Page 8 of Deadly North

“Because I’m here on official club business.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

I spread my hands wide and give her a cheesy grin. “I’m your new bodyguard, Cupcake.”

“What in the world?”

“Fury wants you to have visible protection when you’re out and about, after the altercation with the Bloody Scorpions last weekend. And Magnus and Norse agree.”

“What? You?” Gigi gapes. “No. Absolutely fucking not. This is not happening.”

“It is happening,” I say, crossing my arms in front of me. “You don’t get a choice. And neither do I.”

“Like hell,” she shoots back. Sliding a hand into her back pocket, Gigi pulls out her cell phone and jams her finger against the screen a few times. Putting the phone to her ear, she waits a couple seconds, and then yells into the phone, “Call off your fucking dog, Con!”

I snort. I should be mad that she called me a dog. But I gotta be honest, I’ve always kinda liked riling Gigi up. Call it a kink.

Leaning myself up against the bus, I wait for Gigi to get confirmation from her brother that this is happening. Gigi’s listening to Fury talk, her chin jutting out defiantly. “No, Con. I refuse to be babysat like some child… Well then, send someone other than King Asshole.”

“Sheesh, enough with the terms of endearment,” I quip.

Gigi gives me a withering look, then listens to whatever Fury is saying. Slowly, her expression transforms from defiant to defeated. She pulls the phone away from her face without saying goodbye to her brother and presses the screen to hang up.

“It’s a free country,” she hisses at me. “So I can’t stop you from standing anywhere you want.”

She enters the Body Bus and closes the door.

“That went well,” I murmur.

I spend the first part of my guard duty leaning against a tree in the shade, watching Gigi work her magic on a customer’s arm inside. The customer, an older guy with a pot belly that’s peeking out from under his too-small graphic T-shirt, doesn’t notice my presence across the way. Gigi, of course, knows I’m here but pretends I’m not. Her focus on her work is intense, her fire-engine red hair falling into her eyes as she leans in to perfect a line or shade a figure. I catch murmurs of conversation between the two of them, and from time to time her light, tinkling laughter. A kind of laughter that she’s never used with me.

I get so caught up in watching her that I almost miss the arrival of the Bloody Scorpions. Almost.

How they know she’s here, I’m not sure. But it’s the same fucking guys as last time. The nomad named Blaze with the big fucking beard, sunglasses and bandana and his asshole friend. They post up right on either side of the door to Gigi’s bus and stand there, looking menacing. The old dude Gigi’s tattooing says something to her, and she looks up, then registers the Scorpions’ presence. I see a flicker of fear cross her face.

In a flash, I’m up and across the road, positioning myself between the Scorpions and the Body Bus.

“You ain’t welcome here,” I snarl at them. “Thought we made that clear last time.” And then I pull the friend I brought out of my waistband to emphasize the point.

A ghost gun. 3D printed. Undetectable by metal detectors. Our club specializes in these things. One of our less legitimate businesses involves transporting them up north to Canada, where they’re even less legal than they are here in the U.S.

The Scorpions, by the looks on their faces, aren’t carrying. Which I figured would be the case.

“Fuck you,” the bearded guy sneers. “It’s a free country.”

“You ain’t my type, darlin’.” I level the gun at him. “You motherfuckers didn’t seem to get the message last time, so let me be more clear. Messing with that woman in there?” I gesture toward Gigi. “That’s the same as messin’ with the Royal Bastards MC. You best get your asses out of here, before you bring down a world of hurt on yourselves. You feel me?”

Inside the bus, Gigi’s eyes are big as saucers. Her customer’s are, too.

The Scorpions back off, but not before throwing a menacing glance Gigi’s way. Blaze eyes her for far too long and licks his lips obscenely. I wrap my hand tighter around the gun, getting ready to use it as a weight to punch him with, but he backs away just in time to save himself a beatdown. He spits on the ground, a string of saliva clinging to his long beard for a moment. The two saunter away casually, only the tension in their shoulders betraying them.

I let out a breath, relaxing my stance, and slip the ghost gun back into the waistband of my jeans. Inside the bus, Gigi’s customer mutters something about coming back later. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out some bills and tossing them at Gigi, then bolts out the door, not even looking at me as he flees.

For a moment, Gigi’s eyes meet mine. Her lip trembles, but then she bites it and turns away. It’s a moment of vulnerability, a crack in the façade of insults and banter she’s built up as a shield against me over the years.

Slowly, she gets up and closes the door, leaving me outside.

I go back across the way, and sit back down in the shade.

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