to my truck and chewed up the gravel getting back to the cabin. By the time I got there, Skull Face and his friends were gone. I didn’t pass them on my way because they had probably parked their bikes further down the road and made their way through the trees on foot.
In a plume of dust, I skidded to a halt at the front door. Inside, I was surprised to see Grandma Sybil crouched down and looking on in dismay at the remnants of a shotgun-blasted glass cabinet. My eyes darted to Cassidy, who was as pale as a ghost, standing as if she was frozen to the floorboards.
I crossed the room to her and ran my hands up her bare arms, my heart pounding. “Are you okay?”
I knew my feisty grandmother would be unfazed.
Cassidy nodded, her gaze glued to the mess on the floor. “Her gun is much bigger than mine.”
If I wasn’t so pissed at the situation, I would have smiled. Hell, I would’ve laughed. Because this woman. This angel. Christ, she was amazing.
The stuff queens are made from.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to my chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” I was also fuming that the prospect hadn’t shown up.
She shook her head and gently pushed away from me. “Your grandmother scared the hell out of them.”
“Pussies,” Grandma Sybil said over her shoulder as she rose to her feet and walked to the kitchen.
It was only then I noticed the aroma of weed hanging heavy in the air. Grandma Sybil was simmering cannabis butter on the stovetop. I raised an eyebrow at her, putting two and two together, and was about to say something when the prospect stumbled through the front door looking banged up.
“Where the fuck were you?” I growled at him.
“Motherfuckers ran me off the road a few miles back,” he panted. “Fucking Satan’s Tribe. Three of them. Took me twenty minutes to get my bike out of the ditch and started again. I made it as far as the end of the driveway before it gave out on me.”
“Call Bull, tell him the Tribe has paid Grandma Sybil’s cabin a visit,” I said to him. “He’ll organize a tow for your bike.”
Twenty minutes later, Cade, Bull, Ruger, and Maverick roared up the driveway, with Animal and Cool Hand not far behind in the tow truck. As the six of them surveyed the scene, Grandma Sybil filled them in on what happened while I did my best to comfort Cassidy. I felt fiercely protective but utterly useless at the same time.
Thankfully, the color had returned to her cheeks.
“A bit extreme, isn’t it?” Cade said, holding up an oil painting peppered with shotgun pellets.
“You didn’t see them. They were trying to intimidate us, so I intimidated them right back,” Grandma Sybil replied.
“Are you sure it was Satan’s Tribe who did this?” Ruger asked.
I was sure it was.
“They said they knew who lived here,” Grandma Sybil explained. “Said they wanted the weed.”
If Satan’s Tribe bikers were in town moonlighting, perhaps they were after some free weed while they were here.
But the million-dollar question was why were they here?
Behemoth had said they were working for someone. Was that someone Quinn? Or worse… was it Barrett?
My head did the math.
Quinn had ties to Gulfport. But what involvement could Barrett possibly have with a biker gang thousands of miles away from California?
