Page 48 of Baiting Kong

“That he wrecked his bike, so I put him on mine to get him there in a hurry when I couldn’t get enough cell reception to call 9-1-1,” Scout offered, hoping that would be enough.

It wasn’t a lie, either. That was exactly what he planned to say. He’d think of something else to tell them when they didn’t find the bike or the accident site. Maybe he’d just play stupid, tell them he didn’t know the area, had gotten scared and fucked up the location, suggest the bike had been stolen, and give a vague enough description of it that it might go undiscovered until he was able to sneak back here and retrieve it. The lies were beginning to come so easily, he’d forgotten what it was like not to have to tell them.

“You can leave, if you want, but he’s not going anywhere until he pays what he owes,” the second guy declared as he folded his arms across his chest.

“How much?” Scout asked.

“Five hundred.”

“I don’t have it, but I can get it and bring it back,” Scout said. “Just let me get him to the hospital first.”

“What part of not going anywhere don’t you understand?”

“What good is the money going to be if he ends up dying?” Scout said, clinging to his brother when Sawyer tried to shove him away.

Fortunately, there wasn’t enough strength left in him to do more than give Scout a weak push.

“Money’s good whether he’s breathing or not.”

“And you’ll never see it if something happens to him,” Scout threatened. “Just let me take him to the ER, or you can take us there and to the ATM, and I’ll get it for you.”

“How about I just take you to the ATM and you get what he owes?” the second man declared. “Then you can take him wherever you want.”

“I’m not leaving him here,” Scout declared. “Can’t you hear the way he’s breathing? He needs help now. You’ll get your money. You have my word.”

“Unless your word comes with five Benjamins, it ain’t worth shit,” the first grumbled. “Now step away from him.”

“No.”

“Look, kid, I get it,” the second guy said. “He’s your family, and you just want to help him. But we’ve done told you that he’s not leaving until we get that cash, so you might as well stop wasting time and go get it.”

When the man reached to yank him away from Sawyer, Scout nailed him with a knee to the jaw, throwing all his body weight into it, only to be shoved to the ground. He’d staggered him, though. Too bad the other guy was unfazed. Rolling, Scout avoided the first kick the man aimed his way, but the second caught him in the belly, driving most of the air out of him. A heavy boot landed on his shoulder, then his hip, before he rolled, trying to protect himself only to be kicked in the back. Several more kicks and stomps followed, one catching him on the side of the head, the force of it hard enough that the world spun. Gasping, he managed to drag himself over to his brother, who lay crumpled on the ground. Had he fallen once Scout had no longer been supporting him, or had the bastard he’d kneed taken his anger out on Sawyer? He shook his head to try and clear it, everything growing spotty as the men approached.

“There was no need to make us hurt you,” the second one said as he bent down to muss up Scout’s hair. “You got guts, though. None of my brothers would ever fight this hard for me.”

He was really beginning to hate that gesture.

“Maybe that’s ‘cause you’re a prick,” Scout grumbled, squirming, vision blurry as he hooked his foot behind the big man’s.

With a growl, he put everything he had into the kick he delivered, driving his boot into the big man’s knee, satisfied with the loud crack and bellow that resulted when the man’s knee buckled and sent him spilling onto the floor. He rolled, clutching it and cursing, while Scout felt a brief moment of triumph, right up until the other man aimed another kick his way, and the world exploded.

Chapter 15

(Axel)

He was beginning to love coming to the clubhouse. That ocean of black leather vests had become the safe space the trailer used to be, before his old man had started drinking so heavily. Faces were beginning to be familiar, like Danger’s and Doc’s, the two men the cleanest cut of all the men in the building.

They still looked dangerous, though. Even Doc, who had to be pushing sixty. It was in their eyes—shrewd, calculating, never missing anything. It was like they could peer into a man’s soul and see his worth, or lack of it. Sometimes he wondered what they saw when they looked at him and if it was anything good. After all the harsh words he’d endured from his old man over the years, he wasn’t sure if there was any goodness left.

“Hey, Creature, let me holler at you a moment,” Kat called, waving them over to the bar.

“Well, I hope I haven’t done something to actually get me hollered at,” Creature said as he leaned against the wood.

“It is if you took away the best help I’ve had in years,” she said, brandishing a bottle of rum at him.

Right before Axel’s eyes, Creature went from being the biggest badass in the room to a tall, squirming man with a flush of red over the bridge of his nose. While Axel wondered if he was blushing beneath his beard, too, Kat arched an eyebrow, steadilytapping the bottle against her arm, like she was still trying to decide whether to crack him with it.

“Umm, uhhh, technically he’s supposed to start Monday,” Creature admitted. “A-a-and as, as a trial, you know, in case he wasn’t as good with those machines as he claimed to be.”

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