Chapter Fourteen #2
As he reached for the paper, the door jangled, announcing a new arrival.
From the corner of his eye, Saint caught both customers glance up from their seats.
The woman gasped and paled while the man mouthed a curse.
She abandoned her folding and scurried toward a back exit.
Two seconds after she ran past him, the older man left as well.
Their sudden departure was enough to have the back of Saint’s neck prickling with unease. “What did you do?” he asked the attendant, who looked everywhere but at Saint.
Slowly, so as not to startle whoever had entered, Saint turned around to find a large man blocking the exit.
Jet-black hair, black jeans, and a black T-shirt, combined with a scowl and a jagged scar crossing his left jaw, gave the newcomer a menacing look.
Thick gold rings that would hurt like hell if they smashed into Saint’s face rested on at least five of his fingers.
He didn’t bother to conceal the knife hanging from his belt, but at least he didn’t have a gun unless it was hidden.
“You called in the muscle,” Saint said with a sigh. He must have a panic button under the counter. He glanced over his shoulder. “What’d you go and do that for? I followed the protocol.”
The attendant stood there, eyes bugging and mouth flapping like a suffocating fish.
“Time to go,” the guy said in a deep, reverberating voice that matched his size and stature.
“Works for me. I got what I came for.” He fanned himself with the scrap of paper containing the phone number. Lord knew if the attendant gave him the real contact information.
“Leave the number.”
Of course, this wasn’t going to go down easily.
“Really?” he asked, tilting his head. “Your boss doesn’t like to make money? What’s his name? Silas Crow?”
In his peripheral vision, Saint caught sight of Zach and Maverick on foot, inching closer to the laundromat. Backup had arrived. Knowing they were close and ready to jump in to kick ass lowered Saint’s blood pressure.
The guy’s eyes narrowed upon hearing the name.
“Not from you. We know your club. You have no interest in using that number.” The guy narrowed his eyes and stared with what he probably assumed was a menacing glare, but this fucker had no idea who raised Saint.
Deadlier men than him tried to destroy Saint from infancy, and if they hadn’t succeeded, this loser sure wouldn’t.
“Well, sure.” He shrugged. “We don’t need it for…
business purposes.” Neither of them was willing to say the word drugs out loud.
The last thing he needed was this guy or the laundromat attendant getting a video of him saying he wanted to buy or sell drugs.
Clearly, the newcomer wasn’t an idiot if he monitored his words as well.
“But if you know our club, as you claim, you know we love a good party.”
“Find a new way to get your… party favors.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. This seems really convenient.” He glanced at the paper, then back to his new friend with a smirk. “Yeah, I think I’ll give them a call as soon as I leave here. Unless you wanna pass a message along for me.”
The guy took three menacing steps toward Saint, who held his ground without flinching or reaching for his gun as instinct demanded.
The man came close enough that Saint noticed the scar transecting his jaw was part of a larger network of wounds. It was the darkest while smaller, web-like lines crisscrossed his cheek. Whatever he’d been through left a permanent reminder.
The guy’s hand went to the hilt of his hunting knife. “Think I’d rather send you back to your club with a message from my boss.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that? You’re coming for us?
You wanna run our town? You think your band of cute little wannabe outlaws is going to take territory the Handlers have held for decades?
” He laughed, making sure it sounded as mocking as possible.
Taunting this asshole was a bad idea. He didn’t want a bloody brawl in the middle of the laundromat that would alert the local cops.
Sure, the club had some in their pocket, but there were still many in the police force who hated them and would love to toss their ass in jail.
“You have no idea what you’re up against.”
The guy’s hand closed over his knife handle as his face darkened. “Fuck y—”
The door jangled, and Maverick strode in, followed by Zach and Louie, the trusty Louisville Slugger he’d had for years. That bat had busted countless kneecaps and deserved its own cut. Louie was a tried-and-true member of the HHMC.
“Maintenance,” Maverick announced. He clapped his hands together once, then rubbed them back and forth as though eager for fun to start. “We heard machine thirteen is out of order.”
“Oh fuck,” the attendant squeaked out. “C-can you guys take this outside? I can’t have blood in here.”
“No worries, buddy,” Mav said with his customary don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. “We ain’t gonna shed any blood. We’re just gonna have a friendly chat with our new friend here.” He walked over to the outnumbered guy and gripped his shoulder. “Right, friend?”
The guy looked like he could have murdered Mav with his bare hands right there in the laundromat, but he also knew he’d be dead before Mav took his last breath.
“I said, right, friend?” Mav shook him a little with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
“Right,” the guy managed through his tightly clenched teeth. Saint could almost see his blood boiling beneath his skin.
“All right. Good answer. So, Saint, my brother, what did you want to say to my new friend?” He squeezed the guy’s shoulder as he spoke.
Fucking Maverick.
Zach stayed off to the side, letting Saint run the show as he’d done increasingly often lately. He leaned against a non-running washing machine, resting Louie across the top, a gentle reminder of his power and authority.
And willingness to cause pain.
Saint stepped forward, getting in the guy’s space.
