4. Mack
4
MACK
“ M ack. You’re being summoned. Prez wants to see you.”
I look up from tinkering with my bike to see Reed standing over me.
“Oh yeah? Prez say what it’s about?”
“Nah. He’s in his office with Norse and Fury.” Reed grunts. He’s never much for small talk. “They weren’t exactly havin’ a tea party back there. Looked kinda serious.”
I’m right in the middle of adjusting my clutch lever. But Magnus doesn’t like to be kept waiting, so I wipe my hands off with a rag and head inside. Just like Reed said, I find him in his office, huddled in a serious-looking discussion with Magnus and Fury.
“Hey.” I address them all at once. “Prez, you wanted to see me?”
“Yeah. Come on in. Have a seat.”
I glance over at Fury, but my best friend’s face doesn’t give anything away, other than that he’s looking not all that happy. I grab a straight-back chair, flip it around, sit down, and wait for someone to start talking. To my surprise, it’s not Magnus, or our VP Norse, who does. It’s Fury himself.
“It’s about Gigi,” he says. “There’s a problem.”
“With Gigi, there’s always a problem,” I crack, but Fury doesn’t smile. I cock a brow at him, then glance at the others. Shit, did whatever I said to Fury’s little sister last weekend at the rally ruffle her ass feathers more than usual? But that doesn’t make sense. Gigi’s a lot of stuff— mostly annoying stuff — but she’s not exactly the type to go crying to her brother.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” I reply. “What about Gigi?”
“I ain’t feeling good about what happened with those Scorpions at the rally.” Fury frowns.
Of course, Fury wasn’t all that thrilled to hear that Rocky from the Knoxville chapter had to help me get those two Scorpion assholes away from Gigi’s bus. That girl was lucky we happened to see what was going down. Much as I downplayed it to Fury at the time, their intentions were pretty fuckin’ clear. Looks like he’s been lettin’ it get to him enough to talk to Magnus about it.
“You think that was something more than them just being assholes, per usual?”
“At first I did. But then my brain wouldn’t let it go. It started weighin’ on me. So I did some digging.”
“You find out anything specific?” I ask.
“Couple of my CIs got in touch,” Fury tells me. Confidential informants . “Told me they heard a Scorpion running his mouth at a bar about what happened. Not sure if it was one of the ones who was there, or just someone who heard about it later. But I guess after the fact one of ‘em figured out Gigi’s my sister.”
I suppress a groan. Yeah. That’ll make things worse.
“Fury’s sister needs protection,” Magnus adds turning to me. “And since you’re the one who saw which Scorpions were involved, you’re the one who’s gonna do it.”
Well…
Fuck.
To say this ain’t good news is a goddamn understatement. For one thing, Gigi is a colossal pain in the ass. For another, she hates my guts.
But those aren’t the real reasons.
I know better than to argue with my prez. He’s decided to assign me to be Gigi’s personal bodyguard, so that’s what’s gonna happen, whether I like it or not.
But I’ll be damned if I’ll show any of them how I really feel about it.
“Fuck, seriously?” I gripe, rolling my eyes. “Babysitting duty ain’t my style. Especially when the baby’s stubborn and mouthy as hell. She ain’t gonna listen to a word I say. I’m gonna have to tie her up to get her to mind.”
Tie her up. My stupid, stupid cock jumps a little at the thought.
“She doesn’t have a choice,” Fury says. “This is her safety on the line.”
“You don’t have a choice, either,” Magnus tells me. “Your job is to make sure she does listen. Unless we got a problem?”
“No problem,” I say immediately. Like I said, Magnus is my president. What he tells me to do, I do it. No matter how I feel about it.
Now Norse speaks up. “We know the Bloody Scorpions have been getting bolder lately. And now Gigi’s mobile tattoo business is a sitting duck. So you go where she goes. Until further notice. That starts now.”
“Understood. That it?”
Magnus gives me a sharp nod, and just like that, the convo’s over. I’ve got my marching orders.
Fury walks me back out to my bike. He tells me where Gigi’s working today and gives me the address. “Look, Mack. I know you and G don’t exactly get along. We both know she’s gonna fight like a wet cat on this. But I know you can handle it. Anything suspicious happens — anything at all — you let me know. This is my baby sister we’re talking about.”
