Page 33 of Johnny Gun

Johnny Gun shut his expression down.

“Wearing colors?” Trent asked, his tone fairly jovial. A departure from his regular gruff attitude.

“Yup.”

Johnny G and Isolde walked past each other as if neither one existed.

“Going into town?” Trent continued. His smile turned to a sneer.

He shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Want company? I can show you around.”

Grinning, Johnny G scratched his earlobe. “Nah. Thanks for the offer. I’m a solo rider at heart. It’s my jam. Ask around. My brothers will agree.”

“You should be careful. A solo rider is an easy target.”

“If the rider is unprepared, maybe. But I’m not.” As he spoke, he pulled out his SIG from the back of his jeans, then pointed the muzzle to the ceiling. “And there’s always one in the chamber.”

“Whoa.” Taking a backward step, Trent held up his hands. “Easy, cowboy.”

“No worries. The military trained me well.” He returned the pistol to the holster in the back of his waistband and dropped his shirt over it. “A brother has nothing to worry about from me. I’ll see ya.” He moved past Trent, then exited the clubhouse at a moderate pace. He didn’t want to appear either rushed or too casual to the man watching him.

Johnny’s thoughts churned with suspicion and concern. He didn’t want to see danger wherever he looked, but Isolde had expressed a silent warning. Gomez had disliked him from the start, and Trent, being a close friend, acted the same way. This sudden friendliness and interest in his comings and goings didn’t sit right with him.

One would think both men were following him around.

As he got on his bike, he sent the promised text to Barron.

On my way to meet my new contact for safehouses.

Barron answered immediately.

I’ve got an idea. Thank him for his help—big-time. Don’t choose a place until you speak to me again.

Johnny Gun frowned.

What r u thinking?

A way to throw everyone off your trail. Call me from your room.

Nodding, he typed back.

Will do.

He dropped his phone into the pocket of his cut and rode off with conflicting thoughts. He couldn’t imagine what Barron had in mind.

Johnny Gun found Inkjunction without a hitch. The vice president’s directions took him straight to the street. As he slowed, looking for somewhere to park, he understood Viper’s genius. A sign on the front sent customers around the back of the establishment. Furthermore, Inkjunction’s corner location offered a semi-private L-shaped parking garage. The narrow entrance on the side street turned left to a wider space, where a smattering of pickup trucks and a couple of bikes indicated the place wasn’t busy. Johnny G parked next to Viper’s bike and dismounted. He strode toward a back door, but found it locked, so he went around the front. He walked into a surprisingly bright and cheerful reception room. A young man manning the desk lifted his head from reading his laptop, studied Johnny’s cut, and smiled.

“They’re waiting for you. Go straight to the end and knock on Toby’s door.”

“Thanks.” He headed toward the back of the parlor. He passed several artists’ stations. Three were busy with the artist, customer, and an emotional support friend, he supposed, and the rest were empty.

He knocked on the door with the red letters, and Viper answered from inside. “Come in.”

Johnny Gun opened the door and stopped. A gorgeous blonde woman—age undetermined—with stunning curves sat at the edge of a polished mahogany desk. She wore skintight black latex slacks and strappy high heels. One foot was propped on Viper’s lap. Her blood-red leather bustier had difficulty containing her ample breasts. An intricate mandala tattoo covered her right shoulder, and a slightly different version of the shoulder design, decorated her left forearm.

Massaging her ankle, Viper laughed. “I think we’ve shocked him.”

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