Possession(Sons of Odin MC)(36)

“Vincent Ramos!” someone screamed from the bar.

What the hell? He opened his desk drawer and retrieved the .38-caliber revolver he kept available, then shoved it down the back of his waistband. Fights rarely broke out in the bar, but when they did, he came prepared for the worst-case scenario.

Within seconds, he was standing at the ready near the bar. Sheila rushed over to him. “One of the tables already cleared out. Crash is on the patio now, drunk and wearing his colors. Pretty sure he’s here to start trouble—he mumbled something about stealing his old lady.”

Vincent patted her arm. “Offer a free round to the customers and apologize for the disruption. I’ll get the asshole out of here.”

Not wanting to cause a scene, Vincent headed for the outdoor space alone. He found Crash sitting at a high-top. “What’s going on, Crash?” He approached the table slowly, his hands in plain sight. “I’m in the process of organizing a meeting with your president.”

Crash twisted around, a grimace on his unshaven face. “A meeting?” he slurred. “For what?”

“To work this out peacefully.”

“Fuck that.” Crash shot up from his stool and kicked the closest chair over. “You took something that belongs to me, and I want her back.”

Vincent’s jaw clenched as they locked gazes. “That’s not how things work around here. This is the second time you’ve shown up unannounced and I’ve accommodated you. Didn’t I warn you last time to go home and wait? You’ve violated the code again.”

“I want to see Saline.”

And Vincent wanted to aim his gun dead-center on the man’s empty skull and pull the trigger. Just the sight of him made his blood boil. “Why don’t we call your president?”

Something akin to a growl escaped Crash’s lips as he pulled a switchblade from his vest. “How about we settle this now?”

Vincent let out an exasperated sigh. “Didn’t your mama teach you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?” He revealed the revolver, aiming it at Crash’s chest. “Throw the weapon on the ground and kick it in my direction. Then sit your drunk ass down on that stool and don’t move.”

Crash’s bloodshot gaze zigzagged around the space. His eyes went wide when he heard footsteps from behind Vincent.

“Want us to take the trash out?” J.T. asked.

“No,” Vincent said. “I believe we’ve reached an understanding.” He paused and gave Crash an extra minute to think it over. “Two ways out—on your feet or in a body bag.”

“Let me see my old lady.”

“She’s not yours anymore.” Dog Tag exploded onto the patio, a miniature wood baseball bat in his hand. “Let me crack his brain open—maybe he’ll wake up.”

“Back the fuck off,” Vincent warned his Brother, lowering his weapon. “Drop the knife, Crash.”

Vincent could see Crash’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, an indication that he was nervous. “Drop it,” he repeated dispassionately. One more wrong move and his revolver would be missing a bullet. “Now.”

Crash complied. The switchblade slid across the tile and stopped short of Vincent’s feet.

“Good,” Vincent said. “J.T., frisk him. And you…” He leveled his gaze on Dog Tag. “Come with me.”

They walked inside the short hallway that led to the main room of the bar. Vincent slammed Dog Tag against the sheetrock and shoved the barrel of his gun in his face. “I should end it now.”

“W-wait.” Dog Tag swallowed hard, but didn’t struggle.

“I’d be doing an act of kindness on your behalf.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not sorry enough.” On a sigh, Vincent returned the firearm to his waistband. “If the Man-o-Wars get ahold of you, I can’t list all the ways they’ll torture you. Think before you act.”

“Anything you say.”

“Then send Saline to the patio.”

“What?” From the look on Dog Tag’s face, Vincent knew he couldn’t believe what he’d ordered.

“I’ll be with her the whole time. If a quick conversation with Saline ends Crash’s obsession with finding her, I’m willing to give it a try. Go back to the clubhouse and wait.”

Ten minutes later, Saline joined them. She hesitated under the archway, staring at her ex.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Vincent said reassuringly. “Sit down next to me.”

Crash took a swig of beer, his eyes never leaving his woman.

She claimed the stool next to Vincent, her hands trembling as she folded them on the table. “Why are you here, Crash?”