Page 125 of Driftwood Daffodil 3

“You’re not gonna shoot him.” Simon Fisher was going to die, that was a given. But a bullet in the head was too quick. I wanted that asshole to suffer a slow and painful death.

“Oh, I’m not gonna kill him.” Atlee aimed the gun out the windshield and tipped his head to the side. “I’m just gonna pop a bullet or six in his knee cap, so the fucker can’t run again.”

If Simon wasn’t afraid of me, he sure as fuck should be afraid of Atlee. I’d only seen that look on his face twice. When his baby brother died and when some asshole tried to drug his sister at a party. That guy was never seen again.

To this day I had no idea what Atlee did to him, and I didn’t want to know. Atlee disappeared for days and when he showed up at my house he was covered in blood and bits of bone. I found a tooth in my shower later that day. This situation was different.

“This isn’t your fight, Atlee.” It was mine.

“The fuck it isn’t.”

One look back at the darkness in his eyes and I knew he loved her too. Not in the same way I did. His was more like the love he had for his sisters.

Wait… love? Was everyone right? Did I love Nova?

That answer came when we pulled up to the diner and I saw her through the front window. I didn’t give a shit about the cops around her, or the flashing blue and red lights filling theparking lot. All I cared about was that she was there and she was breathing.

Relief washed over me as I watched her hands move through the air. She was explaining something to a cop. I didn’t know what. Didn’t care. I was too busy soaking in the way her hazel eyes sparkled in the fluorescent lights.

One wrong move and I would’ve never seen that again. I wouldn’t be able to admire the way stray locks of her chestnut hair fell out of her bun and framed her face. Or how her lip curled just a touch at the left corner when she was talking about something she thought was stupid.

It would all be gone. The cock in her hip, her stubborn soul, and desire in her eyes when she knew I was coming for her would be lost in her cold dead body. And all because one asshole thought he could take what was mine.

“Find Simon fucking Fisher.”

“Sure,” Atlee sang in a mocking tone. “And which cop would you like me to interrogate first?” he waved his hand at the uniformed men prowling around the diner. “Who the fuck called these pricks?”

I understood the insult on Atlee’s face. Cops made things more difficult. Not impossible, but not easy either. Thankfully, my father had a few of Soiree’s finest on his payroll. So, getting around them shouldn’t be too much of a problem. We just had to play nice for now.

Darry rolled his eyes when Atlee rested his arm on the top of his seat, causing the pistol in his hand to knock against the side. “Will you put that thing away?”

“What are they gonna do?”

“Arrest you.” Both Darry and I answered.

“For what, it’s registered.”

How fucking dumb was he? “You were going to shoot Simon with a gun registered to you?”

“I didn’t say it was registered to me.”

I was tempted to ask who it was registered to, but we didn’t have time for that. “Put it away.”

“Ugh, fine.” Atlee tucked the pistol under the backseat. After which he slumped back and pouted, “stupid cops ruining my fun.”

“It gets better,” Darry nodded out the left window to where a group of guys on bikes were gathered on the corner.

My eyes narrowed on a patch across the back of one of the jackets.

Lost Souls, New Orleans, Chapter 8.

So, not only did we have to deal with the cops, but a fucking biker gang as well. Fucking great. I’d have to thank Kato Ford for that later.

Atlee cocked a brow, “can I shoot those guys?”

That was a tempting offer. Bikers were no better than gangs. They were disorganized, had no respect, and were extremely difficult to work with. If they would work with you at all.

“How about you start by finding out what they know.” I was a Mancini, there was no way in hell they would tell me shit, and Darry was too stiff, but Atlee was unhinged enough that they might actually talk to him.

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