Chapter Eight
Chef
Istare at the pasty fucker in front of me and all I see is pure evil. His blue eyes are cold, his fake smile empty as he stares down at Sage.
“Hello, Sage,” he doesn't so much say her name; he spits it like it's venomous.
I glance at Sage, ready to step in when she needs me.
It’s fucking hard to stay stood where I am, when every instinct in me is screaming to protect her, to stand in front of her, blocking this fucker’s view of her beautiful face.
Unfortunately, Sage wants to do this shit herself, so I plant my feet, lock my knees and clench my fists.
“Hello, what can I get for you today?” She smiles up at him politely as if he’s any other customer.
“I think you know what I want.” When she gives him a docile, puzzled look, he sneers down at her. “I want what was promised to me. Your hand.”
“My hand?” she asks, innocently.
“Aw now, that’s weird as shit. You one of those fetish types?” Damian drawls, leaning on the counter, eyeing Nathaniel.
Nathaniel leans on the counter, his knuckles white as he grips the edge.
“Stop playing dumb, you little bitch.” His spittle flies on Sage’s face and my hands fists even tighter as I side eye her, waiting for a sign that I can step up and take this fucker out.
“I own you. Have done since you were fucking born.”
“Well, that’s interesting right there. Because I don’t belong to anyone. Not even my fiancé,” she says, tipping her head toward me.
The fucker on the otherside of the counter leans further into Sage’s space, ignoring her words.
“You’re mine and I will have you. Do yourself a favour, cunt, make it easy on me.
Otherwise you can say goodbye to all your little biker friends.
I will annihilate them. One,” he raises his fingers in a gun motion, cocking his wrist back after pointing them at Damian,” by one,” the same motion aimed at Sniper who has quietly taken Sage’s back, “by one.” He points his fingers at the center of my head, pulling his wrist back before flinching and making an inhuman noise.
“Threaten my people again and I will skin you alive,” Sage says through clenched teeth as she twists her knife. The knife that has pinned Nathaniel’s pasty hand to the top of the counter. “I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.”
She yanks her knife out of the countertop, freeing Nathaniel’s hand. She stares at him, dead in the eye as she wipes the blade of her knife on her jeans.
“We should leave, Nathaniel.” Some bland man who looks like the rest of them says, pulling the douche bag away.
“I’ll be back for you, Sage Landry. It’s God’s will.”
Sage doesn't say a thing, just stands there, shoulders back, looking like a motherfucking boss. She eyeballs them until they get into their fancypants SUVs and peel out of the parking lot.
“You OK babe?” I ask, hand at her lower back.
“I need to talk to my brother,” she murmurs, pulling her phone from her back pocket.
Her hand, as steady as it was wrapped around her knife, is now shaking badly as she tries to scroll through her phone.
“Here, let me,” I whisper, covering her hand with mine, holding it steady as I scroll, looking for Niko’s contact.
“No,” Sage says quietly. “I need Elio.”
Finding Elio’s contact I press the call button, then hand Sage her phone, watching her back as she walks away, speaking in a low voice. I’m certain I hear her asking about degloving something, but I push that from my mind.
“You good, cher?” Damian asks, looking at me like I’m a bug under a microscope.
“No, Damian. No, I’m not. I have the biggest urge to chase that fucker down and cut him from throat to asshole.”
“But, that’s not what Sage wants.”
“No, no it’s not.”
“It’s OK, brother,” Sniper growls. “We’ve got her back. And yours.”
Damian
I watch that man, hand dripping blood as he walks away with his group. Damn near all of ‘em looking like they were made at a stamp factory, different versions of the same damn thing.
“It’s OK, brother,” Sniper growls. “We’ve got her back. And yours.”
Straightening, I give him a nod, but my head ain’t fully in it.
The club’s got Sage. Got Chef. I’ve got the club.
This is the first place I feel like I ever belonged.
Ain’t about to let that get fucked up. Which means, I gotta go huntin’.
Luckily for me, I got three things from my Maman: charm, a handsome face, and a knack for gettin' people to trust me more than they should.
Pulling up the site from the little card Maman confiscated, I scroll til I find their next show - tomorrow at the school hall. Something feels right dirty about that, preachin’ their poison where our babies go to learn their ABC’s. Just means I got more fuel to burn ‘em all down.
“Yo, you good, man?” Chef asks.
I slap on a grin. “Sagey did good. You’re a lucky man, cher.”
He lets out a long breath, shoulders droppin’. Good. A man like him needs to remember how to breathe or he knots himself up real tight.
“She did so fucking good. She’s different than I remember.”
My brow kicks up. Maman always says my face talks too loud. “Is she different or are you just finally seeing her right?” Chef gives me a slight frown, not quite understanding. “Back then, maybe she showed you soft. Sweet. Easy to love. Now you gettin’ the rest of her.”
Chef looks over his shoulder and watches Sage as she talks on the phone, her head thrown back and her laugh echoin’. His lips turn up all soft like, and I know he’s gonna win her back. Be a hard road, but he’ll do it.
“I loved the Sage I knew,” he says quietly, almost sad like. “But I know I love this Sage more.”
I slap my hand on the counter top. “Good. You love on her, I got shit to do.”
Chef’s eyes narrow. “What shit?”
“I gotta cult crash tomorrow. Imma need Maman’s big guns.”
I hide my smile at the look on Chef’s face, instead spinning on my heel and heading for my bike. I got plans I gotta put in place.