Tears blurred my eyes, and I gripped Styx’s cut. “I need her back, prez. Ain’t sure what I’ll do if she’s lost. I’m changed; she’s changed me. I’m under her damn spell and I sure as shit don’t wanna get out.”
Styx sighed and held my wrist. “I-I-I pr-promise. We’re g-gonna get her b-b-back.”
My head dipped and I sucked in a huge breath when, suddenly, the roar of a Harley’s engine came barreling down the road.
“Incoming!” the prospect shouted and began opening up the gate. Seconds later, three bikes pulled up: Tank, Bull, and what I assumed was our new protective custody knight of the Ku Klux fuckin’ Klan.
At least he drove a Fat Boy; that bought him some extra points.
Tank dismounted and walked toward us with Bull in tow and the skinhead trailing at the rear. The guy was built, had a shaved head and more Swastikas on his body than Hitler had in the Reichstag.
As Tanner Ayers walked closer, eying Styx and me like a hunter watches his prey, I realized the man was a fuckin’ unit. At least six-four and no less than two hundred and fifty pounds.
Tank stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding a backpack. Tanner had one too. Tank pointed at Tanner. “Prez, Ky, this is Tanner.” Tank faced Tanner. “Tann, this is the Hangmen prez Styx and our VP Ky.”
Tanner stepped forward, all muscles and stern face, wearing a wife beater and jeans. He was one tough-looking motherfucker. Styx jerked his chin in greeting, and Tank looked to Tann. “He’s mute. Don’t talk to no one but his old lady and Ky.”
Tanner nodded sharply, the sign of a man who’d been following orders his whole life. “The Hangmen Mute,” he said, nodding at Styx.
Stepping down the stairs, I met the Nazi face to face. He never flinched as I pulled out a smoke, placed it between my lips, lit it, then blew the smoke out in his face. Gripping the smoke with my thumb and index finger, I asked. “So, Nazi, tell me. You got a problem with my man Bull here?”
Tanner clenched his jaw, his blue eyes boring into mine, and he gritted his teeth. “No.”
Looking over my shoulder at Bull, my gaze tightened. Bull was Tank’s best friend, but right now, he was as rigid as fuck with this neo cunt present. His huge tribal tattooed arms crossed over his chest and his whole body was tense.
Stepping up to Tanner, my toes met his, and I said, “Bull’s Maori. Ain’t one shred of Aryan in his blood. No fiery crosses or white Anglo-Saxon stirring in his veins. So I’ll ask again. You sure you ain’t got a problem with our dark-skinned tribal brother?”
I caught Tank cuss behind Tanner, but Tanner never flinched. “I ain‘t got no problem with Bull. I ain’t got no problem with any of your brothers.”
“Really? ‘Cause all those pretty swastikas, white power brotherhood flags, skull and crossbones, and your fuckin’ SS inkings say otherwise.”
Tanner dropped his rucksack at his feet and spread his arms wide. “Brought up in the life. Believed for a long fuckin’ time that we weren’t all equal, that we shouldn’t mix, and that all that was important was the white Christian race, but not anymore. I’m twenty-eight, heir to one of the biggest Klan’s in the States, and found myself fuckin’ obsessing about a fuckin’ bitch spic. Let’s just say I ain’t the poster boy no more, not when I’m getting hard for Mexican *.”
Bull seemed to relax a little and Tank stepped forward, meeting Styx on the steps to the compound. “I’m fuckin’ vouching for Tann, prez. Any blowback if he rats or causes shit and it’s on me.”
I glanced back at Styx and the brother met my eyes.