Page 92 of That Girl is Trouble

I glance sidelong at him. “You know, this kind of feels like a date.”

He snorts. “I don’t date.”

“No?” I ask. I take a big bite of my warm, sugar-coated donut and give him a sidelong glance. “Then what do you do?”

Axe tilts his head like he’s pondering the question, but before he can answer, his expression morphs. A deep crease between his eyebrows, a frown, harsh angles, sharp lines. I follow his line of sight to see Officer Decker approaching, and he looks equally displeased to see the Sinner president.

“Little Danforth,” Decker says, giving me a once-over. His attention shifts from me to Axe and then back to me.

Axe steps between us. “Need something?”

“Couple minutes of your time. If you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Axe growls.

Decker only laughs, his hand moving to the cuffs hanging from his belt. “I wasn’t actually asking. That was me being polite.”

I’m not entirely sure what Decker’s story is. I know from Triss that he and Graves share the same father and that something happened between them all years ago that landed him on Axe’s payroll. There’s definitely bad blood there, and since he’s put me in handcuffs a couple times, I’m not much of a fan either. Except he did sort of save my sister’s life that one time, so it’s hard for me to feel the same level of animosity towards him as the Sinners do.

The two men are locked in a stare-down, and people start to notice. I roll my eyes and pluck Axe’s donut from his hand. “Jesus, Axe, just go. Graves is making ribs for dinner, and you’ll be pissed if you miss that because you’re stuck in a cell for the night for losing a pissing contest with a cop.”

Decker grins. “Best to listen to her, Donovan. I’m in the mood to put a Sinner in his place.”

Axe grits his teeth but concedes and follows Decker out towards the street. They slip behind a row of empty vendor booths. And I follow. Even though I know this isn’t a conversation I’m supposed to hear. Club business, no doubt. I tread slowly behind them, ducking between the booths until I catch Axe’s deep, angry voice.

“You’re playing on my last nerve.”

“Shut up and listen. I don’t know what you’re planning, but whatever it is, you better do it fast. I think this guy’s been buying up cops. Man like that with a few badges in his pocket won’t be good for you.”

There’s a pause, and I lean closer as Axe’s voice drops. “How do you know this?”

“Let’s just say I was given an opportunity to make some easy cash. Not all the guys in my unit would’a turned that down. So whatever move you’re gonna make, now’s the time.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“I don’t want a bloodbath. Or a pile of bodies. Deal with your shit, but keep it contained. Otherwise, this town will be crawling with RCMP, and neither of us wants that kind of heat.”

Axe doesn’t respond. I can picture his face twisting into that frown he always gets when he’s thinking. Finally, he growls, “I need to set an example, Deck. This will be a message, and it won’t be a silent one.”

I suck in a breath and hold it, straining my ears so I can hear more, so I can try to make sense of what he’s talking about. The next bit of conversation is muffled and angry, and the crowd passing by makes it difficult to make out words.

Axe speaks again, louder this time. “No one fucks with my people, my family, and lives to tell about it. I don’t forgive or forget. Ever. This is years in the making, so you can bet there’ll be blood.”

Decker curses. “What’s that saying? You walk down the path of vengeance, you better dig two graves?”

There’s another long pause, and Axe’s next words are laced with more anger than I’ve ever heard come from his mouth. “When I’m done, it’ll be a lot more than two graves I’m digging.”

25

15 months ago

August

It’s after nine when I coast into the shop parking lot. The summer sky has almost faded to black, and the air is heavy and humid. The leather jacket I’d usually wear on a ride has been long abandoned in favour of a T-shirt. Next door, the bass rattles the clubhouse walls. My mouth waters for a cold beer, but instead of joining the party, I’m staring at the light that filters out from the high windows of the large bay door leading into the garage.

It’s Saturday. By now, the place should be cleaned up, closed up, and dark. Everyone either gone home to whoever’s waiting for them or already half-fucked up with a woman on their lap.

So why the fuck is there a light on?

---