Page 17 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

I roll my eyes. These girls have always got some friend somewhere having a party or inviting them places. “Didn’t know you girls skied.”

Melissa shrugs. “We gave snowboarding a try. It was a blast.” She leans her palms on the front panel, bringing herself closer. “You should try it sometime.”

My eyes sweep down her open ski jacket to the soft cream sweater underneath that hugs her perfect tits, and my dick gets hard. I glance at TJ. “What’s wrong with the car?”

“Don’t know. She says it keeps sputtering out.”

I shift my gaze to Melissa. “You got gas?”

She huffs out a breath. “Yes, I’ve got gas. I’m not an idiot.”

“Could be the plugs,” TJ muses.

“Could be the filter, pump, or injectors. Dirt and debris need only clog one part to cause the others to fail,” I reply.

“Is that a problem?” Melissa asks.

“It can lead to poor engine performance or even complete engine failure.”

“Could be a dirty airflow sensor,” Marcus offers. “Could be a faulty catalytic converter. Could be failing.”

“Could be a lot of things.” I look over at him, then elbow TJ. “Pull the plugs. Let’s start with the easiest answer and go from there.”

He nods and pops the trunk to retrieve the bag of tools Cole makes his daughter carry with her.

“How long has it been sputtering?” I ask her.

“A couple of weeks,” Harley answers for her. “But it got worse climbing the mountain.”

I lift a brow at Melissa. “A couple weeks? Jesus Christ, woman, do you even have oil in this thing?”

She shrugs. “I mean, I think I do.”

“Babe, you got to fill the oil. That knocking sound? That means you’re out of oil.”

TJ swaps out the plugs for some in the tool bag, and the car fires up, but is soon making that noise again. He fills the oil and wipes his hands. “It should make it down the mountain.”

“Good.” I slam the hood. “Let’s roll.”

Just as I turn, the first reverberations echo across the parking lot. The noise grows louder until it’s a thunderous roar. TJ, Marcus, and I all crane our necks toward the east. Four bikes crest the horizon and rumble this way. Every muscle in my body goes tight. They look like a club, everything about them reads MC from the size of their bikes, to their posture as they ride, to the tight formation they keep as they move as one in regimented unity.

They slow as they roll past, and heads turn our way. They spot us at about the same time I see the patches on their backs. Death Heads. Four of them.

Holy shit.

CHAPTER FOUR – SACRIFICE

Billy—

The four Death Heads pull into the gas station, and as they do, I slide my phone from my pocket. Holding it at my side and out of sight, I glide my thumb across the screen, dialing the number for my father, Red Dog.

“Safeties off, boys,” I call to Marcus and TJ, who are already bracing themselves for whatever shit is about to go down. These are four patched members of a rival MC, and we are merely three prospects; there are a thousand ways shit could go sideways. I set my phone on the hood of Melissa’s car, wanting to free my hands and not draw attention to my call to the club. I hope to God he answers.

My eyes never leave the four men coming to a stop in front of us and dismounting from their bikes. I wish we’d had time to book it out of here, but there was no way we’d be able to load up before they were on us. At least this way we’re at the ready.

I glance sideways, taking in the four people with me. They are my responsibility now. My eyes linger for one second on Melissa. I’ll die before I let anything happen to her.

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