Page 403 of The Tempted
My demeanor dissolved when I saw my precious Harley covered in red fucking paint and Bianci standing next to it with a sponge.
“Step away from the bike!” I demanded, my one good eye assessing the damage before I looked back at Bianci, staring daggers at him like the one eyed bandit. Just call me Cyclopes.
“What did you do to my Bike?”
“What the hell happened to you?” He growled, ignoring my question, and me for that matter, as he turned to Jack. “What the fuck?”
“None of your business Bianci,” Jack growled.
“The fuck it isn’t,” he pressed, diverting his eyes back briefly, taking in all the glory that is me.
“Go home, Bianci,” Jack demanded. “Your ass don’t belong here, this is club business, something you’re not about. Now, I’ll only say this one more time—go the fuck home to your wife and be the fucking upstanding citizen people fought hard for your ass to be,” Jack ordered, turning around and eyeing the rest of us.
“Chapel, now,” he bellowed, switching his gaze to me. “Get him cleaned up and checked out,” he ordered, before moving toward the door that Bianci was standing in front of.
Guy had balls.
Or maybe heart.
Someone should give the poor sucker a patch—I think he misses the life.
“Riggs became my business when you put him on me and he’s staying my business because of the kid he and my sister are having,” Bianci ground out.
“Aww, you love me,” I said mockingly.
Anthony diverted his eyes to me, silencing me with a glare.
“You people live for one another—me and my people live for family. So, you keep living for yours and I’ll keep living for mine,” he paused, pointing toward me. “I’ll stand back, let you do your thing but a hair on his head gets harmed, all bets are off,” Anthony warned Jack.
I guess he didn’t catch my new do.
“Like I said before, Bianci…go home,” Jack ground out, walking around him and into the Dog Pound.
Bianci stepped aside, and we all followed Jack into the clubhouse. When it was my turn to limp my ass across the threshold, Anthony reached out and cupped my chin, turning my head and staring at my dope haircut. I peered at him, watched his blue eyes darken in a way I’d never seen. Before I could say a word he dropped his hand and started for his car.
The Satan’s Knights had a doctor on call for situations like this. Wolf had already made a call and the doctor was waiting for me when I stepped into the Dog Pound. I don’t know if it was the adrenaline or the goddamn need for revenge but my injuries didn’t bother me, I tried to make light of them. Even when the doctor had to stitch my fucking forehead. Good times.
My bike was fucked.
My cut was gone.
And I had a fucking haircut I didn’t want.
Doc took his sweet time patching me up, making me look like Frankenstein. When he was done I hurried to put my clothes on and meet the guys in the Chapel. I didn’t care if I had to ride bitch, since my bike was a fucking canvas now, I wasn’t being left behind.
I grabbed a baseball hat, fitted it to my head and made my way down to Chapel just as they were walking out.
“What’s going on?” I asked, watching as two of the prospects carried in one of the crates. The deal with Wu obviously hadn’t gone down and now we had access to all the guns. Wolf pried the crate open and started dispersing the guns around the room.
“Sit this one out,” Jack said to me, as he fitted his vest around his chest and draped a rifle over each arm.
“Yeah, no thanks,” I said, snatching one of the guns from Wolf and turning to one of the prospects. “Give me the keys to your bike,” I demanded, holding out my hand.
“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Now,” I hollered, as he glanced over my shoulder at Jack.
Jack sighed, shaking his head for a second before lifting his eyes to meet the prospect’s eyes.
