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Hearing the nickname fall from Evangeline's lips gives me a whole new appreciation. Second only to the way she'll scream my name when I bury my head between those creamy thighs.
I've been doing my best to not think about her, but it's proving harder than I thought it would be. The way she looked at me when I told her I had to cancel and leave haunts me. Her disappointment was so acute, I felt it echoed inside my own chest. Which is a fucking weird sensation for me.
I drum out some random rhythm on the table, losing myself in the vibrations it makes on my fingertips and continue to stare out the window. I've got another hour before we switch.
Four hour shifts allow each of us not to get too fatigued. Believe it or not, staring out a window all day gets tiring, even when loud action movies play in the background.
Two bikes pull into the parking lot of what should be an abandoned warehouse. We should know, we were the ones who torched it and drove the Savage Souls MC the fuck out of town.
A moment later, a box van pulls in behind them. Shit.
“We've got movement,” I murmur.
“Who?”
“Two bikes and a van. Bikes are idling and the van is pulling into a spot in the front.”
“Shit,” he mutters.
The bed creaks as he slides off of it. A second later and the sound on the TV is gone.
Bane crosses the room to stand behind me. “Is it the Savage Souls?”
I squint, trying to discern any symbols I recognize. “Hard to tell from here, but they're definitely wearing something.”
“I don't know what would be worse: if those motherfuckers crawled out of whatever hole they've been living in for the last five years or if it's some new MC trying to stake claim.”
We're three hours west northwest of Rosewood, in what we started referring to as a diamond point. There's four cities surrounding Rosewood that roughly make the shape of a diamond. And all four have either MCs of their own, ties to the various cartels, or both.
When we stopped offering safe passage through our territory, shit got uncomfortable. And when we pulled out of the game altogether, it was nearly volatile.
We have an understanding with three of the four points, and the fourth remained empty.
Until now, it seems.
Two guys come out of the warehouse and get in the back of the van, both of them wearing kuttes too.
Bane tenses beside me. “Shit. It's them. I recognize their shitty emblem on the back.”
My brows cave in and I squint harder. “How the fuck can you see that from here?”
“You need to get your eyes checked, man. Let's go. We need to see who they're meeting, what they're up to.”
I know nothing less than irrefutable proof will convince my brother to take action. He'll never risk the club—or Hunter—unless he has no other choice.
We leave the motel room without another word, and I twist the lock behind me before the door slams shut. I don't have anything valuable in there, but you never know.
Bane gets behind the wheel of the black pickup truck, and a few seconds later, I slide into the passenger seat. It's one of the handful we use for shit like this. One of the perks of the club owning a garage, I suppose.
“Ready?” Bane glances at me as he drives out of the parking space in front of the motel room we've been staying in.
He always backs into parking spaces. Said those few seconds it takes to reverse can be the difference between life and death sometimes. And considering the shit I've lived through isn't half of what he's experienced, I'm inclined to follow his lead.
Even if I'm annoyed as fuck about him trying to move in on my girl.
I tip my chin. “Let's get this shit over with.”
We get on the interstate, the van a few cars ahead of us. Bane and I are quiet as we follow the van, the low hum of the engine the only sound in the cab. It's a few more minutes before they take an exit for Silverstone.
