Chapter 54
Chapter fifty-four
Keep The Wolves Away
Nate
The day after the fight…
12:49 PM
Iroused from sleep, pain pounding through me—behind my swollen eyelids, in my goddamn ears. The sound was deafening, wrenching a groan from my lips.
Wait…
The pounding wasn’t just in my ears. That was the door. Gritting my teeth and forcing myself to sit up from my spot on the couch—I hadn’t had the strength or energy to make it to the bed—I trudged toward the noise.
My head felt like it was filled with cobwebs, partially from the pain, but also from the half-drank fifth of whiskey and the bottle of painkillers sitting scattered across the coffee table. They’d only done so much. At least part of my face was still numb.
As I padded across the wood floors, I caught a glimpse of myself in the small entryway mirror.
Holy shit. I looked awful. Almost unrecognizable with all the swelling and bruising. Both eyes were black and purple, my lip cracked open. The air shifting around my face as I turned it this way and that was almost enough to make my eyes blur.
Fury pulsed through my veins. Fuck that dude…and fuck Cheyenne. That bitch. Of course, she’d kept the baby. That girl was always more trouble than she was worth.
A scowl formed on my lips before falling into a grimace as another wave of pain flooded through me. Something was broken. Had to be.
I should go to the ER…
But there would be too many questions. I’d already been trying to lay low since the whole trailer park fire. There was no need to draw more attention to myself. But the idea of pressing charges on that prick and getting him arrested, leaving that little slut all alone did sound pretty damn nice.
A knock sounded on the front door once more, and I bit back a groan as I moved forward and turned the knob, yanking the door open.
Two cowboys stood on the front porch. No, not just two cowboys. I recognized the younger one from the night before—that prick’s friend who’d knocked out Jesse. He looked all suave and soft, but the kid had a mean right hook. I recognized the man beside him a moment later.
Clint “Bad” Mooney. Rodeo Champion, wannabe cattle baron. Man had a temper…and an influence in the horse world. A lot of influence.
Well, shit.
“What the fuck do you want?” I spat out, ignoring the aching in my face. Blinking alone hurt, talking was pure agony.
“We wanna talk,” the younger cowboy said. Must be his son. They looked similar enough.
I glared at them, spitting at their feet. The movement took more effort than I’d intended and I instantly regretted it. “Ain’t in the talkin’ mood,” I grunted, before slamming the door closed.
A part of me wondered what they wanted. Couldn’t be anything good, though. Likely to find out what I planned to do. Maybe threaten me a bit. But I didn’t really care enough to find out.
I locked the door and turned to walk back to the living room.
A chill skittered through me and I froze, my feet becoming nothing more than cement blocks.
Someone was in the house with me. I could feel the shift in the air.
It was like it was charged. Energized. An unfamiliar scent floated around the room.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw him. Waiting in the darkness of the living room. As if conjured from the shadows themselves, a man stepped before me.
Some guys were really good at football. Some guys were good at talkin’. I was good at knowing when I was out of my fucking league.
This guy…
He was tall, built and held a dark, savage look in his eyes.
He wore a kutte with motorcycle patches all over it.
My eyes stuck on one in particular, though.
A flaming Viking skull flanked by axes. Battle Borne MC.
One percenters—real bad guys. Big timers.
You didn’t fuck with them…ever. Those that did were often found in pieces in the desert. If they were found at all.
A shiver went through me. I hated him on instinct.
He didn’t speak as he moved toward me. Fear swelled in my chest, forcing my breathing to shallow. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even properly breathe. How the hell had he gotten in? Was Bad Mooney involved with the Battle Borne? Fuck…were they going to have me killed?
My pulse hammered through my veins as the biker reached out, slowly, so fucking slowly that I swear my entire damn life passed before my eyes…
But he didn’t touch me. Nope. He just reached past me and unlocked the door, his hardened, hazel gaze never leaving mine.
“Who the fuck are you?” I choked out as I tried and failed to keep my voice from quavering.
Bad Mooney’s voice boomed like thunder behind me as he stepped through the doorway. “True’s my friend. He ain’t yours. You don’t wanna piss him off. So, I suggest you invite us in, listen closely, and we won’t have a problem.”
My gaze flicked between the three of them. They all shared similar features, those same golden-green eyes. Well, fuck. This was a whole family affair.
“Fuck it, yeah sure…come in.” I limped my way back to the couch and sat, grabbing the bottle of whiskey for what…comfort? Protection? Not that it would do much against these three. Bad Mooney was known for his temper, his redneck son knew how to scrap, and the other was a fuckin’ Battle Borne.
