Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“We need to stop talking shop here.”
“Right. And we need to act like I own your pussy.”
“In your dreams, Ghost.”
“Oh,” he purred, “I like a good challenge, Kitten.”
She shot him a wicked smile. “You ain’t the only one.”
“Fuck,” he muttered when a huge man wearing DAMC colors lumbered in their direction. Were they about to be promptly evicted from the property?
“Who’s that?” Nova whispered.
“Trouble.”
The club’s sergeant at arms stopped directly in front of them, crowding them with his big body.
Diesel Dougherty locked eyes with him. Oh yeah, Fletch liked a challenge but would pass on challenging this particular man. He wasn’t stupid. He knew his limits, even if the club’s enforcer was about twenty years older. The man might be in his fifties, but he wasn’t dead. And his meaty paws were the size of sledgehammers.
“Know you ain’t welcome here.”
“And you know this was all pre-approved.”
“On the run. Now, get gone.”
“Your prez said—”
Nova jammed her elbow into his side.
“Our prez said we’re welcome. Aware of our limits. Gonna respect that.”
Diesel sucked snot into the back of this throat and spat a thick hocker at Fletch’s feet. “Respect. Fuck your respect. An’ fuck your asses for tryin’ to act like us an’ speak like us.”
“D…” came from behind them.
Fletch didn’t like people approaching them from the rear but he recognized the voice so he kept his eyes on the immediate threat in front of them instead.
Diesel also kept his eyes on Fletch and didn’t acknowledge his president.
“Stand down, D,” Zak Jamison ordered and came around to stand next to his sergeant at arms, along with a tall kid in his late teens, a lankier carbon copy of the president. Like father, like son. Only the son wasn’t wearing a cut. “Discussed this shit already.”
The beast of a man was not standing down. “Don’t mean I gotta like it.”
“Nobody fuckin’ likes it!” Zak yelled, then quickly reined it in and lowered his voice. “But you’re makin’ a goddamn scene an’ catchin’ eyes. They’re supposed to be blendin’ in.”
Diesel’s jaw shifted and his broad chest swelled as he took a deep breath.
“I’ll handle this. You go handle that new prospect leanin’ all over Vi inside church.”
If Fletch thought Diesel looked scary before, he morphed into something even more terrifying. But before he stomped away, he jabbed a finger at Fletch and Nova. “Watch your fuckin’ step.” Then he was gone.
“Should I go with him?” the younger version of Zak asked.
“Stay out of it. You know he got it covered.”
The kid jerked his chin at Fletch. “So, who the fuck’s this?”
Zak inhaled deeply and shook his head, his expression clearly showing his annoyance. When he loosened his jaw, he said, “Patched over from the Fury. Go.”
“What?”
If the kid didn’t believe it, other people might not, either. That could be a problem.
“Get gone, Zeke. Ain’t your business.”
“This club’s my business.”
Zak’s head jerked back and his eyebrows shot up. “Not yet it ain’t. Not as long as I’m still livin’, breathin’ an’ holdin’ the fuckin’ gavel. You ain’t even wearin’ a prospect cut yet.”
“But—”
“Go! Ain’t gonna tell you again.” With that, Zak and his son stared at each other in a standoff.
Fletch’s gaze ping-ponged back and forth to see who would break first. He was surprised at how long the son challenged his father. Eventually Zeke broke first, looking pissed and stomping off toward the pavilion where he joined a group of older teens, both male and female.
Zak turned back to them, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ kids. All sweet an’ shit one day and the next… BAM… talkin’ back an’ talkin’ shit.”
Fletch watched the boys clasp hands and bump shoulders or fists with each other. The girls were smiling and laughing. Maybe even one or two batted their eyelashes at the president’s good-looking son.
Fletch figured the kid would end up being trouble with a capital T, if he wasn’t already. Especially when a bong appeared like magic and the boy accepted it.
Fletch turned back to Zak and lifted an eyebrow. “He eighteen?”
“Close enough.”
“And that makes what he’s doin’ all right?”
Zak’s eyes flicked over the pavilion, his gaze hung there for a second before turning back to them. Fletch could see the man trying to restrain himself. “My kid, so I’ll handle it. Said not to interfere with us. You do, our invitation will be revoked.”
Fletch raised the palm not attached to Nova’s hip. “You got it. Wasn’t lookin’ for trouble, was just curious since he’s over there takin’ a hit off a bong.” Not just one hit, either. The cloud around him was as thick as a Cheech and Chong movie.
Fletch smoked pot when he was a teen, too, but he never had the balls to do it in front of his parents. Bikers were definitely a different breed.
“Said I’m gonna handle it.”
Nova’s arm tightened around his waist in an unspoken message. It reminded him that the man standing before them was their only ally in that club. Fletch needed to mind his damn business to stay on his good side and for them to stay undercover. Without them, it would be harder to approach the Demons.