Page 56 of Prince Charming

Do not get attached.

Ah, damn. Who was she kidding here?

Attachment 101 had started the day he sat down across from her at the diner and offered her a lifeline.

Whether he grew tired of her eventually, she was attached to Tag in impractical ways.

“Okay.” She agreed, making his eyes flare. “Take me back to work before I am fired.”

SIXTEEN

“Something stinks. And it’s not the garbage.” - Rider

Toeing the line was never a factor within the Renegade Souls ranks.

Playing by their own laws suited Tag down to the ground.

His cage fighting, for instance, would have gone through a gambit of rules and regulations had he joined the MMA circuit.

Most days he was a pretty easy-going guy, but hated being dictated to by those in power.

Rider was the exception, holding a lot of respect for the Prez.

Rider didn’t have to prospect a punk-ass kid like him, didn’t have to give Tag a chance, but he did. It was Rider who fronted the money for Tag’s first cage fight. He helped Tag focus his attitude into the one thing he was good at.

Hawk taught him about security systems.

It was Preacher who spent hours with Tag at target practice.

Grinder trained Tag in the basics of how to track someone.

The list went on for every man sitting around the church table.

And now the skills and talents got passed down to the fresh meat prospects.

He dropped Marianna off at the gym so he could attend a church meeting. She was gonna try to avoid him later.

She was good at that, was his little Russian.

Tag had to set thoughts of his woman aside.

He tuned back into the meeting.

The past few months for the club had been good ones.

No new enemies. Check.

Profits rocketing. Check.

No blow back from theBratvaPakhan. Check fucking check.

The most excitement in Tag’s life recently was nearly being permanently blinded.

“We have a visitor coming to town in a few.” Rider announced. “In fact, Coop texted before I came in and to let me know Rex was in his motorcade coming through Denver.”

Every man at the table rolled his eyes. It was Capone in his accented deep tones that piped up. “Like he’s the fucking president. Maybe we roll out the red carpet for thecabrón.”

Rex, also known as Rider’s dipshit of an uncle, former president of the MC, was not respected. The guy was pushing seventy, and still thought himself a cocky nineteen-year-old trying to stick it to the establishment.

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