19. Kevlar
Kevlar
Early afternoon was the perfect time to have a few beers and celebrate. Finally! A goddamn win. Kevlar and Kid had secured a temporary clubhouse. They wouldn’t have to bother Remi. The ball had begun to roll. Things were looking up.
Now all they needed was membership. As competent as he and his brother were, they wouldn’t stand a chance against the Scorpions alone.
Kevlar shouldn’t have to call in reinforcements three days into being a chapter president.
He wanted to impress Jameson and show him he’d made the right choice in giving this to Kevlar.
No doubt, Yogi wanted to do the same with his president. The most dangerous situation in the world was two men fighting over something to prove with nothing to lose. There were no limits to the lengths they would go to.
As Kevlar threw back his third shot of tequila, he stared at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar. He needed numbers—good ones. Unfortunately, with recruitment, he could either take people on swiftly or he could patch in quality brothers. There was no way to have both.
Sighing, he ran his hand through his short strands and twisted on the barstool. This would be his new home. A biker bar would be the perfect place to study and collect a few men for his cause, but he couldn’t accept everyone. That was one of his father’s many mistakes that Kevlar would not repeat.
While open for business, the bar was practically empty, but the hour was early. They’d need a few weeks as he worked on building his club.
Movement caught his attention. Shifting his focus toward it, he watched Vanessa stroll out of the men’s room, fixing her shirt and fluffing her hair. When Kid came out pulling his zipper up, Kevlar snorted and shook his head.
Well, apparently, his assumption about his brother was confirmed—there was something between those two. The question was whether it started before or after Diesel’s death. He hoped before. Diesel had always been a fucking jackass. He deserved everything he got.
“Hey!” Kid greeted.
Flicking his focus to the door, Kevlar grinned. A wave of relief swept through him at the sight of the man with the thick, coppery shoulder-length hair. He high-fived Kid before pulling him into a hug and clapping him on the back.
Torch.
The man had once worn a prospect patch for the Roughneck Riders. Kevlar had sponsored him. This was the type of man he needed. People he knew to be solid and could join the ranks quickly. Thankfully, his old friend wasn’t wearing a cut. No one, least of all the Scorpions, had scooped him up.
That wasn’t necessarily true. The sign outside declaring no club colors remained and would. No one but the Royal Bastards could wear their cuts. Jerry had agreed to that rule earlier. It would send a message—this was their turf.
As Kevlar watched Kid chat with Torch, he noticed his friend hadn’t come alone. Beside him stood a Black man wearing a beanie and a gray tank top. From a distance, Kevlar couldn’t make out what was said, but clearly Torch introduced him to Kid.
Two for one, maybe.
Kevlar stroked his beard as he studied the two men. As far as he was concerned, if Torch wanted it, he’d earned his patch already. He’d prospected for nearly two years and proved himself worthy. This new guy, well, time would tell.
Kid raised his eyes, met Kevlar’s, and gestured toward him. When Torch turned his head, he smiled a wide, toothy grin and raised his arms. “Weston!”
The sound of his legal name made him smile. No one had used it in years. Even Kid didn’t call him that.
Sliding off the stool, Kevlar strolled, closing the distance between the men who were already on their way to him.
“Good to see you, Torch,” he said as he wrapped his friend in a brief hug.
Backing up, Torch nodded. “Heh. No one’s called me that in forever.”
Good. Kevlar hoped that was a sign he hadn’t sniffed around for another club after the Roughneck Riders dissolved. Unlike Kevlar and Kid, Torch had ties to the community. As a welder, he held a union job with the city. He had it made and couldn’t take off like they had.
Fingers crossed that worked in his favor.
“This is my friend, Lionel.” Torch gestured to the man beside him.
Kevlar’s gaze ran up and down the tall, fit man as he offered his hand. “How are you doing?”
Lionel, who had a good three inches on Kevlar, accepted it with a bright smile, which he quickly wiped off his face. “Fine. Good.”
