32. Kevlar
Kevlar
If Oklahoma City was truly Kevlar’s turf, he couldn’t sit by and let it be overrun by pests. He needed to take a stand. Yogi had to learn the Royal Bastards weren’t going anywhere. He couldn’t make a full-on show of force, but he had to do something.
Last night, after a few drinks, he brought Kelsey back to her apartment. They discovered Yogi had trashed it. His boot went through her television, tore her books, and put several holes in her walls. Kevlar assured her it’d be repaired. She wouldn’t even have to go through her landlord about it.
While he didn’t have a club full of men, he had one prospect to do grunt work.
So, Lionel would spend the next few days making repairs to the apartment.
With him on-site, Kevlar got some peace of mind.
Lionel’s presence should be enough to deter anyone from fucking with Kelsey anymore.
Kevlar couldn’t be there twenty-four seven.
He had shit to do, so this was the next best thing.
Now, all that was left to do was to show Yogi who was the boss of Oklahoma City.
Rolling up to the small rambler-style house, Kevlar spotted the familiar Harley-Davidson in the driveway beside the compact sedan. Yogi was inside. Could Kevlar get him out?
The Royal Bastards network of information had identified that Yogi’s sister, Celia, had a place in Oklahoma City. Which was probably why the Bloody Scorpions sent him to set up shop there. He had ties.
Kevlar was in the same position. He had family here too.
Except he knew better than to bring his bullshit to their doorstep.
He didn’t stay with his sisters for a reason.
Letting a biker crash on your sofa meant any trouble following him could come calling.
Kevlar wouldn’t do that to his sisters. They deserved their privacy.
Even so… Ding-dong. Yogi’s wake-up call had arrived.
Kevlar hated helmets, but sometimes they were necessary, especially when wanting to remain anonymous.
They’d even left their cuts back home. Nothing would be more identifying than a leather vest proclaiming not only their road name, but their club affiliation.
Sporting a full-face bucket on his head, with tinted glass to hide his identity, he was fairly certain those who didn’t need to know who was behind this morning visit wouldn’t, but Yogi should.
Twisting the throttle, Kevlar made sure his engine was loud as fuck. Flanked by his brothers, Kid and Torch did the same. The sound boomed off the other houses. The curtains in the main window of the rambler fluttered just as Yogi opened the door.
Kevlar pulled his Glock from the holster, pointed, and shot into the house. The recoil made his hand jerk, but he kept firing. Yogi, clad only in boxers, ducked back inside, leaving the door open.
When the mag was empty, Kevlar tucked the weapon away. Thrusting his index finger in the air, he made a circular motion, then pointed down the road. He and his brothers gunned it as they left the area before the cops could arrive.
He hadn’t intended to kill anyone. This was the final warning. This was Royal Bastards’ territory. Everyone else needed to get the fuck out or face the consequences.
Kelsey
The chime above the door dinged. Kelsey glanced up to welcome a new customer. Except the person who came in wasn’t someone interested in being made beautiful today.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” Carrie chanted as she rushed into the salon.
“Everything okay?” Kelsey asked warily.
Carrie reached for her, grabbed hold of Kelsey’s arm, and dragged her toward the back. “We have to talk. Like right now.”
Eyes wide, Kelsey rushed beside her friend toward the storage/break area. Quizzical looks were cast in their direction by the other stylists. Carrie didn’t seem to notice.
Kelsey shrugged.
Once they were safely amid the hair dyes and sanitizers, Carrie shut the door and pressed her back against it. “Someone did a drive-by at Pete’s house.”
Kelsey gasped and covered her gaping mouth.
Carrie nodded. “Mike got the call this morning.”
“Is he okay?” Kelsey asked. She didn’t like that guy, but she wasn’t the type to wish harm on him.
That was a lie. She didn’t want him to get shot, but Pete was due for some karma. The law enforcement kind had been her preference. She thought he deserved that. Not this.
“Thank God he’s okay. His sister got a few stitches from broken glass.”
“Sister?” Kelsey asked.
“Yeah, he’s been staying with her while they’re demoing the clubhouse.”
Kelsey furrowed her brows, imagining a tiny house up in a tree made of pallet wood, two-by-fours, and plywood, with a rope ladder and a sign that read No girls allowed. Though comical, she doubted that’s what Carrie meant.
Shaking the image from her mind, she reached for her friend. “Slow down. What’s going on?”
“Three dickheads came to the house and opened fire.” Carrie curled her fingers in such a way that her hand looked like a gun. “No rhyme or reason. They just did it.”
“Three?” Kelsey repeated as the realization hit her. She released her friend as uncomfortable thoughts crossed her mind. She took a step back, contemplating.
Kev had three friends. One of them was at her house this morning, spackling her walls after Pete’s little temper tantrum. That meant Kev and two of his friends were unaccounted for.
But no.
That couldn’t be. He wouldn’t do that.
Would he?
“I told you,” Carrie warned.
Kelsey peered at her in confusion.
“Mike said things were about to get bad. That biker dude…” She paused and regarded Kelsey skeptically. “You aren’t hanging out with him anymore, right?”
Fucking? Yes. They did a lot of that. Kelsey wouldn’t say they hung out, per se. They got each other off. That was far more accurate.
“Seriously?” Carrie pouted. “I told you they force women into prostitution, and you’re still seeing him?”
“I’m not,” Kelsey lied. “He keeps…” She flailed her hands, trying to find the right words for what was going on between her and Kev. “…showing up!”
“What does that even mean?” Carrie asked.
“I don’t know,” Kelsey snapped.
She and Kev hadn’t discussed their situationship. They merely enjoyed one another’s company. Thoroughly enjoyed.
She considered herself an excellent judge of character. If anyone gave off pimp vibes, it was Pete, not Kev. Everything she’d done with Kev had been enthusiastically consensual.
“Well, you better stop,” Carrie warned, jutting a finger at Kelsey’s face. “They’re in a war now, and I really hope you’re on the safe side.”
Biting her lips together, Kelsey agreed. Somehow, through no fault of her own, she’d found herself in the middle of a biker battle. They’d each chosen their champion—Kelsey believed Kev. Carrie was all in with Mike.
One of them had to be wrong. Who would it be?