Page 7 of Johnny Gun

Barron glanced at Johnny Gun and shrugged with half a smile. Johnny G hit him playfully on the shoulder. “I knew you’d offer. It’s okay, we’ll be fine.”

“Blade knows what he’s talking about.” Barron lowered his voice. “And he’s right. I’d be thinking constantly about Yoanni. What she needs, is everything okay with the house, her work… blah, blah, blah. Besides, she’d kill me if I left her alone to deal with the construction.”

“Marriage,” Axel scoffed. “Barron came back with his head in the clouds, seeing hearts and flowers everywhere. Not my kind of jam, guys. I don’t have time for that shit. I’m never getting married.”

“You watch,” Johnny Gun murmured to Barron. “This fool is gonna fall so hard, he won’t know what hit him.”

“He already did.”

The soft-spoken comment came from behind Johnny Gun.

“Huh?” He glanced over his shoulder. Bullet, Max’s younger brother, usually a reserved guy who rarely expressed his views to the group, nodded. He played with his black mustache, a steady expression on his face.

“It’s ancient history. I remember her. She was gorgeous and very sweet. The situation was bad all around. Axel knew her heart belonged to someone else, but fell anyway. When she left, only a few of us saw his pain. If you catch him with a few beers in him, he might tell you. I wouldn’t push him, though.” Bullet shrugged. “Believe it or not, the wound hasn’t healed. He gets pretty violent.”

Eyes wide, Johnny Gun spoke to Barron. “Did you ever meet this chick?”

“No, man.” Barron shook his head. “This is news to me. When I switched chapters from the Keys to Garden Hills, the only gorgeous woman I met was Yoanni. She is definitely mine.”

“Like I said.” Bullet stood. “Ancient history. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to talk to Blade and take the sixth slot. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on those two fools.” He jutted his chin at his brother and Axel. “I’ll see ya.”

Johnny G followed the soft-spoken man with the long black ponytail through the room and stopped at Blade’s desk. Leaner and taller than his brother, Bullet was one of the originals. Max had brought him to prospect the Spawn right after the big rift between Warden and Rover. Bullet was low-key and observant. He blended into a crowd. He was easily missed by less perceptive individuals, and that gave him an advantage. Johnny G wondered how many stories and secrets the guy knew about the brothers in the club.

“We’re done here.” Blade spoke to the group. “Bullet brought the number to six. That makes me feel much better. Those of you riding north, pack up your gear and remember to take all the extra ammo you can carry. One thing less to worry about up there. Axel, you’re the senior member. You’ll be in charge of our guys. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

The room emptied slowly. Lost in worried thoughts of seeing Isolde again, Johnny G didn’t move from his seat. He was a live wire inside.

“Why don’t you have dinner with us?” Barron asked. “You’ll be gone awhile. Could be weeks before you have a decent meal again.”

Johnny G dropped his elbows on his knees, then turned to his friend. “That would be nice. What time?”

“Seven.”

“Great.” He nodded, then stood. “See you then.”

“Where are you going now?”

To the first bar I find to let off some steam, he wanted to blurt. But if he did, Barron would offer to come with. Right now, Johnny G needed to drink alone among strangers.

“For a ride,” he answered with a casual shrug. “It’s a nice day.”

“Is it?” Barron squinted at the window. “Looks kinda cloudy to me.”

“So?”

Narrowing his eyes, Barron stared at him in silence. Finally, he held up his hands. “All right, be careful out there.”

Yeah, always intuitive, his friend had read Johnny G’s desire for space. Tapping his forehead, he smiled and left the room.

Johnny Gun sped north on Main Street. He rode past the large warehouse complex, heading for the dive bar he’d noticed some time ago. The Nook pub catered to the warehouse and port workers. The kind of rough and tough crowd who put bikers at the bottom of the social ladder. He was about to enter the place, alone and wearing his Devils’ Spawn cut, advertising to everyone inside his MC allegiance.

Perfect.

He pushed in the swinging door and scanned the room. It was early and the bar wasn’t crowded yet. Still, all heads turned his way, and the pub went deadly silent. The sound of his heavy steel-toed boots landing on floorboards with each step resonated throughout the space. The bartender, hands on the counter, glared as he approached.

“Are you lost?” the man grated. “This ain’t your crowd, and I don’t want any trouble, ya hear?”

“I heard you.” With a slow, determined gesture, he pushed the stool in front of him to the side, then slid a twenty onto the counter. If this visit worked out the way he wanted, he wouldn’t be sitting comfortably for very long.

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