Page 92 of Tracking Luxe

The sharp, relentless ache behind his right eye had expanded to encompass his entire skull. He shoved his fingers under the dark green skull cap into his thick light brown hair and pulled, trying to alleviate the throb, but it was useless, the stress headache was coming thick and fast, churning grease in his stomach, the migraine aura would be next.

The sum total of his life seemed to boil down to the intensity of his headaches; light, meant it wasn't a bad day at all, the dull ache he could ignore as he went about his day. But it was when it was a roar through his temples that Reaper, his preferred name now, couldn't cope as well as he should after all this time.

The past was colliding with his present and he was finding it ... difficult.

Throwing back three pain pills from his pocket that he carried around like Tic Tac’s, he took a last look through the diner window, saw Paige laughing at something a customer was saying to her.

Maybe tomorrow.

But he recognized his own lie. Tomorrow would just be the same as the day after and next week.

He sighed as ice replaced the heat in his eyes. At least he could do his next assignment more proficiently. He hated dealing with Brex Mahoney but at least he knew what to expect from the sniveling fool. The mayor was a pain in the ass and a gossip who liked to brag, more often than that he was gloating what prostitute he’d paid for the previous night. Sticking your cock in a paid whore was nothing to be proud about he wanted to tell him. Reaper rarely engaged a conversation with the guy, he did his job and got out of there.

Pausing as he began pulling on a leather glove, the glint of his wedding band caused his heart to wretch.She’s gone. If he told the lie often enough, he thought, maybe he’d believe it, too, because the fracture of keeping up appearances was fast becoming the hardest thing Reaper had ever had to do. The thing with lies was they became like a cancer in the end.

With his bruised knuckles tightening, he revved the engine and roared off.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“I Spy with my tracking eye … I see a mafia minion…” - Grinder

The first time Grinder became aware he had a tail it was a week later. The feeling of being watched began to niggle him at the base of his neck, hair rising in that way he never ignored because those kinds of clues usually meant something.

He wasn’t doing anything watch worthy, he’d rode over to Fort Springs to grab lunch with Luxe, and then headed back to work. The same black SUV was three cars back behind him. Not thinking much of it at first, eyes gazing in the rear-view mirror he took a left turn and saw it take the same a few seconds later.

Curious, it could be nothing, he kept his speed steady and when it was time to turn again he headed right this time, sure enough the SUV, four cars behind Grinder now, did the same.

A more trusting person would have assumed they were just headed in the same direction, but after leading the car a merry-fucking-dance around Armado, driving down main street twice he knew it was no coincidence.

“I caught a tail just now.” He informed the boys once he was back in the grounds of the club compound, he’d circled around first in the forecourt and saw the black car drive on by.

“Who?” asked Rider.

“Why?” another chipped in.

Grinder didn’t have answers, only theories, but he knew now to stay alert. He didn’t think they wanted to ask him out on a date. The club continuously attracted trouble, even when they didn’t go looking for it, it was the nature of the beast. If it was club related there was better members to tail to garner information. Grinder was the tracker, he wasn’t in charge of the green or any of the businesses, he wasn’t the treasurer in the know of the money. No, he figured this was more personal to what Grinder did recently in a certain Russian party. Now was it because of the stolen pictures or the flash drives he’d pocketed? That was the question of the hour. If he was a betting man he’d place money on all of the above. Either way the Russians were after him for a one on one and he was fucked.

The second time he was aware of being followed a week after that he got more answers, namely because those fuckers came to him. He’d been vigilant, more than usual, and after a few days he was about to put it down to paranoia.

Until Grinder was walking out of the diner, a cake box in one hand, the other carried a paper bag with veggie sandwiches and a coffee carrier with his strong brew he sipped at, he spotted the two Russian’s instantly climbing from their ride, the same damn ride he’d spotted up his ass.

He kept his shit cool, shades masking his eyes, he could watch them approach him without locking eyes.

One said something to the other and he nodded.

Grinder recognized a close-knit squad, those Russian’s were slowly and slyly growing in numbers within Colorado, they had no idea Rider knew this, but the club knew the whole lot going on in their city

And as fast as the Russian’s family was growing, Rider was gathering forces from outside chapters to coincide with the anniversary shindig that was coming up. If the Russians wanted a war then Rider was prepared to give them one. Until then they kept their shit steady.

What the Russians continued to fail to grasp was, they assumed theSoulspower was brittle and malleable, as Hades had been and the like before him and before them.

Nothing empowered theSoulsMC like having their backs to the wall.

They came out fighting.

And fighting dirty.

Soulswere family was Grinder’s foremost thought as the Russian’s approached closer, their dickhead gazes on him. They looked like fucking rejects from The Sopranos.

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