Page 23 of Knot My MC
No, but I wanted Kiki to respond. I’m a bastard for thinking she would.
“Guess not,” I finally admit. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
I dread the chance of running into Kiki more than I do trying to get a word in with Axel.
That woman’s always had a grip on me, and I’m not at all surprised that her hold hasn’t faded after all these years. As I climb onto my bike, it isn’t worry about whether Axel will try to shoot me or one of my brothers that consumes my thoughts.
It’s about a gorgeous blonde with a spitfire soul.
* * *
Five men strapped with semi-automatic weapons greet us at the gate blocking the driveway that leads to the Wrecker clubhouse. One of the guys points his gun at me, his fingers inching toward the trigger. I pull off my helmet and set the side kick down before I climb off my bike. Jag and Crow mirror my movements, joining me in front of the motorcycles to stare down Axel’s men.
“You have some balls showing up here after what you did,” the guy pointing the gun at my face says while the rest of his crew point their weapons at Jag and Crow.
“We didn’t do shit, and that’s why we’re here. I want to talk to Axel.”
“No can do, shit bag.” A brave prospect spits on the ground. “Hounds aren’t welcome here.”
I stick my hands in my pockets, only a little worried they’ll shoot me before I can pull my own weapon. I’m counting on the fact that it’s the middle of the day and the open businesses down the road wouldn’t take too kindly to gunfire in the area. These guys won’t do it unless they’re begging for the cops to get called. With the amount of heat they’re packing, most of it likely illegal, they wouldn’t want that.
“Why don’t you call your boss and let him decide if he wants to talk to me.” I step back and lean against my bike, settling in to wait.
Axel’s guys exchange looks and the one with the gun pointed at me jerks his head toward the club house.
“Go on, Prospect.”
Scowling at us, the prospect points the barrel of his gun down and jogs toward the club house. I study the windows of the building, searching for whichever one belongs to Kiki. It feels wrong being so close to where she might be and not being able to go check on her.
Crow shifts a little, moving more of his weight to his good leg. Most days the only proof of the injury is a slight limp to his walk, other days, like today with the angry storm clouds rolling in, it gets worse. His leg has never been the same after that night.
Jag lights up a cigarette and takes a drag of it, narrowing his eyes on the jackasses in front of us. A few of them are seasoned club members, but none of them are important enough to remember their names. The only people I give a damn about remembering from Wrecker are Axel, Kiren, and Kiki. I remember the faces of his council members, but their names are lost on me.
After another long drag of his cigarette, Jag flicks it at their feet. The red cherry glows bright and smoke curls up from the end.
“Fucking dogs,” one of the guys mutters under his breath.
“You know who Cerberus worked for right?” Jag widens his stance.
“Who the fuck is Cerberus?” the same guy asks, face growing tight with annoyance.
I can sense Jag is rearing up for a fight. He’s always looking for an excuse to find trouble, but we don’t need any more than we already have.
“Don’t bother,” I mutter.
A door to the club house slams open and Axel stomps toward us, the prospect hot on his trail. The thunderous expression on Axel’s face has me straightening. I pull my hands from my pocket and hook my right thumb in my belt loop. The gun on my hip is a second away if I need it.
The guys in front of me won’t shoot me in broad daylight, but Axel might.
“You have a lot of fucking nerve,” he snarls, passing by his crew and storming straight up to me. His nostrils flare as he presses into my space.
I hold my ground, refusing to back down. “We came to talk.”
“After you shot my VP?”
“We didn’t do it.” I study the hard lines of his face. Axel isn’t much older than Kiki’s dad, but his face has aged more. His angry scent flares around me, sickly sweet like the smell of gasoline, but there’s a trace of something familiar riding it.
Something I had forgotten but missed all the same.
