“Hey, Squat,” I shout. His grip on the rifle tightens as he turns to face me. “What happens if you fuck this up?” Nervously, he straightens his shoulders and gulps. He and I barely talk, and that’s how it’ll be until he’s patched—if he’s patched. I can only train him to properly do his job if he fears me. His face distorts uncomfortably, likely remembering the conversation we had the first night we stood watch.
“You think you can handle this?” I ask. The sun has long since set, and the notorious cold Mendocino nights are in full effect. We’ve been out here for nearly five hours now, just feet from Alex, who’s holed up in her room. If I strain to listen, I can hear her exhausted whimpers and cries as she processes what it means being Ruby’s kid. Part of me wants to hold her, the other part of me wants to use my .38 on myself and just put an end to the misery.
“I got it,” he says, confidently. His chest is puffed out on his short frame, and his chin juts out. He’s verging on cocky, and arrogance leads to mistakes. This is one job he doesn’t have the luxury of messing up.
“Okay then, get this. There are severe consequences if you fuck this up. I’m not going to kill you. I’ll make you suffer instead.” Closing the distance between us, I peer down, crowding him. His eyes are wide, but he doesn’t move. “Your mom that you love so much? I’ll fuck her until she begs me to stop, until she cries. And then I’ll fuck her harder. And I’ll do it while you watch.”
Rage fills his eyes, but wisely, he doesn’t respond. I’ve never taken a woman by force before, and if he fucks this up, I’ll just kill him instead. But the threat to his mother is just the thing to make sure he’s on his A-game.
Shouting over the chirping of the crickets, he says, “There will be serious consequences if she gets hurt, Sir.”
“Who?” I shout right back.
“Cub,” he says, using the nickname I gave Alex months ago, before Duke started calling her Princess—that stupid fuck.
I round the back of the garage and come up to the front of the house where I parked my bike. The afternoon sun is hidden by a wall of clouds, and the temperature has dropped dramatically. Despite it being the middle of July, the cool air is not abnormal. Mendocino County doesn’t experience summer the way everything south of us does; our climate more akin to the Pacific Northwest than California.
I swing my leg over my bike—a beautiful custom Harley—and affix the helmet to my head. Popping up the kickstand and starting her up, I peel out of the driveway, creating as much physical distance as I can. Pop has four guys—five if you include me—on the house, not including prospects. Tonight, we’ll be down to three prospects on the house because the rest of us have Church. But he’s also got local law enforcement to keep an eye out for any out-of-town visitors who might be heading our way. Alex is safe, that’s what’s important. Because as much as I want to ignore that shit, her safety matters to me. She matters to me.
The cool night air hits my knuckles as I coast through town. There’s a speed trap between Pop’s house and the club house, but the cops in this town wouldn’t dare pull over a Forsaken. Passing by the partially hidden squad car, I give it a nod. I may not be able to see who’s inside, but I know they can see me. My bike is hard to miss. Not only is she loud, but the glossy lettering of FORSAKEN gleams against the matte black finish in the fading sun.
Chapter 22
I am not ashamed to say that no man I ever met was my father's equal, and I never loved any other man as much.
Hedy Lamarr
FORSAKEN CUSTOM CYCLE is dead, as usual. Pulling into the parking lot, I let my baby growl as she crawls across the pavement. The shop is closed up for the night, not that we’re turning customers away. In a small town like Fort Bragg, so far away from any major cities, there’s not many people who can afford a custom order that starts at an easy twenty-five grand. Most people around here are lucky if they don’t have to choose which bills get paid each month.
The fourteen-foot high chain-link gate with black vinyl privacy slats swings open, providing me entrance. I lift my chin at the prospect, Tall, who’s on the other side. His real name is Aaron, but I’m half to forgetting that since we only ever call the prospects their nicknames in front of Cub. It drives her nuts that every time she asks them what their names are, they’ve been ordered not to tell her. The guy looks thin and much too gangly to handle his shit, but he’s a mean motherfucker. I roll in, to find that Tall and I are not alone.