A bottle wouldn’t do shit against them. I wished I had my gun on me.
The biker snatched the whiskey out of my hand and set it down on the table, gentle-like, as if it were a wine glass with a delicate stem. Then he got down in my face and looked into my eyes.
“I want you…” He paused and held my gaze hostage. “To listen. And understand what you hear. You can’t listen if you’re drunk. That can wait until after we’re gone. This won’t take long, unless you piss me off.”
His voice was far smoother than I’d have guessed, but heavy with unspoken violence. Like a fine whiskey, the smoother it went down the more trouble you could get into.
Unable to speak, I nodded.
I watched in pained silence as Bad Mooney came to a stop before me and reached into his back pocket. Oh fuck…was this it? Was he gonna shoot me? I swallowed back the fear snaking around my lungs.
A wad of cash fell with a resounding thud on the coffee table, causing the pills to disperse. Not just a wad. A big wad of cash. So big I’d be afraid walking around with that amount of money.
“Look,” he said, his voice rough like sandpaper or gravel.
“You gotta problem, and I gotta problem. My nephew bashed your face in. And you burnt down his girlfriend’s trailer and threatened to hit her in public.
Now way I see it, there’s two ways to go about it…
One, we get the cops involved. It’ll be messy and stressful on everyone and I don’t really got time for that.
” He cleared his throat. “Or two, you keep quiet, and leave Cheyenne Harris alone.” He nodded at the money. “You do that, and this here’s yours.”
I snorted, a bitter laugh escaping me. Rage and reason warred for dominance in my chest. There was nothing I wanted more than to get back at the bitch. Ruin her life before she tried to ruin mine with that damn kid of ours. But…
Despite the pain, I reached forward and fingered through the stack of bills. Five grand. Well, damn.
I chewed on my bottom lip, anger bubbling through me. Must be fucking nice to have enough money to just buy your way out of things. I glared up at Bad Mooney and then his sons, my gaze falling lastly to the Battle Borne biker.
They were no joke. And if Cheyenne was under their protection because of this…well, fucking with her was basically a death sentence.
Bad Mooney’s lips pulled up ever so slightly in the corners. “We gotta deal? You leave Cheyenne alone. You don’t involve the law, and we’re good?”
I bristled as he repeated the terms one more time, like I was some idiot kid who didn’t know my right from my left. But I didn’t really have much say in this, did I? Not unless I wanted beef with one of the most dangerous biker gangs in the southwest.
“Yeah, whatever,” I grumbled, nodding at the cash.
The biker stepped forward, his eyes holding a dark, dangerous glint to them. “Yes, sir,” he growled out. The frigid coldness in his words froze my blood. He hadn’t raised his voice, but my ears rang all the same.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” I fought to keep a tremor out of my tone. Failed.
“I think—” The man put a tattooed hand on the table top, his gaze pegging me in place. Another shiver went up my spine. Kid couldn’t be older than twenty-five, but everything about him exuded power. I saw the threat in just his stance alone. “—you meant to say, ‘yes, sir’.”
Fuck him and his manners.
But despite my annoyance, I grumbled out a quiet, “Yes, sir.”
That seemed to appease Bad and his other son, and with nothing more than a tilt of their hats, they all made to leave.
I glanced down at the money all but burning a hole in my hands.
Five thousand dollars was a good chunk of change.
One I could use right now. But rage still flickered within me at the thought of that bitch and her pregnant belly.
I reclaimed my bottle of whiskey and took a long pull.
I wouldn’t call the cops. Wouldn’t go after her.
The liquor burned a path down my throat—a pleasant reprieve from the pain still throbbing across my face.
But…accidents do happen.
And I don’t know if I was paranoid, or if that biker fucker had some sort of sixth sense, but his lips pulled up into the barest hint of a smirk as he knocked his knuckles against my table once. Twice. “Gotta feelin’ I’ll be seein’ you again soon.”
“I don’t think I will.” I pulled what courage I could from the alcohol. Some of these biker punks were pussies playing at being gangsters. If I showed him I wasn’t rattled, he might fuck off.
“You misunderstand.” He crouched down to my level again. Face inches from mine. His voice was still cold and dangerous, but his eyes burned like hellfire. And I understood in that moment, that while Bad and his other kid didn’t want any trouble. This one did. “You won’t see me. But I’ll see you.”