Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“What did they want?”
“They’ve claimed Park Glen, all the way up to the highway. Said they hoped I got the message and if they see more of my boys in their territory, they’ll get worse than the warning you got. I don't know what the fuck they think they’re doing, but stay close until we figure out what the hell’s going on.”
“The Outlaw Sons? You sure?”
A baby cries in the background. “Fuck, need to check on Damien. Yeah, I’m sure that’s what they said. If it’s the whole story or not, who the fuck knows yet?”
“Alright. Thanks for the heads up. On my way.”
11
HAVOC
Send a message of our own, Eagle-eye said.
Well, we're fucking gonna.
Dark fell a good while ago, but the road's well lit up by headlights. Me, Phoenix and Sledge, of course. But also Reaper, Shrapnel, Wild Child, Shadow and Wraith. The bestial roar of engines bounces off the buildings as we ride to our destination.
Up ahead is the Burnout. It’s a bar right in the heart of Outlaw Sons territory, and from what we’ve heard, one of their favorite hangouts. If we're going to deliver a message, we're not going to follow their lead and do it like fucking pussies, taking potshots for no damn reason before disappearing in the night.
We’re gonna do it face-to-face.
Shrapnel pulls a little ahead, waving for us to follow. He grew up near here, so he knows his way around town. We turn into a side street that isn’t a dead end to trap us later. There’s plenty of room to park our bikes pointing front out, just in case shit goes south.
“You good, man?” I put my hand on Phoenix’s arm, and he shrugs it off with a grunt. “It’s been a rough week. Maybe you should be wearing a helmet so you don’t end up even more scrambled.”
“Hilarious. You couldn't keep me away if you fucking tried. These cowards left me for dead, I'm not gonna let that pass, and I'm not gonna sit at home while you get all the fun.” His expression is grim, and his dark eyes hard as an executioner's.
“We doing this? Kaylee’s home tonight and the only thing better than a good fight is what comes after.” Wraith punches his fist into palm and flicks his long hair out of his face.
“Fuck yeah! Ain’t that the truth,” Wild Child says with a laugh.
Shadow grins. “Then let’s go, brothers. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can celebrate.”
The image of riding back to Shelby’s house and her opening the door in something sexy flashes through my brain. I’ve never really been jealous of the guys in the club with old ladies, but what would it be like to sink into a woman who actually fucking meant something, while still riding the high that comes from pitting myself against someone and coming out on top?
I don’t hate the thought.
The Burnout's not the biggest bar. A bit smaller than our place, The Eagles’ Roost, but it’s plenty busy. There’s eight of us. I count at least a dozen guys with cuts from the Sons, and that might not be all of them. Sluts are circulating between them, and one's half-naked up on stage, swinging around a pole to a slow, grinding rock song. Behind the bar's a stocky guy who's pure muscle, bald on top, nearly as wide as he's tall, and wearing a leather vest. I don't see a patch on him, but I'm pretty sure who he'll stand with. Not looking forward to that part.
Well, maybe a little.
Everyone looks up when we come inside. I tense, expecting someone to make a move, but when the Sons start standing and getting each other’s attention, it feels more wary than hostile. Strange for a club that seems to be itching for a fight, but I doubt they expected us to show up here, on their turf.
“You boys lost?” The big guy behind the bar eyes us curiously. “You seem to have flown a bit far from home.”
“Maybe,” Phoenix says, pushing his way to the front. “We got your message and have one of our own.”
The obvious threat in his tone has several of the Outlaw Sons pushing their girls out of the way and forming a bit of a wall between us and the rest of the bar. The girl dancing on the pole scrambles off the stage and out of sight, and the beefy bartender crosses his massive arms over his chest.
“Oh?” The flat tone of his voice hints that he doesn’t see this going anywhere good. “What sort of message?”
Shadow steps forwards, his officer patch visible. “That if you fuckers want to renegotiate borders, you fucking take it up with us through the normal channels. You don’t go after our men in neutral territory or we'll bury you fuckers. We don’t give a fuck about who you have connections with, that’s not how things are done.”