Warrant (Righteous Outlaws #1)(7)

I tapped his shoulder as I approached, and he dragged his eyes away from  Sienna, who was bent over a car writing down a VIN number. She was  fucking hot, I'd give him that, but not enough to risk your life for it.  Nick wouldn't fucking hesitate to put a bullet in his, or any of the  guys', heads who stepped foot near his daughter. He was protective as  all fuck over her.

I could've told Kade to let it go and move on, but why bother? I had  already tried, time and time again. The guy didn't get a fucking hint.  Instead, he fucking pined over something he knew he couldn't touch,  suffering like a pathetic pussy-whipped idiot who wasn't even getting  any pussy.                       
       
           



       

"Ready to go?" I asked, grabbing the helmet from my handlebar, Sunshine's white panties still dangling from where I left them.

Kade nodded to the white cotton. "What's going on with those?"

"I call it victory," I said.

"Would they have something to do with where you disappeared to last night?"

"You know I don't kiss and tell," I joked.

"Bullshit! You don't just tell, you show. Since when did you become all  soft and shy? Might I remind you of the time you had sex in a room full  of people and spent weeks bragging about it."

"I was drunk, and she was horny. I don't see anything wrong with that.  Now, are we going to do this or we going to sit out here all fucking day  reminiscing about all the times I've fucked a slut?"

"We'd need a hell of a lot more than a day. We'd need a whole goddamned month for that shit."

"Then, let's get the fuck out of here."

"Let's take the truck. Don't want the guy to see bikes, and figure out it's a setup."

"Smart man," I said, and hopped into the passenger side of the 1985 Ford  Bronco that was older than me but still ran despite the rust and bullet  holes.

We drove to the outskirts of town where most of the deals went down. Far  enough from Main Street to appease Stanson, and keep the façade that  Black Hills was a good neighborhood that was void of drug dealers and  criminals. If the town folk only knew drug dealers were the exact people  keeping their town and their lives safe.

Kade pulled off to the side of the road, and put the truck into park. He  checked the time on his phone and leaned back in the seat. "He should  be here in five minutes." I nodded. We didn't need a game plan because  we had done this before.

Kade stripped off his cut so he wouldn't give himself away, and placed  it beside him in the seat. A minute later, an over-customized black BMW  with chrome rims pulled up. Kade slid his sunglasses on and smiled.  "Let's get this over with." He stepped out of the truck and walked over  to the car. I watched him in the rearview for his signal to let me know  how many guys we were dealing with.

He got to the window and bent down, scratching his head with one finger.  I didn't even bother ridding myself of my cut. This was too fucking  easy. I doubted it was Montamos. They wouldn't be stupid enough to deal  in our parts and show up solo. No, this was some douchebag with either  no common sense, or a death wish.

I slipped out of the truck, and came up on the passenger side of the  car. I pointed my gun at the tinted window, and, just as the guy inside  noticed, Kade rammed his head into the steering wheel. He grabbed him by  the collar, and yanked him out the window.

The guy scrambled, trying to get control, but Kade just pistol-whipped him. "Shut the fuck up!" Kade yelled, and I laughed.

"Always pistol whipping people," I joked, holding my gun on the guy so  he didn't try to pull any stupid moves. He was dressed like a typical  douchebag who thought his shit didn't stink. Expensive jeans, black  button down shirt and fucking clown shoes. His hair had more oil in it  than the Toyota back at the shop.

Kade smiled. "What can I say? It's fun."

"What is your fucking problem?" the guy cried out like the little pussy shithead he was.

"Our problem?" Kade growled, bending down to the guys face. "You're dealing in our territory."

"It doesn't have your fucking name on it!" the guy spat, and Kade kicked him in the gut.

"I'm sorry. Did we tell you that you could talk?" Kade demanded, as the  guy doubled over and clenched his stomach. Kade grabbed him by the shirt  collar and smirked. "I can imprint it on your fucking head if you  want!"

He gave Kade a death glare, but it meant nothing. He might as well have  been a kitten purring. Kade wasn't scared of shit, especially not some  low class drug dealer who didn't have a fucking leg to stand on.

"Fuck you!"

Kade answered him with an elbow to the back. He collapsed on the ground,  curling into himself and trying to get back up. "Is that all you got?"

"Dude, just shut the fuck up," I said with a laugh. He was a fucking  idiot who clearly had no idea who he was dealing with because, if he  did, he would be cooperating. He needed an education.

Kade pressed the barrel of his gun to the guy's head. "We could end this  right now, or you can get the fuck out of here and stick to dealing  outside of Black Hills."

He didn't say anything, so Kade cocked his gun.

"Alright!" The guy finally yelled. "Alright!" He held his hands up in front of him, and Kade dropped the barrel from his head.                       
       
           



       

"Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind," Kade demanded.

He scrambled to get up and then took off running. He hopped into his  car, threw the car in drive, and peeled the tires down the length of the  street.

Kade and I laughed before getting back in the Bronco and heading back to the clubhouse. It was just another day at the office.

We pulled into the parking lot fifteen minutes later, and followed the  rest of the gang inside. There was business to be discussed and we all  sat around the large oak table carved with the Righteous Outlaws symbol  in the middle: a shield representing the original four Horsemen of the  club: righteousness, brotherhood, respect, and loyalty. To go against  any of those, you go against everything the club stands for.

I sat in my seat beside Kade and across from Miles. Nick took his spot  at the front of the table, and Phil sat in the chair to his right. It  signified Phil was Nick's right hand man. Both were starting to go grey,  and their skin was marked with years of wear, but age didn't slow  either of them down. Bentley, Dice, Braxton and Hudson took their seats  and we waited for Nick to start.

"Kade, what happened with that deal? Was it Montamos?"

"Nah," Kade answered. "Just some douchebag that didn't know the rules of this town. I set him straight."

"Shoot ‘em?" Nick questioned.

"I should've, but I let the fucking prick go. Next time, I won't be so generous."

"Should have shot him in the fucking leg at least," Miles offered.  "Flesh wound. He'd recover nicely, and be out of our fucking way for a  few weeks."

"Should've just put a bullet in his fucking head, then there wouldn't be  a next time," Bentley stated coolly, as if he was talking about  deciding what was for dinner and not about life or death. He was the  pretty boy of the group, with that dark rugged look chicks fucking  fawned over, but he was also the most lethal. His eyes were black as  death, and I swore that, every time he killed someone, they got even  darker.

Nick crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Then we would have had to  deal with Stanson. And with the fucking body showing up on the roadside,  and the Feds in our neck of the woods, we need to keep the violence to a  minimum. No shooting, not even a fucking warning shot, unless it is  absolutely necessary. You got it?"

"Aye," we all agreed.

"Any news about the body?" Miles asked.

Nick turned his attention to Phil. Phil leaned toward the table, resting  his arms on the wood. "Definitely a member of Montamos. Stanson said he  had the tats to prove it. No idea who killed him. None of us did,  unless someone has something to say."

"Nope," I said and the other guys added their no's to the table.

"That's what I thought. So, if it was none of us, then my guess is it  was either a local street gang or the Chinese. Probably a business  transaction gone wrong. Either way, it's not our fucking problem. Let  them keep their trash on their side of the town line."

"It was close though," I stated. "To the town line, I mean. It's why the  Feds were hanging outside yesterday, wasn't it? They think we had  something to do with it."

"They don't think shit," Phil said. "They just have to go with what they  know, and I guarantee we're not the only place they're parked outside  of."