Page 29 of Johnny Gun

“The Devils’ Spawn aren’t a bunch of scattered chapters,” he said. “We’re now a recognized organization throughout the region. Our brotherhood extends to the Florida Keys. The patch on your cut proves you swore allegiance to the MC, same as the rest of us. We’re more than a bunch of bikers who love to ride. We’re bonded to each other. In times of need, we offer our help, and we’ll go to war to protect our brothers in the MC. It’s our code. That’s why I’m here, and so are my Garden City brothers.”

“Wow. Beautiful speech.” Already into one of many beers, Trent slapped the bottom of his bottle against the bar counter. “Brought tears to my eyes.” He gave an exaggerated, hitched sob.

“Ignore him,” Gomez muttered. “He’s a sarcastic asshole but he means well.”

Johnny G studied the colorful man sloshing beer all over theplace. Trent’s physical decor made for an interesting display: nautical themes covered both forearms, and he wore two gold hoops in one ear and a wide gauge in the other. In addition, a star, an anchor, and a thin tribal rope tatted around his neck shifted up and down as he guzzled his beer. Johnny wondered if this was meant to distract a casual observer from the darkness lurking within the man. He wasn’t fooled. Ever since he’d entered Deacon’s clubhouse, Johnny G had dialed his senses to full alert. To him, the darkness was plain as day, but he didn’t have enough time to fully assess the foundation, its meaning, or if Trent aimed it at anyone in particular. So he kept his assessment private.

Trent finished drinking. With a toothy grin, he tossed the bottle into a bin and went for another.

“I guess it’s five o’clock somewhere,” Johnny G commented before he finished his coffee.

“Always,” Gomez agreed.

“Good morning.” Sydney’s pleasant voice broke into their conversation.

But her announcement didn’t trigger the stampede in Johnny’s heart, the sudden exhale, or the storm of chills running amok in his system. The young woman standing behind her, with downcast emerald eyes he knew so well, had set him off.

Anger at his dumb and obvious reaction pulsed through his veins in time with his heartbeat. What was the matter with him? He was in Isolde’s environment. It would be logical he’d bump into her without notice, and he should be ready for the encounter. If he continued to react this way to her, everyone, including Deacon, would catch on to his emotions. They couldn’t afford such a stupid mistake.

Sydney continued speaking. “Guys, come to the kitchen. Isolde and I will fix you up for breakfast.” She smiled. “Johnny, you’re new here. We close during lunch, but will reopen for dinner.”

Mug in hand, Johnny G stood. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m not a breakfast person. Can I give you this?” He held up the mug, avoiding eye contact with Isolde.

“Of course.” Sydney took it with a nod.

“I’ll see you all later,” he said and left the room. Despite the temptation to steal a glance at his love, he didn’t. Johnny G didn’t care if the people in the room thought he was rude. Until he put the details of his plan together, he had to stay away from Isolde. He couldn’t allow drooling glances on his part to ruin the escape.

Twirling his long mustache between his fingers, Gomez watched Johnny Gun’s hurried exit. After all his blah, blah, blah about bonding and loyalty to the club, he’d left as if Sydney and Isolde carried the plague. Okay, so Sydney and Isolde weren’t MC members, but still…

Sydney appeared just as confused as Gomez. Her pretty blue eyes had followed his escape. Isolde didn’t. Not once did she look at the man. Her lack of interest seemed too cool, as if she’d expected him to behave this way. Wasn’t it strange? A prickly sensation traveled from the back of his neck to his shoulders.

“What about you, Gomez?” Sydney’s direct question startled him out of his thoughts. Evidently, Johnny Gun was no longer a concern for her.

“Don’t you want to eat?” she pressed him.

He pointed over his shoulder to Trent. The guy was half stretched over the counter, a third beer in the works. “Trent’s a mess. He needs food more than me. ”

Sydney moved past Gomez toward Trent. Isolde didn’t move. She reminded him of a beautiful marble statue, and he got the prickly shivers again. What…was that feeling all about?

“You’re a mess, Trent. I want you in the kitchen, now.” Behind him, Sydney’s tone was clear. She wasn’t accepting a refusal.

“Mm-hmm,” Trent slurred.

“I’ll bring him.” Gomez spoke quickly, hoping to hold Sydney’s anger down. It was well-known in the MC she had zero tolerance for drunks. “Why don’t you and Isolde go on ahead? We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Sydney frowned. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yup. Give us ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes, and I close the kitchen. You and your buddy will have to ride into town for food.” Sydney rushed past him. “Let’s go.” She held the silent Isolde’s arm and kept on going into the hallway.

Slowly, Gomez stood and turned toward the bar. He’d expected to see the pitiful scene of his drunk friend, on his third, or was it his fourth beer, stumbling about and slobbering all over himself. But Trent stood erect and seemingly in full possession of his wits. A wicked light danced in his sharp gaze.

“Did you put on a fucking show for her?” Gomez accused. “Why? I don’t get you, man. What are you doing?”

Trent breathed in and dropped his shoulders. “Not so much for Sydney as it was for our friend from the south.”

“Go on.”

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