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“Anna, how do you know all this?” Talon asked. “And don’t give me some bullshit about hearing it at a women’s shelter.”
And all the pissed off that Anna had been wearing like a shield cracked, and when Talon saw the agony underneath, he knew two things at once.
First, that Anna was in shark infested waters deeper than he’d ever seen.
And second, that she was still in love with her ex-husband.
“Can’t tell you that, T,” Anna whispered, throwing him a half smile. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. Just worry about him. You gave me your word, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Talon agreed, not exactly sure what he was agreeing to but certain that he’d do his damnedest to see his brother to the other side.
*************************
Deuce
“Don’t tell Gate it was me. He wouldn’t like it,” Anna’s voice was a soft plea on the breeze.
And before Talon could answer, Deuce eased from his position at the back of the car and made for his two brothers who waited in the shadows.
*************************
Brick
Kicking the stand of his Harley down to the pavement, Brick checked the peeling paint on the front glass of the storefront off River Street.
The Waving Girl.
Right place.
He hadn’t been inside since he was a two-bit punk looking for trouble. Back in the day, the place was a dump, a poor excuse for a seedy bar that boasted a stripper stage but no pole, peeling green indoor/outdoor carpet, and ripped black vinyl. Brick could only imagine the shit he’d find inside now, especially if it was a hangout for one of Spider’s flunkees.
By the time his brothers joined him on the sidewalk, he was ready to storm the double doors, impatience vying with pissed off at having to be here in the first place.
Brick was an act first ask questions later kind of guy, and Talon’s quest for info was chafing.
Brick wanted to be in Shellman’s Bluff using some Deuce know-how to blow the shack to hell and back. But he wasn’t. He was here, looking for a drugged out fuck nut that probably couldn’t tell him anything anyway.
So Brick did what Brick did and moved, bracing a shoulder to the door and stalking through the bar, his stare daring anyone in the place to say shit.
The woman currently strutting her sagging ass across the stage stumbled at the commotion.
With a glance, Brick clocked the eyes of a stoner in a face that looked older than he felt.
Which was fucking ancient.
Times like this, the club’s back against the wall, Brick’s mood went south, his whole awareness sinking into the black that allowed him to do what he did. He’d been that way for years, since the first time he’d been forced to go there in order to survive.
It was one of the things that made him so good at his job. And so bad at relationships.
This place in his mind was deep and it was dark, and sometimes digging his way out of it took some doing. One thing he’d learned, the more time he spent there, the harder the coming back was. He’d even thought of giving up and just living in that dark place, but he hadn’t quite crossed over just yet.
“I got this,” he threw over his shoulder, prowling through the empty tables toward the bar, and the brothers knew they could stand back and watch.
When it came to protecting his club, Brick didn’t have many boundaries. He could maim and torture with the best of them. And he had. The only act he’d never committed was rape, and he refused to hurt kids. Other than those two lines, it was all fair game if the Dragons were in danger.
And at the moment, that danger touched a Dragon’s woman’s daughter, which was close enough for Brick. He knew Cassie. He liked Cassie. And he was ready to bat cleanup on anyone who’d fucked with her.
Brick made tattoo boy, walked up behind him, and slammed his head, face first, into the wooden bar.
