Chapter 6
Chapter Six
He gripped the pool cue in his hand, surveyed the table, and then Cass called his shot, “Eight ball, corner pocket.”
The other men around the table leaned in.
He took the shot. Tipped the cue ball. Sent it rolling straight to the eight ball, worked the angle, and it sank perfectly into the corner pocket. Done.
A faint smile curved his lips There was some grumbling from the others. But a bet was a bet, and the beers were about to be given for free to every single member of his MC—
“I hear that you’re fucking Feds these days, Cassius.”
The smile on his lips froze. Taking his time, Cass stretched to his full height, then he turned to face the sonofabitch who’d just spoken.
Bayne Hendrix stood about five feet away, flanked on each side by his two lieutenants. The Western Mavericks had no damn business being in that pool hall. At least, not unless they wanted trouble. Clearly, they wanted it.
The Western Mavericks weren’t even supposed to be in Atlanta. They belonged on the other side of the US.
“I was just driving through town, and a fun little rumor swept its way to me…” Bayne had taken control of the Mavericks a few months back. After the previous leader had been killed in a motorcycle accident.
A suspicious accident? Hell, yeah. Super suspicious. The brakes had failed. Then the bike had ignited. That shit didn’t happen every single day.
“Seems that you’ve taken to sleeping with Feds.
” Bayne’s voice was overly loud. As always.
His eyes glittered at Cass. Not quite as tall as Cass, a few inches shorter, and with a stomach that was going soft.
Soft from too much booze. Too many drugs.
Or maybe from too much time being a straight-up asshole who loafed around and let other people in the world do the hard, grueling work that had to be done.
As always, he wore his beat-up, ancient leather jacket.
A jacket that was a little too big and hung past his wrists.
“What’s the game plan there, Cass? You selling out the MCs?
Getting in that nice, FBI pussy so you can—”
His words stopped, mostly because Bayne could not speak any longer.
Cass had broken the pool cue in two. He dropped one piece to the floor, grabbed Bayne, and in a flash, Cass shoved the prick to his knees.
Cass positioned the broken piece of pool cue he still held underneath Bayne’s chin, holding it horizontally across his neck.
Cass yanked back hard on the pool cue, one hand on each side as he pulled it against Bayne’s throat.
Bayne’s head whipped back as far as it would go, and he grabbed at the cue stick.
Too bad the jerk wasn’t strong enough to actually take it from Cass.
Bayne’s two lieutenants immediately reached for their weapons.
“Yeah…no.” A slow drawl from Cass’s right-hand man, Javion Booker. He might enjoy a slow drawl, courtesy of his Mississippi roots, but Javion moved helluva fast. He already had his own weapon out and aimed. “I think these two got things covered without us interrupting them.”
Oh, Cass had things covered. He’d just sort of lost his sanity a minute there and seen red when he’d let Bayne’s words get to him.
I don’t like anyone talking about Agnes. Especially not her pussy.
Because that is mine.
Wait, wow. He seriously needed to calm down.
Two days had passed since he’d fucked her all those endless hours. Two days.
And he’d thought of her way, way too much in that time.
Cass released a long, slow breath, and he lifted up the pool cue.
Bayne immediately surged away. He whirled to face Cass, and the guy’s hand flew up to press against the long, red mark that was clear to see on his throat.
Cass might have been applying a whole lot of pressure with that wooden cue.
“Gonna…” A wheeze from Bayne. “You gonna tell me that I’m wrong?”
No, he was not. Because, obviously, the rival MC leader had gotten his intel from somewhere. So, Cass would roll with it. “Yeah, I fucked a Fed.” He shrugged. “She was fabulous, too.”
“You’re selling us out to some—”
He extended the broken pool cue and put the jagged, cracked edge against Bayne’s jugular.
“I’m not selling out anyone. I’m fucking.
Didn’t realize I needed to run a list of my fuck-mates by you.
” He tapped the jagged edge against Bayne’s skin.
“Got to warn you, man. You are way too involved in my fucking business.”
Javion laughed.
“You’re telling me the woman meant nothing? Just a fuck buddy?” Bayne sneered. His sneer was brave, but the man was sweating. A lot.
“One-night stands happen.” Cass thought he sounded well and truly bored. “Deal with it.”
And Bayne began to smirk.
Cass didn’t like that smirk.
“Then you don’t care…” Bayne leaned into the pool stick. “If anything happens to her?”
Cass did not let his expression change.
