Page 22 of Law Maker

He didn’t taste the pains of the world.

Learning to block out the degradation of human neediness was one way to not give any fucks about what he did. Or the laws he might have broken along the way.

Living by his own rules meant he didn’t give a fuck about much in general.

And he didn’t give a fuck in a spectacular way.

Having stayed in Buffalo a while, his predator soul—if he possessed one and according to his dear crazy momma he didn’t—started to long for wide open spaces.

He’d won the pink slip to a Harley a few months back. With his few pieces of shit belongings, he climbed on the Hog and didn’t stop riding until he smelled clean air. The coldness of a mountain breeze brushed his sharp cheeks. Stepping down off the bike, more than fatigued and in need of food, he glanced at the city sign a few miles back. Lawless had arrived in Armado Springs, Colorado.

Not as big as Denver, but not far from it either.

He did what he always did when he landed somewhere new.

He checked out the local bars to grab a steak dinner.

Hitting on a biker bar, he made it his haunt for the next week.

And the one after that.

No one bothered Lawless, but oh, the bad fish did lap him up with their greedy eyes. Men and women, and if he had a taste in his throat for any of them he might have made good use of that greed.

The peace he felt was odd.

It could be that he had a brain tumor.

He gave it a few days and then he gave it a few more for boredom to settle in and let Lawless know it was time to move again.

It didn’t come.

A few weeks into his new digs, he was in that same bar when a group of bikers ambled in noisily and took over the back tables.

Uninterested, Lawless prowled to his seat with a fresh beer.

That was until he felt eyes on him.

It was different to the usual intrigue.

Seeking out the itch on the back of his neck, he saw among the rabble of bikers, there was a set of demon eyes pale as ice staring across at him.

If Lawless was in any way the kind of guy who got intimidated by anyone, he would have felt it under that stare.

But he wasn’t that guy.

Would never be that guy.

He could already see the play in those eyes.

Wary. Untrusting. Dangerous.

Lawless did the only thing he could do when faced with impending danger. He grinned and winked at the fool and went back to his beer.

An hour later that same tickle in his skull became a full blown itch and now he was beginning to get irritated.

The meat did not learn it was fucking rude to stare.

Up off his stool, he strode like a storm across the packed bar. Ignoring all the naughty maggot eyeballs lapping up the new guy in town.

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