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I leave the kitchen, but only so I can start getting everything ready for the opening. When the food is ready, the chef calls out for me, and I make my way into the kitchen to grab the plate. It looks amazing. I have about thirty minutes before opening.
When I sit down at the bar, I pick up the warm fat burger and bring it to my lips. Sinking my teeth into the delicious burger, I moan. It’s so damn good, I can’t even think. And that is how I start my second shift at the biker bar in downtown Arizona.
AGONY
The phone in my hand fucking burns. I need to call her. I want to call her. But at the same time, I really fucking don’t. Staring at the phone, I lift the bottle to my lips, take a long pull, and contemplate throwing my phone across the fucking bar.
“Brother,” Legacy murmurs.
Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at him. Arching a brow, I wait for him to say whatever the fuck it is he’s going to say since I’m sure it’s fucking something. It’s always fucking something.
“Need you to do a run,” he grunts.
Now that is interesting.
Turning around fully in my seat, I face him, leaning my elbows back on the bar top as I tilt my head back slightly and flick my gaze up to meet his. “Do tell,” I say.
He lifts his hand, running his fingers through his hair. I watch as he tugs on the ends, and I become even more curious. It’s obvious he’s a bit worried about whatever the fuck this is. Staying silent, I wait for him to say whatever the fuck he’s standing in front of me to say.
He clears his throat, then shakes his head as he drops his hand to his side. “Need you to head to Hell’s Souls. They need an extra hand.”
“Brother,” I warn. “Legit. Remember?”
He nods. “Yeah, I know. And I want nothing to do with most of the shit they’re into, but they’re calling a marker. They got the Dead Phoenix at their door.”
“Raul is dead. How the fuck is this happening?” I demand.
“New guy in charge. He is demanding a meet with us and Hell’s Souls. Doesn’t give a fuck that we are not in the business anymore.”
“And you want me there?” I ask. “Why?”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then clears his throat again, obviously really not wanting to tell me the whole story. Holy fuck, this shit is annoying as hell. But I’m also going to wait him out. He doesn’t want to tell me, and that makes me all the more curious.
“It’s Reese’s brother. They got him strung the fuck up and are ready to kill him. Figured you’d want to rectify that situation.”
I think about telling him they can all fuck off, but even though Reese isn’t close to her brother, I don’t think she’d be cool with having him thrown to the goddamn wolves, not if I could possibly do something to stop it. And she is the only reason I would stop it.
“Why the fuck do they have Logan strung up?” I bark.
“They think he’s the one who sold them bad shit,” Legacy says, his voice and tone even, and it’s clear he is blaming us.
He’s not fucking wrong to blame us. I’m not the one who had anything to do with it, though, personally. That falls all on Roadkill and Itch’s shoulders, and Legacy knows it. But I won’t say dick. I’m no rat.
This is my thing because of Reese. I know that. Legacy probably thinks I’ll call Reese, or maybe this will get me in good with her, but he doesn’t know that she called me for help and I’m the one who turned her down, and now I’m feeling nothing but guilt about it.
“And what happens when this starts a war?” I ask.
Legacy shrugs his shoulders. “This is so thereisn’ta war. We’re going to offer support in a show of faith to the other Hell’s Souls to try and get these guys to leave their club with Duke and Bond.”
“And I’m going because I know Logan, but what about anyone else? You’re going to send one person as a show of faith?” I ask.
Arching my brow, I wait for him to respond. I can tell he’s already thought about this. He is always someone who thinks through his plans, but he doesn’t seem to want to tell me what the fuck he’s got floating around in that head of his.
“Go, now,” he grunts.
He doesn’t even try to come up with some bullshit response. He just turns and walks away, his orders given.
Fuck.
