Outlaw's Vow: Grizzlies MC Romance(7)

Another long pause. Then the sound of a boot kicking, straight into Asphalt's chest, hard enough to splinter several ribs.

My stomach churned. I covered my mouth, fighting the sick need to throw up, wiping at the tears rolling down my cheeks with the other hand.

The gate creaked open, and several new boots clattered on the old patio outside. Daddy spoke to several of his men in hushed whispers before he pulled out his lighter. I listened to him flick the flame on. In my mind, I could see him holding it to light another one of the cigarettes he rolled by hand as part of his morning ritual.

“Carry this sack of shit out, brothers. Make sure that Tacoma bottom rocker's off his cut before he leaves town. Don't ever want this dumbass kid embarrassing our charter again.”

“You got it, Prez.” I heard Uncle Line whistle, leading the prospects out, imagining his one-eyed face staring over the grisly scene.

Asphalt groaned as they dragged him out. My signal to make my feet work again. I fought the urge to throw up as I tottered up the stairs. I barely shut my door and crashed out on my bed before daddy came inside, slamming the screen shut behind him.

By some miracle, he never heard me cry myself to sleep that night.

The only man worthy of putting his lips on mine was gone forever, if he even lived through the night.





II: Blowout (Asphalt)


Present Day

“Shit. It's always some fucking thing, isn't it?” Brass slapped the table so hard I could feel it vibrate beneath my palms.

The other brothers weren't looking at me like the hothead for once. The Veep was pissed, and who the fuck could blame him? Hell, with all the guys hooking up and taking old ladies left and right, they had more reason than ever to hate the bloodshed coming our way.

“Enough, son. What's going on up in Tacoma cuts straight to the heart of this club's future.” The Prez slicked his long gray hair back and tightened his grip on the bear claw serving as his gavel.

When Blackjack spoke, everybody listened. I tensed up in my seat and sat a little straighter. He'd led us through some crazy, fucked up shit the last few months, and we were so close to peace everybody could taste it.

I didn't mind the peace and quiet, honestly. Every man needed a break after all the life and death, old lady drama shit we'd been through. But fuck if my fists weren't hungry to break some bones.

“We could've easily ended up with a new civil war on our hands if it hadn't been for you boys.” Blackjack looked across to me, Roman, and Stryker. “No charter tolerates having their Prez hog-tied and roughed up. But Gil didn't leave us any choice.”

“No, he didn't,” I growled. “Him and I go way back. You'd better believe the man was pissed off when we strapped him down and grilled his ass about the Chinese in his own damned office. No small miracle we managed to get him on the phone with you, Prez, and diffuse a fucking shootout with Tacoma.”

“So, no evidence of dirty deals?” The Prez's sharp eyes narrowed on Roman, our overgrown Enforcer.

“None. If he's been dealing extra ammo and weapons behind our back, he's doing a damned good job of covering it up.”

Blackjack's lips twitched and he pulled out a fresh smoke, making a show of slowly lighting it and taking a long drag before he spoke. “Well, if he's up to the bullshit we think he is, we need to find out before anybody else does.”

“Damned straight,” I said. “If the Devils see some shit and think we're skimming off their shipments to new suppliers, it'll fuck up the whole alliance we've had since Fang bit the dirt.”

“Nobody needs that shit.” Brass leaned back in his chair, locking eyes with his blood brother, Rabid. They shared a nod.

I could've rolled my damned eyes.

This wasn't about how glad we all were that the old Prez was dead and we'd put Blackjack in his place, turning this club right-side up. All the boys in this MC were going soft since they'd taken women.

Shit, some of 'em were family guys now, even the giant next to me. I'd only helped his ass move in a few weeks ago with his babe, Sally, and the change was fucking obvious.

Ever since Roman found out his old flame had popped out a kid, he'd gone from hardass goliath to diaper changing daddy. Spent more time with his family than he did at the clubhouse, except when we all had to get dirty.

His transformation freaked me the fuck out most.

“Nobody in this club needs to worry, as long as we get a man inside.” Blackjack looked at his Veep.

“I'm guessing you've already got a plan, Prez, yeah?” Brass said hopefully.

“That's right. In all my years, nothing cements loyalty between clubs like mixing blood. Gil has a daughter who's back from college to help with his biz up there. We have a few eligible boys, and that gives us an in to –“