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“They’re here to protectyou,” Griz said. “They’re the only thing keeping you breathing right now. Now get the fuck out of our territory while you still can.”
Mr. Muscles looked like he wanted to stay, if only to make a point, but his smaller companion took a look at how Griz looked like he was on a hair trigger ready to go off and slapped at Mr. Muscle’s beefy arm.
“Come on, Mal,” Skinny said. “Let’s go.”
“Mal?” Wyatt said. “What kind of a name is Mal?”
“The name of the guy who’s gonna piss on your grave, biker trash,” Mal said.
Griz started to take a step toward Mal, but his dad kept him back with a light hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, son, easy,” Boomer said. “It’s nothing but talk.”
“Yeah, nothing but talk, pussy,” Mal said. “Until I make your lady there squeal really good.”
Now Griz did charge forward, and it took all three of the REMC members to hold him back and keep him from attacking Mal. Mal didn’t seem much concerned, but simply laughed and leaned against the car like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Finally, Griz eased down and Wyatt and Boomer and Devil were able to let go of him. Griz still huffed out heavy breaths with anger, looking like he wanted to pounce on Mal and knock the smirk off of his face with a brick.
“You men best take this opportunity to leave,” Boomer said. “Because nowI’velost patience with you.”
There was a granite quality to his voice that took Becca a little by surprise. She’d only heard Boomer sound like that once before, when he was putting Ripper in his place back at the clubhouse.
There wasn’t any attempt at a retort from Death’s Head this time; both Skinny and Mal took one look at Boomer and realized this was one old bear they should definitely not fuck with. Instead, they climbed back into their car and started up the engine.
As they pulled out, Mal stuck his arm out the window at Becca, his thick fingers pointed at her like a gun.
“See you around, pretty lady,” he said. “Don’t get too comfortable.”
There was something about it, something about the casual way that Mal looked at her, like she was prey, that made her shudder. It was like having a giant tiger staring at you from an arm’s length away, deciding whether or not it was going to eat your face for breakfast.
This was starting to feel like a bad, bad idea.
9
That feeling lingered even after Skinny and Mal drove off. It lingered all the way on the drive home, eating at the back of Becca’s mind.
She kept seeing it over and over again. Mal, giant beefy Mal with his lack of neck and his thick fingers, pointing at her as Skinny drove them away.
The best way to keep his brother out of prison, would be to put an end to the witness that saw him commit his crimes. Her, in other words.
She’d been right. Getting involved in all of this had painted a giant bullseye on her back. And now she was in it and there was no way out.
Kate was talking in the car on the drive home, and Wyatt, and Boomer, and even Griz let out a few grunts, but Becca didn’t hear any of it. All of those words were drowned out in the image of Mal pointing his gun fingers at her as he drove past.
She stumbled into Kate’s house in a haze, plunking down into a chair, lost in taking inventory over the things she regretted doing over the last several days. When she finally pulled out of it, it was just her, Kate, Wyatt, and Griz sitting in the living room.
“Have you ever seen that guy Mal before?” Kate asked.
“The juice head?” Wyatt said. “No.”
“The other one,” Griz said. “Skinny. I remember him from the alley, when Becca and Kate were attacked.”
“Not to mention the dirt road by Benny’s,” Kate said.
“That, and more,” Wyatt said. “That idiot keeps turning up. Don’t worry, Becca. We can handle him.”
“Him,” Becca said.
