Page 53 of Target

“Simple reason— money, Mr. President.”

“Watch your mouth,” I snarl, my blood boiling.

This fucker makes me want to commit violence when I am usually a calm motherfucker.

“Or what? I know all about your little club; you do not break the law like us outlaws. That is why it was so easy to move in on your territory.” His voice shows his proud disillusionment.

“No, you see, Crypt. We may not be a 1% club, but do not make the wrong assumptions about us.” Racer’s voice lowers, showing his intent to make both a threat and a promise. “I suggest that you leave Arizona, and find some other state to do your dealings in.”

Crypt sits forward, and I stare the fucker down, watching his every move, knowing that my brothers are already watching his men. Savage is vibrating behind me, his body and soul ready to pounce, to draw blood from any one of these cuts.

“My Pres wanted us in the area, got good intel on what we wanted, so here we are.” He stares at Racer, then looks to me, the look in his eyes pissing me off.

“What intel would that be?” Racer asks, not backing down.

We want this fucked up club away from our people. Phoenix, hell all of Arizona, is protected by the Rugged Skulls.

Leaning back, again relaxing his body, showing he has no cares, he looks to all the men at my back, before then settling back on me. The glint in his eyes tells me I am not going to like what is about to come from his mouth.

“I was told that my girl moved here with her friend. Owns her own company, helping, planning, and all that shit that women love to do.” Something feels off with what says.

Is he talking about Darian? Both Madalyn and Darian have brought up that they know how club life works.

As the question fills my head, I know in my gut the answer to my own question.

“If she was your girl, shouldn’t you know where she is?” Pres asks.

“Not man enough to keep track of her, huh?” Savage adds in his two cents, making the air around us turn icy.

One of Crypt’s men pushes to his feet, and I reach for my gun, tucked in my waistband.

“Sit the fuck down,” Racer snarls. “No blood will be shed.”

“Says you, Old Man,” one guy replies, baring his teeth.

I scoff, looking at the weasel-faced punk bitch.

“Bitch, he will snap you like a twig, old man or not. Shut the fuck up and sit down,” I command.

His mouth opens to reply to me but Crypt kicks his legs out from under him, making him fall back into his seat. Then he looks back to Racer.

“Do not make demands of my men, they are mine to command, not yours. We are here to stay,Pres, so get used to seeing us.” He winks, then looks to me again.

Fuck, I hate this prick.

“I do not think so,” Racer replies calmly, stepping closer to the table.

I see a flicker of fear flash in Crypt’s eyes, betraying the bravado that he has been showing since we got here. He is afucking prick who thinks because he wears a club cut and patch that he is a big man, a tough biker. Well, the Rugged Skulls will knock this fucker down a peg or two.

“We will not be disrespected. The Rugged Skulls hold force when it comes to people trying to step on our toes. Now, I suggest that you kindly fuck off, since you came here to find your girl who clearly does not want to be found, and we do not want drugs or your street racing in our state. If you president is man enough to come and face me himself—” he pauses “—you know where to find us.”

Race turns his back on Crypt, whose jaw is tight, ticking with the pressure that he is adding by grinding his teeth.

I smirk at the cunt.

“You have been warned.” He gaze finds mine when I speak.

He blinks, his shoulders dipping subtly before he speaks.

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