“Who was it? Was it a boyfriend?”
“No!” she says as her eyes dart up to mine. “I’m not with anyone.”
“Then who?” I say as I look around with my whole body flexed. “Was it one of these guys?”
I’m looking around, wondering which one I get to kill when I feel her soft hand on my arm. It soothes me. Instantly.
I turn to her with my heart still hammering, but at least I’m able to breathe.
“It happened last night,” she says in a low voice. “I was working here when The Outlaws came in.”
“You were here?!” I ask with a rock in my throat. My stomach flips inside out. My girl was here when this happened? And they hit her?
They’re fucking dead men. All of them.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. “Which one struck you?” I ask slowly.
She bites her bottom lip, not wanting to rat the guy out, but when she sees the intensity in my face, she opens up like a good girl. “It was The Outlaws’ President. Gunner. I read his name and title on his cut.”
I burst to my feet and then she does too.
“What are you doing?” she asks in a panic.
“Can you watch Nixie?” I ask her. “Take her to your place and I’ll pick her up after.”
“After what?” she asks as she clings onto my arm and doesn’t let go. “Where are you going?”
If this was any other moment, I’d be focused on the soft feel of her skin on mine, but the need for vengeance is crowding everything else out.
“Jaxon,” she says with a panicked look on her face. “Tell me where you’re going.”
“To make things right.”
I give her one last look and then charge away from her, heading straight to Beckham. “Let’s go. Now.”
He knows better than to question me when I’m like this, so he puts down his beer and follows me to our bikes.
“Hey, guys!” the bouncer Bulldog says as we pass him. “Can I just say again that it’s great to have you—”
“Where is Bakersfield?” I ask, interrupting his ass-kissing.
I listen to the directions and then hop on the bike as Beckham looks at me funny. He grabs my handlebar and I turn to him with a huff.
“What?”
“We got Nixie now.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I snap back.
I want to tell him that there’s another girl in our lives now. One that I would do anything for. One that needs me to make this right. But I just start my bike and roll out.
He follows me all the way to Bakersfield.
“We should scout the place first,” Beckham says. “Know what we’re walking into.”
I know what I’m walking into. Revenge.
He grabs my arm, forcing me to look at him.
“I mean it, Jaxon. Things have changed since Beannie died. We’re responsible for Nixie. I don’t want to let her down by getting killed.”
“I don’t want that either,” I say as I swallow down my rage. I finally start to get my wrecked nerves under control as the light turns green. “Okay. Let’s just take a look. We’re already here.”
We ride over to The Outlaws’ clubhouse and hang back a safe distance away.
There are too many of them. And they’re all on high alert.
I could do this with my brother, but it would have to be at night when they’re not expecting an attack.
And I want to make sure this Gunner fucker is there before I charge in. He’s the only one I have a hard on for. He’s the only one I want dead.
“Okay?” Beckham asks after we’ve gotten a long look.
I grit my teeth and force out a breath. “Okay. Let’s go back.”
The time will come to make that piece of shit pay for touching my girl, but unfortunately, it’s not today.
We ride by with our engines roaring, and I can’t help myself.
I pull out my gun and fire five shots into their clubhouse sign. The Outlaws is now scattered with bullet holes.
“What the hell was that?” Beckham asks when we turn the corner.
“A warning,” I say as I slide my gun back into my jeans. “That I’m coming for them.”
“We’re coming for them,” Beckham corrects.
“Fine. But the President is mine.”
Chapter Five
Stella
“How come you don’t have any friends?” I ask Nixie as I hand her the popcorn. We’re at my apartment hanging out after dinner while we wait for her uncles to pick her up.
“I’m friends with my teacher,” she says as she tosses a popped kernel into her mouth. “We have the most interesting discussions about philosophy and the arts during recess.”
“You don’t play with the other kids?”
She looks at me like I just suggested she should go play with a pack of wild wolves. “They’re neanderthals. A boy in my class had to go to the hospital because he cut his tongue while licking the slide. The slide! How can I play with those barbarians?”
I have to fight back my smile as I watch her change the channel from the cartoon I put on to CSPAN.
“You’re an old soul, you know that?”
She sighs. “So, I’ve been told.”
We chat about school and her hobbies a bit more (Nixie likes reading Greek mythology, watching classic cinema, and painting toenails), and then I start to worm the conversation over to Jaxon as we paint each other’s toes a bright purple.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says abruptly.
“What?” I ask with a nervous laugh.
“Be coy with me. Beat around the bush. Pretend that you’re not trying to get information about my uncle.”
I laugh as if she’s got me all wrong, but my blushing cheeks betray me. “I wasn’t…”
“I’m ten years old,” she says in a flat tone that she probably got from her uncle Beckham. “I’m not an idiot. I know you like him.”
This time I can’t answer.
