Page 6 of Property of Kevlar

Stomping out from the side of the building came a bulky mountain of a man with balled fists, a pissed-off expression, and a bloody lip. His murderous gaze fixed on the blond woman trembling in Kevlar’s arms. Apparently, they’d walked into a lover’s spat.

Dammit.

“Get your hands off my woman,” the man roared as he approached.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t.”

The last thing Kevlar needed was to get in the middle of some bullshit. This was his first night in town. He was supposed to throw back beers and negotiate with Jerry. He didn’t have time for this.

She peered up at him. Eyeliner ran down her tearstained cheeks. Lipstick had smeared from her swollen lips. This wasn’t the look of a willingly claimed woman. False lashes fluttered as she pleaded without words.

A knot tightened in his chest. He might not be a good guy, but he couldn’t let this asshole hurt her. If this was going to be his territory, he had stand up—make his presence known.

Kevlar was back in town. Don’t fuck with him. Might as well start with this dickhead.

The man crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest and glared at Kevlar. Resting on his forearm sat a one percent medallion. Friend or foe?

“Yeah. I think you might need to take the L on this, dude. She doesn’t seem interested,” Kevlar said.

“Fuck off.” The asshole flicked his chin in an attempt at intimidation. Definitely foe. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Except it did. This was Kevlar’s turf again. He glanced over his shoulder at Kid.

His brother had dismounted his bike and stood beside him, wearing an equally stone-cold expression.

Kevlar ran his hand through the woman’s hair. He jutted his chin toward Kid before gently guiding her in that direction.

“The thing is,” Kevlar said once his brother had the woman. “This.” He waved his finger through the air in a circle. “Is mine.”

He rested his hands on his waist, making sure the front patches on his vest were on display. It might be bright and shiny new, but it still said what it said.

President. Whoever this jerk-off was, Kevlar would bet money that he outranked him.

The man opposite him squinted as he scanned Kevlar. His brows lifted in recognition, but instead of apologizing, bowing out, and accepting facts, he snorted. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Can’t read?” Kevlar asked with a nod. “You’re in Royal Bastards’ territory. Not pissing off the president would be in your best interest.”

“The hell it is,” the dickhead scoffed. “The Bloody Scorpions have been checking this place out for months. Might want to move along before we stomp you into the ground.”

Kevlar’s eye twitched. Of all the clubs in the world for this twat waffle to belong to, it had to be the Bloody Scorpions. The eternal thorn in the Royal Bastards’ side. Kevlar should’ve known coming home wouldn’t be easy.

He’d been gone too long. Inevitably, someone else would try to lay claim to what was his. Too bad for this jackass, because Kevlar wouldn’t be giving up easily.

He cracked his neck. He was done posturing. From the hidden holster, he withdrew his Glock. Aiming it at the center of the man’s chest, he smirked. “I think it’s time you went home, little scorpion.”

The Bloody Scorpion’s gaze flicked to the woman behind Kevlar and then back to him. He pointed in Kevlar’s direction. “This isn’t over.”

Probably not, but that would be a problem for another day. Right now, all Kevlar wanted to do was take out the trash.

Throwing his hand in the air, the unknown biker strolled past them.

Kevlar kept the weapon trained on him. He wasn’t about to get jumped by a dickhead on the first night back on his home turf. Thankfully, the guy was smart enough to not continue any shit. Instead, he got onto his bike and left the lot.

With the threat eliminated, Kevlar tucked his gun back where it belonged, thankful he didn’t have to use it. Letting bullets fly on day one wouldn’t be a good indicator of how things would go. The situation wasn’t ideal, but he wouldn’t call it bad yet.

His attention went to the woman with the plump, trembling bottom lip, shivering and failing at keeping her ample cleavage covered. The asshole had ripped her shirt.

“You need a ride?” he offered, like he was some sort of white knight in shining armor.