“I got you, brother.” I clap him on the back and do my best not to let my true feelings show.
As I drive over to the location where Gigi’s Body Bus is today, my gut’s churning with a mix of dread and anticipation. Dread, because I know Gigi, and she’s gonna fight like hell not to have a Royal Bastard playing bodyguard for her. Especially me. She’s independent to a fault, and the easiest way to rile her up is to imply that she can’t take care of herself.
And anticipation, because it’s Gigi.
The woman I’ve carried a torch for, for fucking years.
The woman who can match my banter, shot for shot, and look damn good while doing it.
If only she didn’t hate me.
If only she wasn’t my best friend’s goddamn sister.
According to Fury, Gigi’s working a local classic car show at the state fairgrounds over in St. Paul. I hop on my bike and make a quick pit-stop at my house, then blast down I-94 eastward from the clubhouse, then up Highway 280 to Raymond, which turns into Como. Takes me about fifteen minutes to get to the entrance to the Minnesota fairgrounds. I drive into the neighborhood across Snelling to park the bike, then walk back to the front gate. I pay the entrance fee, then move ahead to walk through the metal detector. The guys staffing the detector watch me closely, which is no surprise considering how I’m dressed. They don’t ask to pat me down, though. They don’t look brave enough.
The chick working the ticket booth didn’t have a map of the vendors, so I spend some time strolling around the grounds, looking at the classic cars and getting in a couple conversations with their owners. I used to come to these shows with my dad, Choppa, when I was a kid. The fairgrounds gives me all the feels, if I’m bein’ honest. Nostalgia, all that shit.
And speaking of all the feels. I round a corner on Dan Patch Avenue, and there, right in front of me, is Gigi Mattson.
Gigi is wearing what I think of as her classic summer uniform. She’s got on tight denim shorts, short brown leather Frye harness boots, and a white tank top that shows off the colorful artwork running up and down her arms (not to mention her spectacular tits). Gigi has a shock of fire-engine red hair that calls the eye toward her like a beacon. She’s sauntering down the avenue like she owns the place, holding a ginormous to-go mug that I know has to be full of coffee. (“Black, like my soul,” she’s fond of saying.) Gigi is full of fire and attitude, with a personality that makes her seem a lot bigger than her 5’2” frame. She’s a force of nature.
And as soon as her eyes meet mine, that force turns on me like a fucking tornado.
“What. In the fuck,” she snarls, “are you doing here?”
“Always a pleasure, Cupcake,” I reply smoothly, trying on one of my many nicknames for her. Cupcake’s ironic, because though she can be sweet, she never is with me. She hates that one almost as much as my other nickname for her, Gizmo. After the cute gremlin from the movie.
You can’t win with this woman, honestly.
“The pleasure is all yours,” she grimaces. Gigi flicks her eyes away from me like I’m a stranger. She brushes right past me and keeps going, turning down Cooper. I pivot around and follow her. She must be able to sense me behind her, because she doesn’t turn around when calls back to me, “Please find somewhere else to exist.”
“Yeah, sorry, that ain’t gonna be possible.” I come up alongside her, slowing my longer steps to match hers. The Body Bus appears in front of us to the left. I follow her to it. “I’m not here because of my love of classic cars, Cupcake.”
That catches her attention. She turns to me. “Then why are you here?”
“You got a couple minutes to talk?”
“To you? No.” Gigi thrusts her to-go mug at me to hold, then unlocks the door to her bus with a key.
“Not sure you have any choice in the matter.” I take a sip of her coffee.
“Stop that,” she barks, ripping the mug from my hands. “You’re not invited in.”
“That’s fine. I can stay outside. It’s what I’m supposed to be doing anyway.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that I came here to hang around. So I’m gonna hang around.”
Gigi shoots daggers at me with her eyes. “Ugh, you just tell me why you’re here in the first place, and then go away!”
“I can tell you why I’m here. But I can’t go away.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’m here on official club business.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
I spread my hands wide and give her a cheesy grin. “I’m your new bodyguard, Cupcake.”
“What in the world?”
“Fury wants you to have visible protection when you’re out and about, after the altercation with the Bloody Scorpions last weekend. And Magnus and Norse agree.”
