world. Luck wasn’t on our side. After one ring, it went to voicemail. “Fuck.” I growled the word under my breath. “No luck. I think her phone’s off. That’s not usual for her.”
Ever since the accident, my mom never went anywhere without her phone, and she would never let it go below a twenty-five percent charge. If it wasn’t on, it wasn’t on for a reason.
There was a turn coming up, and Kyle made no move towards the brake pedal. Instead of slowing down, he jammed on the gas pedal. I heard the tires squeal behind me, and the back of the car broke free, tire smoke appearing as it did. I gripped the seat as Kyle slid the car around. He was smooth as butter behind the wheel.
His voice was anything but smooth. “You fuck with my girl or any of her people, I’ll fucking kill you myself.” Conrad might as well have been in the car. Maybe Kyle was practicing, but it felt more like he was trying to project that rage all the way to the Blythe mansion. He wanted Conrad to know he was coming for him.
True to his word, Kyle pulled the classic car into the gravel lot with one minute to spare. A normal drive would’ve taken an hour, but Kyle cut that down to just forty minutes. Even if time wasn’t on our side, he was doing everything he could. Kyle had the look of a man who would move heaven and earth for me.
The car clanked and sputtered even after Kyle shut it down. He had pushed it to the limits to get to Davis. The sun wasn’t nearly high enough in the sky for my liking. We had hours, not days. The line of Harleys outside the bar was a welcome sight. In a quick jog from the car to the door, I counted upwards of fifteen bikes. On any given night, Conrad had ten guards on staff. That was a normal night, though. Something told me it wouldn’t be a normal night. The more men on our side, the better.
Inside, the place might as well have been knee deep in Saturday night. None of the tattooed outlaws seemed concerned at all. Music blasted out of speakers, and every biker I saw had a beer in their hands. Were these the men who were going to go after Conrad Blythe? Based on what Kyle said, Conrad was ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone in his way.
When the two of us walked in, a few of the biker saw us and arrested into drunken cheers, “Heeeey!” One of them raised his bottle and belched. These men were my salvation. Dear God, help me.
Kyle took me by the hand and led me through the bar. He seems to know everyone. Not a single one of them seemed to have a normal name. He introduced me to one named Alcatraz, a huge guy named Deacon, Lucky, Thunder, and one that went by Stache.
“You know, short for mustache,” Kyle said with a shrug.
Even Kyle had a nickname once we walked into the bar. The man I had wasted a year being away from and had made love to me on the hood of his car that very morning was known as Bandit. Compared to Thunder or Alcatraz, Bandit didn’t seem all that tough.
“Aww, reminds me of a little raccoon or something.” I couldn’t help but poke fun at him. Tensions were high, and anything to ease the migraine helped. Even with a little joke or two, I was holding on tight to my sanity.
Everything felt rushed. Conrad had forced our hand, and I could see it on the faces of the bikers. Kyle had built up my expectations about Romero and his skills, but then Conrad’s threats against my mother derailed any confidence I had. Of course, every time I tried her phone, I got sent straight to voicemail, but I tried every ten minutes or so, anyway. I feared that Conrad already had her.
I was lost in thought when Kyle bumped into my shoulder. “You doin’ okay, kiddo?”
I let out a long breath. There was no need to tell him how I was feeling. “What’s up?
Turning back toward the crowd, Kyle said, “Trask wants to speak with you one on one. He’s a thorough prez.” When I looked into the crowd, the president of the Rising Sons Davis Chapter found me. He
Ever since the accident, my mom never went anywhere without her phone, and she would never let it go below a twenty-five percent charge. If it wasn’t on, it wasn’t on for a reason.
There was a turn coming up, and Kyle made no move towards the brake pedal. Instead of slowing down, he jammed on the gas pedal. I heard the tires squeal behind me, and the back of the car broke free, tire smoke appearing as it did. I gripped the seat as Kyle slid the car around. He was smooth as butter behind the wheel.
His voice was anything but smooth. “You fuck with my girl or any of her people, I’ll fucking kill you myself.” Conrad might as well have been in the car. Maybe Kyle was practicing, but it felt more like he was trying to project that rage all the way to the Blythe mansion. He wanted Conrad to know he was coming for him.
True to his word, Kyle pulled the classic car into the gravel lot with one minute to spare. A normal drive would’ve taken an hour, but Kyle cut that down to just forty minutes. Even if time wasn’t on our side, he was doing everything he could. Kyle had the look of a man who would move heaven and earth for me.
The car clanked and sputtered even after Kyle shut it down. He had pushed it to the limits to get to Davis. The sun wasn’t nearly high enough in the sky for my liking. We had hours, not days. The line of Harleys outside the bar was a welcome sight. In a quick jog from the car to the door, I counted upwards of fifteen bikes. On any given night, Conrad had ten guards on staff. That was a normal night, though. Something told me it wouldn’t be a normal night. The more men on our side, the better.
Inside, the place might as well have been knee deep in Saturday night. None of the tattooed outlaws seemed concerned at all. Music blasted out of speakers, and every biker I saw had a beer in their hands. Were these the men who were going to go after Conrad Blythe? Based on what Kyle said, Conrad was ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone in his way.
When the two of us walked in, a few of the biker saw us and arrested into drunken cheers, “Heeeey!” One of them raised his bottle and belched. These men were my salvation. Dear God, help me.
Kyle took me by the hand and led me through the bar. He seems to know everyone. Not a single one of them seemed to have a normal name. He introduced me to one named Alcatraz, a huge guy named Deacon, Lucky, Thunder, and one that went by Stache.
“You know, short for mustache,” Kyle said with a shrug.
Even Kyle had a nickname once we walked into the bar. The man I had wasted a year being away from and had made love to me on the hood of his car that very morning was known as Bandit. Compared to Thunder or Alcatraz, Bandit didn’t seem all that tough.
“Aww, reminds me of a little raccoon or something.” I couldn’t help but poke fun at him. Tensions were high, and anything to ease the migraine helped. Even with a little joke or two, I was holding on tight to my sanity.
Everything felt rushed. Conrad had forced our hand, and I could see it on the faces of the bikers. Kyle had built up my expectations about Romero and his skills, but then Conrad’s threats against my mother derailed any confidence I had. Of course, every time I tried her phone, I got sent straight to voicemail, but I tried every ten minutes or so, anyway. I feared that Conrad already had her.
I was lost in thought when Kyle bumped into my shoulder. “You doin’ okay, kiddo?”
I let out a long breath. There was no need to tell him how I was feeling. “What’s up?
Turning back toward the crowd, Kyle said, “Trask wants to speak with you one on one. He’s a thorough prez.” When I looked into the crowd, the president of the Rising Sons Davis Chapter found me. He
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