Page 15 of Johnny Gun

But Max had a much shorter fuse than everyone else. He slapped the counter. “What the fuck is your problem, asshole? We’re MC brothers. How dare you drink without offering. I didn’t ride for hours to be insulted. I’m of a mind to leave your shithole club without any defenses.”

“Dude, do you always react this way?” Smiling, Gomez slowly lifted the arm he’d kept out of view, showing he held two bottles. “I had something stuck in my throat.” Gently, he put them down on the counter. “Here, this one’s for you.”

Tension crackled between Max and Gomez. The trap was now so obvious, Max’s face lost color in anger. If he didn’t blow up, it would be a miracle. Johnny G scowled, assessing Gomez’s smiling expression. The guy had balls of steel to rile up someone like Max, or maybe he was stupid enough to test the waters.

But for what reason?

In any case, a personality clash wasn’t a good way to start this association. For this mission to succeed, they all needed to be, if not on the same page, at least reading from the same book. It seemed Gomez—Johnny G’s instincts warned—didn’t want the southern guys meddling in his territory and was prepared to sabotage the agreement, Blade, Deacon, and, by default, Isolde be damned.

“I’ll have one of those.” Johnny G kept his tone cool to ease the tension. He grabbed the two bottles and offered one to his friend. “Take it. Beer’s nice and cold.”

Max accepted it with a low grumble. Returning his attention to Gomez, Johnny G arched an eyebrow. “So where are the other beers? You still have three thirsty brothers. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Gomez locked gazes with him in silent confrontation. An endless second passed before, a sneer on his lips, he brought out three more bottles. It seemed Gomez didn’t do well with commands. Johnny G realized he’d stepped over some unknown line when he pushed the man. The mistake had won him the dude’s dislike.

Whatever. Gomez could get as pissy as he liked. Johnny G rode up to protect Isolde, not to make best friends with the Dalton crew or socialize with anyone.

As soon as Gomez put the beers down on the counter, Johnny G beckoned with his head. “Yo…guys. Move your asses over here. I ain’t your delivery boy.”

Laughing, Tank stood. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Pilot and Bullet joined them just as Deacon and Axel entered the room. “Thanks, Gomez,” Deacon said, gesturing toward the beers. “I appreciate you taking care of the guys for me. It completely slipped my mind to offer them something to drink.”

Johnny G wanted to laugh, but, remembering his resolve to keep a low profile, he tamped down his sarcasm. “Don’t worry. Your man Gomez has done you right.”

“Great. We want you guys to be comfortable while you’re with us.” Deacon went behind the counter and pulled out two more bottles, then offered one to Axel. “You must be parched.”

Axel took the beer. His intuitive gaze darted from brother to brother. Yeah, he wasn’t as befuddled with worry as Deacon andeasily read the lingering tension in the room. Instead of addressing it, he downed half the bottle.

“Hey, guys. You came.”

Everyone’s attention went to the man opening the front door. Johnny G also remembered the red-bandanna-wearing guy. Jax had given him a tough time on that first visit. His attitude today was the polar opposite. Jax was downright cheerful.

“Just in time, Jax,” Deacon said. “These are our southern Spawn brethren. Johnny Gun you’ve already met.”

“Sure, I remember,” Jax said, and Johnny G nodded.

As Deacon continued the introductions, Jax moved from one guy to the next, shaking hands.

“What do you need from me?” Jax asked at the end.

“A couple of beds,” Deacon replied. “Three guys can sleep here, and Axel already told me who he wants with him. Gomez will take one brother. Since you have more room, I need you to take the other two.”

“Absolutely.” Jax smiled at everyone. “Some months ago, my dad moved to a retirement home. His choice, mind you, not mine. Now I have two empty bedrooms. I started remodeling one room to be an office. I haven’t done much yet, and the bed is still there.”

“So, who’s going where?” Gomez asked Deacon, though his eyes bore into Johnny Gun.

“Axel, Max and Johnny Gun will stay with us,” Deacon explained. “I think Tank and Bullet can go with Jax and Pilot with you. He’s a quiet guy, Axel tells me. He won’t bother you much. Besides, he’ll be spending most of his time at the clubhouse.”

Gomez nodded. “I like the arrangement.” He glanced at Pilot. “You’ll have your own room. I make coffee black, I don’t cook, and I only keep beers in the fridge. If you want anything else, you’ll have to bring it.”

“Not a problem,” Pilot said. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

“That’s my job,” Gomez scoffed. “Help our guests.” He liftedhis bottle in a kind of salute, then walked toward the sofa area, leaving the others behind. He sat and crossed his ankles on top of the chest.

“Ignore him,” Deacon whispered. “Sometimes he gets a bug up his ass, but he’s a solid guy.”

The way Johnny Gun saw it, the prez didn’t know Gomez so well.

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