Page 9 of Baiting Kong

The pair had gotten their asses killed for a couple hundred dollars, at best. It had been that slow of a morning.

“Can you tell us what happened?” an officer asked. “You don’t look like you were involved in the altercation that took place.”

“Because I wasn’t,” Axel explained. “I was on the floor behind the counter. I didn’t see anything.”

“And you, son, did you see what happened?” the officer asked, turning his attention back to Scout.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” Scout replied and promptly did so all over the officer’s shoes.

Whether it had been on purpose to stop the questions or he was just that shaken up, Axel couldn’t say. Not a lot came up, just enough to get the officer to jump back and stop talking. Then Scout wiped his mouth on his sleeve and locked mismatched eyes with Axel for a moment before addressing the officer.

“I hit the deck too; I didn’t see shit,” Scout said as the cop’s mouth twisted up in a sneer.

“How convenient,” the cop grumbled, before turning on his heel and stalking away.

How convenient indeed, Axel thought as he watched someone cover the dead men. Aside from Ms. Esperanza and the man who’d fled, Scout was the only one who’d been close enough to witness anything, and all he muttered was a flippant remark about an argument over a bag of chips.

Axel snickered, smothering it when the cop whipped around to stare at him.

Oh fuckin’ well. After what they’d just gone through, the only medicine better than laughter was getting pinned to a bed.

Since there were no beds in the store, laughter would just have to do.

Chapter 4

(Creature)

The last thing CarlCreatureWilliams ever expected to see as he rounded the corner to put gas in his 2012 Harley Fat Boy was four cop cruisers parked at haphazard angles in front of the place.

“Hey, what the hell? Is the place running a flash sale on donuts?” Creature asked, motor purring beneath him as he addressed the nearest officer.

“Mind your business and move on.”

“Was minding my business; I need to put gas in this hog.”

“Then you’ll have to do it somewhere else,” the officer snapped. “In case you missed the flashing lights and that poor bastard over there being taken out in a body bag, it’s currently closed.”

He had missed the body bag, eyes drawn to it now as something nagged at the back of his memory.

Didn’t that kid work here? Ace or something or another. He’d come to the aid of one of Creature’s club brothers a few weeks back, but damned if he could remember the circumstances. He’d been on door duty and only caught bits and pieces of what had gone on inside. Shit, he hadn’t gotten himself killed, had he? Someone back at the clubhouse was likely to be pissed if he had. He’d better let them know something had gone down.

“Move, unless you’d like a ride to the station,” the cop said, growing impatient with him.

“Naa, I’ll pass; I prefer to earn those the hard way,” Creature remarked, lifting his boot up off the curb and revving the engine. As he turned to drive past the other side, he spotted the kid standing with Mr. and Mrs. Martinez, along with the young man who’d splayed himself out on the bar for Kong the other night. Scout hadn’t made himself available to anyone else after that, a fact that had frustrated him to no end when the man had turned him down flat, despite there still being noproperty oftag on him. Kong clearly hadn’t claimed him, not yet anyway. Was the kid holding out hope, or had Kong hurt him when they’d gotten up to whatever it was they’d done? Kong did have a reputation for accidentally injuring people in the bedroom.

Still, Creature hadn’t noticed him limping or even moving gingerly as he flitted between tending bar and cleaning up around the clubhouse, a silent, stunningly beautiful presence that never quite seemed to fit, despite the ink he bore. An enigma, really, but if Kong had broken him, then it was unlikely he’d be willing to take another chance on a man their size, and Kong was every bit the match for him in that department. Was just a shame they’d never hooked up over the years they’d ridden side by side.

Came close, though, a few times. Been interrupted before and gotten too wrapped up wrestling one another to do more than get in a few kisses and the rough chafing of beards on skin. Left a few tooth marks on one another too, and a fuckton of scratches. A few bruises too. But in the end they’d gotten off with other people and tormented each other to distraction with heated looks until Kong had gone off to work upstate for the past few months in the Outer Banks. Kill Devil Hills was too long a ride for a night of pleasure, though Creature had considered it from time to time, especially on the nights he was bored andthe hang-arounds held no interest for him. The thing was, he’d reached a point in his life when he wasn’t interested in fucking around and forgetting whatever partner he’d spent time with. He was eager and itching to put his tag on one, maybe even more than one. If Kong didn’t step up to the plate with Scout soon, Creature was going to do a little pressing up on him, see just how interested the kid was in hooking up with a club brother for more than a night.

For right now, it was just a good feeling to know the kid and that other one were safe, along with the Martinez family, who’d owned that business since not long after they’d first gotten married. He’d watched them build it up from a two-pump place that could barely keep milk and cigarettes stocked to a staple in the community. There were three pumps now and selections ranging from fresh fruit and vegetables to diapers and infant cereal.

When something went wrong in their community they pulled together a care package for the family and started up a coffee can collection to deliver along with it. Him and the boys were known for dropping in a roll of cash after they’d taken up a collection of their own, the only way some members of the community would accept help from them. Those black kuttes and leering joker faces tended to scare people, even those who’d known them all their lives. He couldn’t say the reputation wasn’t warranted either. In their hellraising days, they’d done as much terrorizing as any other club. These last ten years, though, things had shifted, as founding members stopped being able to ride and started stepping down. When Mark’s oldest son had gone to prison, putting in work for the club, he’d seen it as a waste of all the kid’s potential and started taking steps to move them in a more legitimate direction.

It had been good for everyone.

Those in desperate need of work they couldn’t find because of felonies and lack of education had seen their classes funded from club coffers, an investment that allowed them to now legitimately earn to feed their families. They didn’t have to worry about minimum wage and shitty hours either. Club-owned and club-run, their business ventures and newly established enterprises had filled gaps within the community, providing services that otherwise would have been sought thirty miles away, in a much bigger city. As a direct result, their town was thriving again, and they’d slowly begun to erase some of the bad reputation they’d earned through violence and desperation.

Still didn’t mean everyone fully trusted them.

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