“What? You?” Gigi gapes. “No. Absolutely fucking not. This is not happening.”
“It is happening,” I say, crossing my arms in front of me. “You don’t get a choice. And neither do I.”
“Like hell,” she shoots back. Sliding a hand into her back pocket, Gigi pulls out her cell phone and jams her finger against the screen a few times. Putting the phone to her ear, she waits a couple seconds, and then yells into the phone, “Call off your fucking dog, Con!”
I snort. I should be mad that she called me a dog. But I gotta be honest, I’ve always kinda liked riling Gigi up. Call it a kink.
Leaning myself up against the bus, I wait for Gigi to get confirmation from her brother that this is happening. Gigi’s listening to Fury talk, her chin jutting out defiantly. “No, Con. I refuse to be babysat like some child… Well then, send someone other than King Asshole.”
“Sheesh, enough with the terms of endearment,” I quip.
Gigi gives me a withering look, then listens to whatever Fury is saying. Slowly, her expression transforms from defiant to defeated. She pulls the phone away from her face without saying goodbye to her brother and presses the screen to hang up.
“It’s a free country,” she hisses at me. “So I can’t stop you from standing anywhere you want.”
She enters the Body Bus and closes the door.
“That went well,” I murmur.
I spend the first part of my guard duty leaning against a tree in the shade, watching Gigi work her magic on a customer’s arm inside. The customer, an older guy with a pot belly that’s peeking out from under his too-small graphic T-shirt, doesn’t notice my presence across the way. Gigi, of course, knows I’m here but pretends I’m not. Her focus on her work is intense, her fire-engine red hair falling into her eyes as she leans in to perfect a line or shade a figure. I catch murmurs of conversation between the two of them, and from time to time her light, tinkling laughter. A kind of laughter that she’s never used with me.
I get so caught up in watching her that I almost miss the arrival of the Bloody Scorpions. Almost.
How they know she’s here, I’m not sure. But it’s the same fucking guys as last time. The nomad named Blaze with the big fucking beard, sunglasses and bandana and his asshole friend. They post up right on either side of the door to Gigi’s bus and stand there, looking menacing. The old dude Gigi’s tattooing says something to her, and she looks up, then registers the Scorpions’ presence. I see a flicker of fear cross her face.
In a flash, I’m up and across the road, positioning myself between the Scorpions and the Body Bus.
“You ain’t welcome here,” I snarl at them. “Thought we made that clear last time.” And then I pull the friend I brought out of my waistband to emphasize the point.
A ghost gun. 3D printed. Undetectable by metal detectors. Our club specializes in these things. One of our less legitimate businesses involves transporting them up north to Canada, where they’re even less legal than they are here in the U.S.
The Scorpions, by the looks on their faces, aren’t carrying. Which I figured would be the case.
“Fuck you,” the bearded guy sneers. “It’s a free country.”
“You ain’t my type, darlin’.” I level the gun at him. “You motherfuckers didn’t seem to get the message last time, so let me be more clear. Messing with that woman in there?” I gesture toward Gigi. “That’s the same as messin’ with the Royal Bastards MC. You best get your asses out of here, before you bring down a world of hurt on yourselves. You feel me?”
Inside the bus, Gigi’s eyes are big as saucers. Her customer’s are, too.
The Scorpions back off, but not before throwing a menacing glance Gigi’s way. Blaze eyes her for far too long and licks his lips obscenely. I wrap my hand tighter around the gun, getting ready to use it as a weight to punch him with, but he backs away just in time to save himself a beatdown. He spits on the ground, a string of saliva clinging to his long beard for a moment. The two saunter away casually, only the tension in their shoulders betraying them.
I let out a breath, relaxing my stance, and slip the ghost gun back into the waistband of my jeans. Inside the bus, Gigi’s customer mutters something about coming back later. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out some bills and tossing them at Gigi, then bolts out the door, not even looking at me as he flees.
For a moment, Gigi’s eyes meet mine. Her lip trembles, but then she bites it and turns away. It’s a moment of vulnerability, a crack in the fa?ade of insults and banter she’s built up as a shield against me over the years.
Slowly, she gets up and closes the door, leaving me outside.
I go back across the way, and sit back down in the shade.