Chapter 9 #2
Sighing, I will the anger twisting in my gut to abate. God, I want to fucking kill this guy. “Still haven’t told me what you want.”
“Updates, Decker. Information. I want a tab on this Allen fuck at all times. I wanna know what he’s doing, who he’s talking to, what kind of shit he’s digging up on my club. I want his moves before he makes them. Got it?”
I suck in a breath. “That won’t be easy. I can’t just?—”
“You sold your soul to me a long time ago. You don’t get to decide how I use it.”
“That’s not exactly how I remember it going down, but yeah, you’ve made that pretty fucking clear,” I grit. “What I meant is that he kicked me off your case. Guess he didn’t like how I handled the shit with Grace and that other cop.”
Axe lifts a brow. “What exactly did you handle ?”
When I explain, his mood darkens. Jaw tight.
Fists clenched. Brows pulled down. Anger.
More than that. Rage. Once again, I check my stance, determine where my feet are relative to the brick wall behind me, the dumpster to my right.
Preacher treads closer, like he can sense the change, like he’s waiting to either hold me down or hold his prez back.
After a moment, Axe’s shoulders relax. “Don’t repeat that to Graves. Last time someone tried to pull that shit with someone he felt responsible for, we had to get rid of a body. I can’t have him killing a cop.”
“Handle your business how you wanna handle it,” I tell him. “Just warn your women.”
“That happens again, to anyone, I’ll hold you personally responsible. As for Allen, need you to get back on his good side.”
“Axe, I can’t?—”
“Just fucking do it, Decker. Figure it out.”
“Then give me something,” I snap. “Anything. A fucking morsel I can drop at Allen’s feet that makes me look like I’m actually trying to help him.”
Mouth set in a hard line, he glares at me.
It’s a big deal to him, letting us have a win.
They’re a necessary sacrifice sometimes.
The Sinners got something big going on, he’ll let me nab a couple low-level dealers or break up a rowdy night at the clubhouse and toss a few of his guys in the drunk tank.
A distraction from the real shit Donovan’s cooking up.
He needs eyes elsewhere. I need to keep the chief happy and make it look like I’m fucking doing something about the outlaws running around South Bay.
Win-win. Well, not for the guys in cuffs.
But they do as Donovan tells them. Your coach orders you to take a knee, you take a knee. No questions asked.
It’s why Allen’s got his dick hard over my arrest stats. I’ve put a lot of Sinners in handcuffs.
I sigh. “He knows there’s a badge working for you. I’d rather him not think it’s me.”
He holds that hard stare for another moment or two before he loosens up. “I’ll think on it. And like I said, updates.”
He leaves without another word, slamming his shoulder into mine as he goes.
I glance at Preacher, who’s lit up another cigarette. “You better take off those rings before you have a go at my face,” I tell him.
“You look extra angry tonight. Anything you wanna chat about?”
I snort. It’s easy to forget sometimes that we’re not on the same team. I spend so much time with these assholes that some days I forget who I am. I forget that I’m supposed to be the good guy. That I’ve ended up on the wrong side of all of this.
Sometimes I think Preacher forgets that too. That maybe if I didn’t wear the badge and he didn’t have that ink tattooed on his shoulder, we’d even be friends. That we’d be bitching about last night’s game over beers instead of bruises.
But we are who we are. If Axe gave the order, Preacher would put a bullet in my head.
No questions asked. So there’s no fucking way I’d talk to him about my Donovan problem.
Either of them. The one who’s got me by the balls, who threatens my fucking life every other day, and definitely not the one I was thinking about in the shower this morning, whose pretty, whipped-cream-covered lips I can’t stop picturing wrapping around my dick.
Grace may be everything I’m supposed to hate, but I can’t stop thinking about her.
Her hands on my body when we were under that truck, exploring, moving lower and lower.
If she’d kept going, I’m honestly not sure I would have stopped her.
Would have been a dick move, I guess, considering how badly I’m about to make her squirm.
She should have thought twice before trying to fuck with me.
“I’m not really in the mood for girl talk, Preach,” I say.
He flicks his smoke onto the ground. “All right, then. Suppose you’re also not in the mood to make this easy for me?”
“What do you think?”
Sighing, he takes a step forward. Without a second of hesitation, I clock him hard in the face.
It’s shot for shot after that until we’re both nursing bloody lips and throbbing cheeks, but he’s the one who finally backs down.
As fucking pissed as I am, I probably would have gone all night. Maybe he could sense that.
Face and knuckles aching, I jump on my bike and head home, ready to drink myself to sleep, but as I approach my front steps, I can tell my night isn’t gonna play out like that. My front door is cracked open, and inside, it’s a disaster, my shit strewn everywhere.
God. Fucking. Dammit.
Slowly, silently, I push the door open with the toe of my boot.
Eyes open for movement, I slide my hand along the shelf above the coat rack, searching for the gun I keep there.
Gone. The house is dark, but the mess isn’t hard to make out.
Pictures smashed. Dishes broken. Cupboards and drawers open.
A mix of foam and feathers and balls of fluff all over the living room.
My pillows cut open, my couch destroyed.
Someone was looking for something.
A loud thump.
And they’re still looking.
Remaining silent is damn near impossible when glass and ceramic crunch under my feet.
I grab a kitchen knife on my way to the bedroom, where the light is on.
Breath held, I push the door open with the tip of the blade.
The sight I’m met with ignites a rage in me so fucking hot that I barely register what she’s got in her hand.
Sitting in a chair, centre of the room, is Grace fucking Donovan.
Short skirt, leather boots. What looks to be my high school yearbook on her lap. Wide grin split across her goddamn face.
And a fucking gun pointed at my head.