Amusement lit Pounder’s blue eyes. “Impressive how well you shed your biker persona.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he bullshitted. “And I don’t have apersona. It’s who I am. A biker.”
Still not moving away from the door, Pounder shrugged.
“Taking a cue from your president or do you intend to come further into my fucking office?”
“The door stayed open yesterday,” Pounder reminded him, grinning. “We never made it to an officeand,today, we’re in private.”
Scowling, Johnnie stalked around his desk to his executive’s chair.
“You’re incredibly blasé about your life, aren’t you, brother?”
Johnnie dropped into his seat and lifted a brow. He wouldn’t remind him they weren’t allies, so the term brother was a misnomer. “Meaning?”
“You turned your fucking back on me.”
“If you shoot me, you’ll be dead before the end of the day. My camerasaremonitored.” A lie. He didn’t even have a camera in his office and the others weren’t supervised. But what was he supposed to say?
Cash ordered Stretch to stop monitoring Johnnie when they realized he’d met with Bash and hadn’t told Christopher.
If Pounder killed him, someone would find Johnnie’s body. By the time anyone pulled the recordings, Pounder would be long gone and no longer a businessman.
“I’m not going to shoot you, Johnnie,” Pounder said, still across the room. “You’d already have a bullet in your brain. If Bash wanted you dead, he would’ve shot you yesterday.”
Johnnie glared at Pounder. The motherfucker smirked.
“I’ve been sent to do a job. Not hurt you.”
“I’m aware,” Johnnie lied.Not. He wasn’t sure why Bash was fucking with him again and making impossible demands. “You want details on Megan.”
A smile curved Pounder’s lips; he nodded. “The woman of the hour,” he chortled, finally moving his ass away from the door and walking to one of the chairs in front of the desk. He sat. “Bash could’ve told me.”
Anger surged into Johnnie. “I’m sure. Why make me do it?” he couldn’t resist asking.
“He’s bored. Your willingness to cooperate keeps him amused.”
“I’m not a fucking lackey, where he can jerk my fucking chains,” Johnnie spat.
Folding his arms, Pounder leaned back. “Nope. Just a stupid motherfucker.”
Johnnie jumped to his feet. “I resent that,” he snarled. “You’re a fucking underling. A tool. A flunkey. I outrank you, motherfucker. Respect me or else.”
“In your club,” Pounder said calmly.
Johnnie squinted, lost. “In my club? What does that mean?”
“You outrank me.” He spoke with the same patience. “Unless you’ve deserted the Dwellers in truth, you don’t know what the fuck I am in the Scorpions.”
Motherfucker had Johnnie there. Pressing his lips together, he sat down again. “You’re a rank-and-file member, so stop fucking with me, Pounder. Shitty name, by the way.” Every time he said it, he wanted to laugh. “Bash wouldn’t put an officer on the job.”
“You know enough about Bash to know that for sure?”
“Twenty fucking questions are over, so shutthe fuck up.”
Shrugging, Pounder grinned again. Johnnie heaved in a breath and blinked, unease spreading in him. Fuck.
Pounder beamed. “I see you’re getting a clue.”
