Page 32 of Not Mine to Rescue

“Get your ass to the club and kick your bitch out.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, “Which one?” But I’d been under his thumb long enough to know anything other than, “Yes,” or “Yes sir!” would warrant a slow, torturous death by degradation and shit jobs.

“Ten minutes.” Even stating the obvious was flirting with a beatdown. It took time to lock Dumb Ass in the house and haul my carcass into that mess of mountain bones northwest of the national park. There, the Destroyers’ clubhouse did its best to blend in with the trees.

“Make it six, asshole. I’m not cleaning up your shit.”

I bet that fucker missed the days of rotary phones.

Not that he was that old, but Walter Tipton was the sort of biker who clung to traditions and cliches like, “Respect is earned, beatings are free.”

My parents were pacifists. Even my worst rebelliousness was wimpy compared to Walt’s idea of peace.

Somehow I’d made it through prospecting and had earned my patch. The last thing I wanted to do was lose it over a woman.

But I was coming in blind. Honoria had left in a snit a little over an hour ago. I doubted she knew where the club was, and if she did, why would she go there? It didn’t make sense.

Yet having a lawyer show up on club grounds would be more than enough to get Walt’s blood pressure high enough to make that one blood vessel on his forehead bulge out until his face turned beet red.

Seven minutes from that phone call, I snaked up the winding road to the barn.

There were eight vehicles in the lot. Three bikes, Walt’s black SUV, two trucks, Boot’s ugly-ass blue van with the latest set of vinyl lettering only half-peeled off the side panels, and one, boxy, inferno red Kia Soul parked next to the door.

No wonder Walt was pissed. That section was bike parking only.

And since I knew what Honoria drove, I breathed a little easier.

The door banged against the wall, announcing my arrival. I scanned the tables and bar to get the lay of the land.

Kid, the club’s newest officer, sat at the bar. He loomed over a short, golden blonde who must be the interloper.

She looked familiar.

“About fucking time.” Kid stepped away and swept his arm toward the girl.

She glanced at me and stood up.

Oh. I recognized that ass. “What are you doing here, Winter?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Honoria’s voice snarked in my head, “You’re intelligent, figure it out.” Winter didn’t want me, she wanted a ride on my fat dick again. I should be happy at least one woman liked it enough to come back for seconds. Yet that was the farthest emotion from the truth of what I was feeling. “Well. You’ve seen me. Leave.”

“Cold,” Kid muttered.

I ignored him.

Winter appeared conflicted. “You don’t mean that.”

Like hell I didn’t. “Don’t tell me what I fucking mean. Leave this bar and get your piece of shit car out of our motorcycle parking zone.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, I didn’t know. I’ll move my car.”

I caught her by the jacket and shook her. “You will move your car right off the lot, down the road and out the gate. You are not welcome here. Ever.”

Kid’s eyes shot to mine. “Bro?” I knew he was asking because even if I didn’t want free pussy hanging around, maybe someone else would. Ashley left a void that was difficult to fill. But I’d already considered that angle. Winter was way too flaky, too clueless, and too pushy to last.

Plus, she wasn’t that good in the sack.