Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
As soon as the truck came to a stop, I descended on it. Even though he was armed, the trucker gave little resistance. Clearly, his payroll didn’t cover protecting his load from a bunch of hijacking bikers.
Maverick unlocked the back, and as our eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cargo slowly came into view. It looked innocent enough. Crates and crates of wine, all stamped with the familiar Eagle’s Nest logo.
With Joker’s help, I unloaded a solitary crate onto the dusty roadside, and cracked it open. Rows of wine bottles gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Exactly what the manifesto declared should be in there.
Bull walked around the crate, examining it, not saying a thing, thinking, studying, before crouching down and yanking on one of the pieces of timber. With a crack it gave way, revealing a secret compartment filled with bags of white powder.
Just as we suspected, Martel was cutting cocaine in the cellar of Eagle’s Nest and then shipping it out to distributors.
Bull held up a bag of blow.
“Sonofabitch,” he growled. He looked at Joker who was reading the truck’s manifesto on a clipboard. “Where is it headed to?”
“Over the state line. A small town just out of Baton Rouge.”
“It’s probably where the cartel have set up shop to distribute,” I said.
Bull stalked over to the truck driver.
“You give your boss a message from me. Tell him we have his truck. Which means we have his coke. And if he wants it back, he knows where to find me.”
“How do I get back to town? It’s a good ten miles back to Eagle’s Nest.”
Bull gave him a cold look. “Start walking.”
Maverick drove the truck back to the clubhouse while we provided security in the front and behind. Once inside the hallowed halls of the clubhouse, it would be temporarily safe from law enforcement and anyone else who would be interested in a semi-trailer full of drugs.
After arriving back at the compound, Bull called an emergency chapel.
“What does this mean for the Kings of Mayhem?” Griffin asked, when all my club brothers were finally present.
“It means we just poked the bear to make it react,” Bull replied.
“And what happens when he comes looking for his coke?” Cade asked.
“He can have his truck and his drugs. But he has to earn them back by leaving town. Gimmel Martel and his special brand of business will kill this town. And I ain’t taking that lying down.”
“And if he doesn’t leave town and decides to retaliate instead?” Caleb asked.
“Retaliation would be a declaration of war.” Bull looked around the table. “And if it’s war he wants, then it’s war I’ll give him.”
After chapel broke, I debated hanging back at the clubhouse. The adrenaline of the day had me jacked up, and only a few shots of bourbon would help me come down.
I debated it. There was a lot going on in my head that I needed to untangle. I should drink with my brothers and have a good time, forget about it for a few hours.
Or I could quiet the chaos in my head by sinking into my pool and shut out the world in the underwater cathedral where it was peaceful and calm. And silent. So fucking silent.
Joker, Maverick, Cool Hand, and Matlock were keen to keep drinking.
But the need to lose myself in my watery solitude won out, so I climbed on my bike and headed for home.
CHASTITY
It was official.
I was dying.
Well, according to the fever I had and my inability to swallow the gargantuan lump of coal that had taken up residence in my throat. I groaned as I attempted to sit up in bed and reach for the glass of water on my night stand. Everything ached. My head, my body, hell, even my damn hair hurt.
Last night I had gone to bed feeling fine. Now I was in the seventh realm of flu hell. Which wasn’t surprising, considering Mrs. White came into the salon with a bad cold the day before and coughed all over me when I was waxing her mustache. It was only ever going to be a matter of time before I got the funk.
After draining my glass of water, I moaned again as I lay back down on my damp pillow and let my fever carry me away into a deep, feverous sleep. Fractured images that didn’t make sense floated in and out of my brain. I wanted Ruger and, in my delirium, it became my obsession.
Through broken sleep I pictured him naked. Felt his skin beneath the slow glide of my tongue, along the velvety skin of his stomach. Heard his husky rasp in my ear as he buried his face in my neck and took me in every way possible in his bed. I want you. I felt the pulse of an orgasm throbbing through me as he made me come.