“Because, see, she threw a bottle of beer at an…associate of mine. Someone who might be looking for membership in the Mavericks.”
That prick who’d tried to stab Cass in the back was a Maverick wannabe? Figured. “Thought he was a Backstreet Phantom.” All those skull and thorn tattoos on his arms had marked him as a Phantom.
“He was a Phantom. But the guy was looking to switch his allegiance. Only your pretty Fed stepped in. She embarrassed him.”
“And I kicked his ass.” Flat. “If he wants payback, he can come at me.” But the dick wouldn’t. Because he was too scared of Cass. So…
Is he really going after Agnes?
The stretching smirk on Bayne’s face said that the jerk was.
“The man is gonna take the bitch out. He was real, real pissed to find that a Fed had gotten involved in his business. In fact…” Oh, but that smirk needed to be punched off Bayne’s face.
“He might even be closing in on her, right this minute.”
Every muscle in Cass’s body turned to stone. “The hell he is.” Bayne’s words replayed through his head. He’ll take the bitch out…Take the bitch out…
Bayne blinked. “Why would you care what happens to her? She’s just a casual fuck, right?
And what’s one more dead Fed? Not like there’s any sort of attachment there.
Not like you care about the bitch.” He spun away.
“Even though some assholes were swearing you were saying she was yours at The Bottomless Pit.”
Cass’s hand clenched around the pool cue.
“The heartless leader of the Strikers has no weaknesses. You even killed your own uncle. Your old man, too, if the stories are true. You never have any attachments.” Laughter rolled from Bayne. “But you could still send flowers to the bitch’s funeral. That’s a nice thing to do and—”
“No one fucking touches her.” The words ripped from Cass. Low and lethal and pouring with savage fury.
Bayne’s laughter died away as he slowly turned back to face Cass.
He knew every eye was on him. Every ear. For years, his enemies had been looking for a weakness to use against him. Now they had it—or at least, they thought they did. They had it in the form of one small FBI agent.
A woman he’d fucked.
He should have acted like he didn’t care. But I can’t let anyone hurt her. The very thought of someone hurting Agnes sent fury spiking in his blood.
“Thought she was a casual screw,” Bayne muttered.
“No one touches her.” Loud. Clear. “She belongs to me.”
Javion sidled closer. “Uh, Cass, you just told everyone she was a Fed.”
He was aware.
“Do you know what you’re saying right now?” A low rasp from Javion. Meant only for Cass’s ears. “Do you know what you are doing by claiming her?”
He did. Since there was confusion from Javion, then Cass would just repeat himself. Very clearly so every person there would understand. “No one touches her.”
“I think the guy is gonna do more than touch her.” Bayne swept a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Pretty sure he’s going in for the kill.” A shrug as his hand fell. “Right the hell now. Poor, dead Fed.”
“Call him off.”
“He’s not mine to call off. Not like I paid him to do the deed.” Bayne’s brown eyes gleamed.
Screw this shit. Cass surged forward and wrapped his hand around Bayne’s throat. “Call him off,” he barked.
Bayne clawed at Cass’s hand.
Cass eased up, just a bit. Enough so that Bayne could wheeze out a breath and say, “You going to war with me over a Fed?”
“Not war.” Cass shook his head. “I’ll just end your ass here and now, unless you call him off.”
She was being followed. Agnes knew she had a tail, mostly because the guy was a piss-poor stalker. She’d caught his image four streets back, reflected in a storefront window. Maybe he thought that, because it was night—just after 10 p.m.—that the darkness hid him.
The fool had clearly forgotten that street lamps existed.
So he tailed her through the city. He annoyed the ever-loving-hell out of her, and she casually put her phone to her ear as she called for her backup.
“He still tailing you?” Malik Jones wanted to know when he picked up the phone on the second ring. They’d chatted before, when she first noticed her unwelcome follower.
“He is indeed,” she confirmed to her primary FBI partner as she stopped at the street corner.
“About six-foot-six, two hundred and sixty pounds, shaved head. Bushy beard. Lots of piercings.” As if she hadn’t recognized the jerk from The Bottomless Pit.
The attacker who’d thought it would be fun to come up from behind Cass with a knife.
Quite obviously, the man preferred attacking from the back.
She figured he was going to try and drive a knife into her spine in the next few moments. He’d been drawing closer and closer to her in the last half hour. Coming in for the kill, are you?
That was fine. While he’d been edging closer to her, Agnes had been setting up a trap for him.