Page 51 of Ride or Die

My eyes track Clara as she walks to the bar with a sexy little sway to her curvy hips, a happy smile ghosting her lips. I ignore the way my heart swells at her confidence, the way my dick twitches in my jeans.

“Cole!” Austin booms.

“Be there soon.” I end the call and finish what’s left of my beer.

With a groan, I push up from my chair, back cracking, shoulder aching with the memory of tonight’s ride. I’m like a ninety-year-old hobbling toward the bar where Clara’s standing with Maci Lou, aka Summer’s very own Little Miss Fuckin’ Trouble.

Sidling up next to Clara, I skate a hand over her lower back, probably a little forward of me, but I don’t give a shit. In fact, the way she shudders under my touch before catching herself and squaring her shoulders, I have to bite back my smirk when her lust-filled eyes meet mine.

“Well, howdy there, Cole Dawson,” Maci says, looking around Clara and grinning at me wide like she knows something I don’t. “Fancy seein’ you here tonight.”

I tip my hat, gritting my teeth. “Maci Lou.”

Maci chuckles to herself, spinning on her heels and strutting off, leaving me alone with Clara.

“Want another?” Clara asks, looking at the empty bottle I place on the counter.

“Uh, no.” I shake my head. “Actually, I… I gotta go.”

“Oh,” Clara says, looking a little confused. “O-okay.”

“Sorry, I—” I glance down at my phone still in my hand before lifting my gaze to meet hers again. “Somethin’ came up.”

Clara’s eyes drop to my phone then and in the flash of an instant she almost looks affronted and fuck me. Idiot.She thinks you got a goddamn booty call.

“Work,” I correct her silence.

She quirks a brow. “At midnight on a Saturday?”

I tuck my phone into my pocket, glancing out over the club to avoid the accusation in her eyes. “Yeah… somethin’ like that.”

“Okay.” Clara shrugs a shoulder, turning back to the bar, ultimately dismissing me and I hate that. “Drive safe,” she says over her shoulder.

I scrub a hand down my face, taking a moment to look down at her, my gaze scanning over the generous curve of her ass in those fuckin’ booty shorts she’s forced to wear. And suddenly my eyes track to the table of cowboys she’s been serving, the cowboys currently eyeing her like she’s on the fuckin’ menu, and something spiky swells in my chest.

“Text me when you’re leavin’,” I tell her, meeting her curious gaze when it flits to mine. “And text me as soon as you get home.”

Clara opens her mouth, and she’s either about to object or question me. But before she can get a word out, I shut her up by leaning close and pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek, eyes narrowing to a glower aimed at the table of cowboys who have been watching our exchange this whole time.

Fully aware of Clara watching me like she’s wondering what the fuck just happened, I turn and adjust my hat on my way to the exit, passing the cowboys as I go. I flash them all a warning glance, pointing a finger at them and saying loud enough for them to hear me over the music, “Touch her and you fuckin’ die.”

The overflow barn in the south two pasture is only ever used to store shit we never need. God, I can’t even remember the last time I had to come down here. But as I navigate my truck over the rocky terrain, heading south through what we refer to as the bone yard, the barn is lit up against the darkness, with at least five shiny black vehicles parked up outside, plus Cruz’s Bronco.

Something feels off. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but my hackles are up as I shut off the engine. I reach under the seat and grab my pistol, checking the chamber before I hop out and untuck my shirt from my jeans, securing the Smith & Wesson into the waistband and concealing it as I head for the barn.

I hear the crack of bone before I even walk through the wide-open doors, stepping inside to find Austin laying into some guy hunched over in a solitary chair, the bright light hanging from a wire flickering as it sways with the movement. A throng of people I don’t know or like the look of, are circled around the chaos and my heart kicks up a notch. Moving next to Webber, I clear my throat to make my presence known.

“Think you can steal from us, motherfucker,” Austin grits out, landing another right hook to the guys bloodied face.

My gaze slides to Cruz as he watches on casually, toothpick rolling between his teeth his only tell that he’s on edge.

As I pan around the space, I eye the rest of the men, most of them dressed in black. I fold my arms across my chest, jaw clenching tight as I watch on, waiting for what, I have no idea. But I don’t like this one bit.

The guy on the chair groans, muttering something unintelligible, blood dripping from his mouth onto the dirt.

“What was that?” Austin leans in, cupping a hand around his ear. “Can’t make out what you’re saying with all them missin’ teeth.”

“What’s goin’ on?” I ask Webber, keeping my voice to a low murmur.