“They are fighting over you,” she says, “And since you were too damn slow to answer your phone the first time I called, this little tiff got out of control. So, break.it.up.”
I pull my hand away and shake my head. “Fuck that,” I say. Suddenly, I feel like such a dumbass for being here. I shouldn’t have reacted like I did—racing down the street and beelining it here like there’s no tomorrow. I should have just figured out what was going on. Had she told me they were having a pissing contest and had decided to drag me into it, I would have done my grocery shopping like I planned and let them sort this shit out on their own.
“No, seriously. Diesel made me text you to get here ASAP, and then he started talking some shit about Duke and disrespect, and then Chief jumped in and backed Diesel up. Duke doesn’t dare get in Chief’s face, so he got in Diesel’s instead. So please, go break it up.”
“You are out of your damn mind if you think I’m getting involved with this. Besides, it’s not like they’re going to listen to me anyway,” I say. Truly. It’s not like any member of Forsaken has ever listened to a Lost Girl. We’re here for show and for fun. We’re not here for our brain power or our diplomacy skills.
Parting from the crowd is Grady, the club’s Sergeant at Arms. He’s the lead enforcer of the club, and he’s probably the last of the men I’d be inclined to piss off. As President, Jim may hold more sway over the club, but it’s Grady who has the tenacity and position to take matters into his own hands when it’s in the best interest of the club. He’s a mean son of a bitch when he means business, but I’ve seen him with his daughter a few times. It’s times like that, where he’s soft and sweet with her, that make me think that if Grady, who they call Bloody Knuckles, can be gentle, then maybe they all can with the right person.
Grady’s somewhere between Jim and Ryan’s ages. He’s seasoned, but not exactly old, and he certainly doesn’t carry himself with that youthful arrogance that the younger members have. His chestnut brown hair is tucked behind his ears, and his green eyes narrow as he approaches. Placing his hands on his hips he looks me over and says, “You cause this?”
“Fuck if I know,” I say and meet his eyes.
“I break this up, you talk it out with Duke. I don’t want you pitting brother on brother again.”
“Yeah,” I say. My eyes slide over to find Jeremy, but Chel is partially blocking my view.
“You Duke’s girl?” he asks. His deep voice practically vibrates with every word he bites out. The second his tone changes from grouchy to pissed—for no reason I can figure out—Chel backs up and wanders off. I’m about to answer Grady when I see Jeremy leaning up against a bike. My heart spasms at the sight, and my entire body tenses up. I imagine this is what being electrocuted feels like. Touching one of the brothers’ bikes is a big fucking no-no, and that’s an understatement. I can’t tell whose bike it is, but it doesn’t really matter. Nobody—not even Chief—will let this kind of offense go. He’s watching the fight from the back of the crowd and nobody is paying attention to him so far. Though he wears a bored expression on his face, I know he’s really excited as shit that he’s here. That excitement is going to wear off the minute somebody sees how fucking stupid he is. I want to scream at him—maybe even slap him—and tell him to get off the bike, but I don’t dare while Grady’s talking to me. If I think Diesel can be mean, then Grady is one fucked up bastard.
“I don’t know,” I say, and cross my arms over my chest. “It’s complicated.”
Grady nods and gives me a questioning glance before turning back around and pushing his way through the crowd. Just as I see his brown hair making progress, the crowd shifts and sways. Hoots and hollers come from the entire circle and beer bottles are raised in excitement. Grunts and groans followed by muted sounds of skin hitting skin reverberate off the crowd.
On my way toward the crowd, I catch Jeremy’s attention. I signal for him to get off the bike and shake my head with the coldest expression on my face that I can manage. He nods his head and lifts off the Harley, then takes a step forward. Disaster averted.
Chel points to the picnic table just behind Jeremy and the bike he stupidly used as a perch, before rushing over and climbing on top of it. I rush over and follow suit.