“Kid told me you were back in town,” Torch said with his gaze fixated on the patch on Kevlar’s vest.
Nodding, Kevlar stepped away and motioned toward the bar. “Let’s have a drink and talk.”
Switching from tequila shots to beer, Kevlar ordered a round and gestured to the table in the corner.
The one that had once been reserved for Roughneck Riders and would now be a Royal Bastards table.
He’d get their logo printed on the wall.
He wanted there to be no questions about it; this was their territory. No Scorpions welcome.
A makeshift clubhouse, doubling their numbers, a meeting set up with the Dixie Dicks. Today had been productive. Torch agreed to become their sergeant at arms. Lionel was honored to accept a prospect patch. They were moving in the right direction.
Kevlar, on the other hand, wasn’t.
He should’ve gone left on Stuyvesant. Not right.
He could’ve turned around on Baker Street, but he didn’t.
Had he had too many shots? Beers? Had he forgotten how to get to the hotel?
Nah.
Telling himself he was guarding his territory, he pulled into the tiny parking lot of the apartment complex.
Maybe he should look into getting a place here.
Living a few doors down would make things a lot more convenient.
Not to mention the building was smack-dab in the middle of his turf.
At least then he’d have an actual excuse for showing up.
Right now, all he had were bullshit reasons and denial.
Yogi had popped up where he didn’t belong already. Kevlar couldn’t take any chances.
That seemed like solid logic.
Nodding to himself, he backed into the spot across from Kelsey’s apartment door.
The lights were off. The spot directly in front of her place was empty. He didn’t know what she drove, but he assumed she wasn’t home. Checking his phone for the time, he frowned. Two in the morning. Where the hell could she be?
With Yogi.
He snarled as the thought crossed his mind. She wouldn’t do that. While he’d only seen her twice in his entire life, on both occasions, she made it perfectly clear she wasn’t interested in Scorpion company.
Bright lights shone to his right. Holding up his hand and squinting, he twisted toward them to watch the small sedan enter the lot. Then the space before Kelsey’s door was filled. Once his eyes adjusted, he studied the vehicle—a white Hyundai Elantra. Nothing fancy. Pure function.
The driver’s side door opened, and bathed in moonlight, his voluptuous blond goddess exited the car, fluffed her hair, and straightened her blouse. She kept her back to him, never once casting so much as a sideways glance in his direction.
Terrible survival skills. She should always be aware of her surroundings. One never knew what could be lying in wait for them.
Maybe a biker with bad intentions lurked in the shadows.
He smirked.
What a joke. As far as stalkers went, he didn’t exactly hide. So, one could safely assume he sucked at this.
As she trotted up the small walkway to her door, she dug in her purse. Kevlar appreciated the way her jeans hugged her ass. Did she wear thongs? He’d forgotten to notice when they’d fucked in her apartment.
Maybe he should check.
She would look fucking hot as hell with a thin string between her cheeks. Even better with his face there. He’d missed his opportunity to taste her last night.
Running his hand along his forehead, he decided that he’d had too much to drink and definitely shouldn’t be driving his motorcycle. Unfortunately, he didn’t have another option. He wasn’t in the habit of boosting cars, and he hadn’t received an invitation to join her again.
That ship had sailed. They were a one-and-done situation.
Then why was he there?
To protect his territory.
He snorted again. Repeating it, even in his head, wouldn’t make it true, but he wasn’t ready to admit what really went on.
Though…
Would one more dalliance hurt? He could be two and done. There were no rules against that.
Kelsey’s apartment door opened, and she disappeared inside. Better that way. He had too much on his plate. There was no time for pussy, casual or otherwise. He had a club to build and a turf war to fight.
Maybe when things calmed down and they had a proper clubhouse, he could invite her over. Yeah. That made sense. Tonight was too soon. There would be more opportunities in the future. Kevlar wasn’t going anywhere. He was home for good.
He nodded to himself unconvincingly.