He lifted the paper with the number to eye level.
“My president wants to talk to your boss. When we call, and we’ll fucking call, someone better fucking answer.
And they better be able to get us to your boss.
This is our town, as it always has been.
One of your shit stains fucked with my president’s daughter. ”
The guy’s eyes flared as a small smirk quirked his lips up on one side.
Saint let the fury he’d felt when one of these guys approached Beth resurface. “It pissed our president off.”
And it pissed Saint off. So. Fucking. Much.
“Was it you? You Demo?”
The guy waggled his eyebrows, and Saint nearly attacked. Only the need to impress his club superiors kept him from launching himself at the man.
“Our president is not someone you want on your bad side. So now he wants to chat. Understand?”
Tension in the room ratcheted to near bursting as Demo’s jaw worked back and forth.
No doubt he was struggling to rein in the temper that wanted to burst forth.
As the four of them stared in silence, Saint readied his muscles for an attack.
He wiggled his fingertips ever so slightly, prepared to curl his hands into fists the second the situation went south.
A loud washing machine buzzer went off, making all of them jolt as though electrocuted.
The attendant made a choking sound.
Mav squeezed their new friend’s shoulder.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, then laughed.
“That’ll wake you up. So whatcha say, pal?
You gonna pass along the message, or we all gotta pull out our dicks and start measuring?
” He cupped a hand around his mouth, jerked his other thumb in Saint’s direction, and said in the loudest whisper possible, “I’ve heard this guy here has a monster in those jeans. I wouldn’t test it.”
“Mav, shut the fuck up.” Zach’s scold lost its effect as soon as Saint saw the way he failed to keep from laughing.
“Fine,” Demo spat out, literally hocking on the floor as he spoke. “I’ll pass it on, but I fucking promise we’re not going anywhere. My boss doesn’t scare easily, and he likes it here. I’d plan on getting used to us.”
“Keep telling yourself that, man,” Mav said, slapping his shoulder. “Gentlemen, our work here is done. Let’s fucking get the hell outta this shithole. Smells like musty clothes.” He leaned to see around Saint. “Might wanna check some of those washers for mold, buddy,” he called to the attendant.
Zach rolled his eyes as he rested Louie on his shoulder and strode toward Maverick. “You’re such a fucking troublemaker.”
Saint followed without another glance at the guy. Just as Mav reached the door, the guy called out. “And say hi to Copper’s daughter for me. I enjoyed our time the other day.”
Saint froze.
The world narrowed to a single point—that smug fucker’s face. Heat flooded his chest, spreading outward until his skin felt too tight to contain the violence churning beneath it. His hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles ached.
Zach whipped around and grabbed him by the sleeve before he had a chance to whirl on this piece of shit and snuff the life out of him.
“Don’t,” Zach muttered.
Saint couldn’t hear him.
Beth’s face flashed in his mind.
“I said, don’t.” Zach hauled him outside.
The fucking bell chimed gleefully overhead.
“He’s fucking with you, and you know it. Beth didn’t go looking for him, and he didn’t do anything more than grab her arm.”
Yeah, because some random car drove by and interrupted whatever the fuck he had planned.
Saint shook off Zach’s hold and stormed across the parking lot toward his bike. This fucker signed his death warrant the second Beth’s name fell from his lips. Saint didn’t care what it cost him. His patch, his standing, his fucking life. Anyone who threatened her would bleed.
“Fill me in,” Copper said as soon as they approached.
Zach did, thankfully, because Saint was seething too hard to recount it without losing his shit. Copper’s frown deepened as he processed Zach’s tale.
“I want to set up a meet with whoever is at the top of their food chain,” Zach said. “This guy wasn’t low-level, but he doesn’t have any decision-making power. So…”
“He threatened Beth.”
Copper’s attention whipped to Saint. “What?”
He was so tense he could have snapped in two. “He was the fucker who stopped Beth on the road the other day. Demo.”
Copper straightened to his full height. “And he’s still breathing?”
“All right, hold the fuck on.” Zach put his hands on Copper’s chest, keeping him from advancing. “This is not the place. I saw Garner’s car parked ten seconds up the road when we came in. Last thing we need is that particular cop showing up here.”
Garner was new to the police force with a chip on his shoulder and a something-to-prove attitude. He hated the MC and salivated over the thought of locking any of them away in jail.
“Let’s get out of here and talk somewhere else.”
“Fine.” Copper rolled his shoulders. “I wanna grab Beth first. She’s at lunch with Lindsey.”
That got Zach’s attention. “Yeah, let’s pick ’em up and escort them to the clubhouse.”
“Mav, I know you gotta get to work. Saint, if you’re not busy this afternoon, I want you with us.”
He nodded, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. “Whatever you need, Prez.”
Plus, even though he knew Beth was safe, now that her name had been thrown into the mix, his agitation wouldn’t settle until he saw her with his own two eyes. Until he could put his hands on her and feel for himself that she was whole and unharmed.
And maybe that need should have scared him.
How quickly she’d become essential.
But all he felt was the hollow ache of wanting what he couldn’t have.