Page 14 of Johnny Gun

“You got it,” Isolde said, focusing on snacks andcalming her nerves. How could she ever control herself? The man she dreamed about night after night was in her home. Only thin walls separated her from happiness.

“Are you feeling okay, Isolde?” Sydney asked. “You’re a little pale, darling.”

Damn. Hiding her emotions wasn’t going to be easy. Too many perceptive eyes were on her.

CHAPTER THREE

The white lines on the highway had sped by in a hypnotic pattern on the five-hour ride up. Johnny Gun barely noticed. His thoughts had churned with ideas and a concrete plan: close proximity to Isolde at all times was the only foolproof way to protect her. For this strategy to work, he had to make sure Deacon didn’t notice him much or become suspicious of him. The interference of a jealous father, blind with possessiveness, could mess up his strategy or ruin it altogether.

In the end, he decided to keep the lowest profile possible. He entered the clubhouse behind his brothers. Hunching a bit—other than Tank, he was the tallest in the group—he stood at the rear of the group, listening to Deacon exchange a few welcoming words with Axel, their designated leader on this mission. The conversation started out well, but when Axel gave Deacon a quick rundown of Shifter’s findings, the man’s demeanor went from friendly to distraught.

Rubbing his palms, a frowning Deacon spoke to the guys. “Thanks again for coming. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be gone amoment. There’s something I have to take care of first. Hang out, make yourselves comfortable. When I get back, we’ll go over your living arrangements and discuss ways to defend the clubhouse. Everyone except you, Axel. Why don’t you come with me? You can get an idea of the interior setup and where things are.”

“Sure,” Axel replied.

As Deacon and Axel walked into the hallway, Johnny G studied the front room. A lot had changed since his last visit. It was neater, cleaner, and the messy poker table was gone. Someone had painted a remarkable gray-and-black mural on the cinder block wall, depicting a robed Grim Reaper with claws extended. The MC’s logo, the fanged skull biting handlebars with the identifying Devils’ Spawn rockers above and below, appeared at the top far corner. A second multicolored oversized painting that reached the end of the room depicted the profile of a topless woman riding a motorcycle.

“Impressive,” Bullet said, approaching the mural for a closer inspection.

“You ain’t kidding, bro,” Max commented, his attention fixed on a neon lager beer sign behind what looked like a bar area. “This is a hell of a fancy clubhouse.”

Two angled sofas, one fraying, showing some age, occupied the space where Johnny G had last seen the poker table. One sofa faced the mural; the other had its back turned to his brothers. A low-profile metal trunk with some rusty patches was situated between the sofas, serving as a coffee table.

Despite the seemingly large space, a claustrophobic sensation hit Johnny G. Had to be the absence of windows. Any illumination came from lights attached to ceiling fans.

“At least some air is moving,” he muttered to himself.

While Tank flopped down on a sofa, making himself right at home, Pilot stood close to Johnny Gun without saying a word.

“Something spooked the old man,” Tank commented. Crossing one leg over the other, he stretched his arms to span the backrest. “Did anyone notice?’

“The old man? Are we talking about Deacon?” Bullet asked, half laughing.

“Him. Yes,” Tank replied.

“Deacon ain’t old,” Johnny said, ambling toward Max and the bar area. “He’s in his early forties, and we can’t blame him for freaking out. We’d barely arrived and Axel hit him with both barrels about the Wolves’ interest in his daughter.”

“But it’s only chatter. You heard what Shifter said,” Tank added.

“I was there, dude,” Johnny G said. “It’s no big deal to us. Put yourself in the guy’s shoes. He knows his MC is under threat because of his fucked-up revenge move in Savannah. Then we come in, and the first thing out of Axel’s mouth is, ‘Oh, by the way, the Wolves want to hurt your daughter, not you.’ If I were Isolde’s father, I’d freak out too.”

“Who’s freaking out?”

The sound of boots and a hostile voice silenced the conversation. Johnny G remembered the unfriendly guy from the poker game. His dirty-blonde braids had grown longer and so had the mustache.

“I remember you.” The guy stared at him.

“And I you,” Johnny G said.

The biker moved farther into the room. “I’m Gomez.”

“I’m Johnny Gun, and these guys are my Garden City brothers. The big dude on the sofa is Tank, Bullet’s checking out the mural, and Max is at the bar. Next to me is Pilot, our prospect.” The guys waved and nodded as Johnny G named each one. “I think you might have already met Axel. He’s with Deacon.”

If Johnny G thought Gomez would acknowledge his brothers,he was wrong. Instead, the bad-mannered asshole walked toward the bar as he spoke. “Yeah. Saw him inside.”

Gomez passed Max, moved around a supported shelf that served as amakeshift counter in the bar area, and bent out of view. When he straightened, he held an open bottle of beer. Obviously, there was a fridge behind the shelf wall. He took a long swig.

Bullet sent Johnny G a meaningful glance. The guy’s behavior was overtly offensive. Didn’t matter if they belonged to the same chapter or not. To drink without offering was a breach of hospitality and an insult to his MC brothers.

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