Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The growl of engines echoed through the night as Gypsy and the boys rode out with Tailor’s crew, weaving through town like a shadow stretching across asphalt.
The air was thick with the promise of violence, the scent of oil and leather mixing with the distant aroma of burning wood from a backyard fire pit.
As soon as they parked, Gypsy swung off his bike, reaching into his saddlebag.
The cold metal of the chain felt familiar in his grip.
He pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, flexing his fingers.
His breath came slow and steady. There was no hesitation in his movements—this was muscle memory, a ritual as old as the club itself.
It was time to remind everyone who the fuck he was.
Brandi turned off the headlights as she eased the SUV to the side of the road. She’d lost her damn mind taking Quinn’s SUV without asking. She had been given the keys to hang on to, so was it stealing? She wondered.
She had kept her distance, trailing the bikes, but she had known when to backoff.
Putting the truck in park, she turned off the lights and watched.
Chewing on her thumb she needed to tell him the truth.
Even if he couldn’t come to terms with what was between them.
She shouldn’t have given him an ultimatum.
When Quinn had called Gypsy for help, Tool had come. Not just him—the entire club. They were here for her and the other women. To keep them safe.
Her heart sank as she watched the men arm themselves. The cold efficiency in their movements made her stomach knot. The tension in the SUV was suffocating.
Was this really happening? Were their men about to put their lives on the line—for what had happened to her. To Layla?
Brandi gripped the steering wheel, trying to calm the panic rising in her chest. Her breath came too fast, too shallow.
A sudden knock on the driver’s side window made her jump. Killer stood there, motioning for her to roll it down.
She hit the button, the window sliding down as she met his gaze.
He wasn’t much older than her—maybe two or three years—but in that moment, she felt old.
Maybe it was the weight of being at the center of the situation.
Maybe it was knowing that no matter how strong she was, she couldn’t protect the man she loved from the choices he was about to make.
“Killer,” she murmured.
“Brandi, what the hell are you doing here?” His tone wasn’t sharp, but there was an edge of exasperation beneath it.
She lifted her chin. “I wanted to know what was going on.”
Killer’s expression tightened.
“I wanted to make sure Tool wasn’t doing anything stupid,” she added.
“You need to leave before you’re seen,” he warned.
“Why?”
“It’s not just us tonight.” Killer glanced back toward the others. “The Road Devils are watching the Gypsy Kings now.”
Brandi’s stomach dropped. “Why?”
“Because he called them. To help rescue you—and all the other old ladies.”
Brandi’s hands curled into fists on her lap. The conversation in her room had been more of a demand than a conversation. More of a lecture than a moment of concern.
Killer leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You being here, is only going to make things worse.” His gaze flicked past her, toward the line of bikes parked in darkness. “Go back to the B&B, Brandi.”
She hesitated.
“Text Tool in fifteen minutes,” he continued. “Tell him you’ll be waiting for him.”
She should argue. She should insist on staying. But deep down, she knew Killer was right. Exhaling sharply, she nodded. “Thanks, Killer.”
Brandi watched him walk back towards the others before she leapt from the SUV. Brandi ran, her hair dampening from the misting rain, her feet barely touching the ground as she pushed toward one person. Tool.
“Shit!” Killer cursed, taking off after her.
Brandi ran, her heart pounding, her pulse roaring in her ears.
She didn’t care about the rain. She didn’t care about the stares.
She just needed to reach him. “Tool!”
Her voice cracked through the night, cutting through the thunder rolling in the distance.
Ahead of her, Tool turned, half-swiveling just as she reached him.
Killer was close behind, but he was too late.
Brandi crashed into Tool’s chest, and without hesitation, his arms came around her, sweeping her off the ground. For the first time in what felt like forever, she exhaled.
Her face pressed against his neck, her fingers curling into the back of his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words raw. “I didn’t mean what I said.”
Tool’s grip tightened. “Shhh, I meant what I said.”
He set her down, but his hands remained firm on her waist, keeping her close.
“You and I have lots to figure out.” His voice was steady, his dark eyes locked onto hers. “You calling me a coward a few days ago, wasn’t far off the mark. I’ve been acting like one when it came to us. But, when we get back to Lampsing, all that’s changing.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Then please—don’t go in there.”
His face softened for just a second. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
“Sweetheart…” His voice was lower now, almost regretful. “This fight’s been coming for a long time. It surpasses what happened tonight.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, the fear creeping in despite herself. It was so loud, she swore they could see it beating against her chest. But Tool was already turning back, already setting her behind him.