Page 55
“Cover me, I’m going in,” Pops says, stepping out into the middle of the room.
“Shit!” Blanche hisses as she moves to Pops’ back, the rest of us flanking him.
Mercer spins in our direction and I’m not sure what he’s expecting, but I bet it isn’t four hot women and an old man.
“Willa?”
“Fuck off,” I whisper under my breath. There is no way he recognises me. No way.
“Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here.” He moves like a shark. Graceful, cold. “You look beautiful, Willa. Always were too good for Diesel, huh?”
“Willa?” Lovely asks, gripping my hand for support.
But I don’t need support. I’m good. I’ve worked my ass off for years so men like Diesel and Mercer can’t touch me.
“What are you doing, Mercer? What’s the plan?”
“Now that I’ve seen you, the plan has changed. You owe me. And you owe your Ol Man. Diesel’s too fucking dumb to know it was you who set him up. Not me though. That was my shipment you fucked with and I’m gonna make sure you pay for it. On your back.”
He moves to step toward me, to intimidate me, but it’s too late because I’m already moving toward him, my heels loud on the wood floor. I swipe the centerpiece off a table as I pass, letting the weight of it settle in my hand. It’s heavier than it looks, perfect.
Mercer’s face changes, his teeth clench and he snarls as he tries to step into my space. If he thinks I’m going to back down, he has another thing coming. My right arm moves in a wide arc until the centerpiece in my hand collides with his smug face, sending him crumpling to the ground.
“Holy shit he folded like a rag doll!” Nat bellows before collapsing onto the floor in a fit of laughter.
A clap rings out, then another and another until a big, blonde guy who looks eerily familiar steps into the room, his heavy boots thudding to a stop next to Mercer’s head.
“I got more where that came from,” I sneer, ready to take out another asshole if needed.
“Save it, sweetheart,” the man says, drawing a snort out of me.
“The only person who calls me sweetheart is my man.”
Mad Dog’s chuckle fills the room. “Is that so?”
Dammit. I was trying to play it cool. The centerpiece in my hand thuds to the floor as soon as Mad Dog’s hand rests on my lower back.
“How long were you standing there?” I whisper to him.
“Long enough to appreciate how hot you are with a weapon in your hand,” he whispers back, pressing his lips to my temple before turning to the mystery man. “Deacon.”
“Mad Dog.”
“Brace yourself.”
The stranger nods once, before his head snaps to the side as Rider’s fist hits him. He shakes it off, rubbing his chin. “Hey, brother.”
“Hey, asshole,” Rider replies, looking more tense than I’ve ever seen him.
“For fuck’s sake. What did I say?” Marx says coming to a stop next to Mercer. “No fighting, no scenes and no blood spilt.”
“In our defense,” Lovely starts, snuggling into Marx’s side, “we didn’t do any of that. And look! Rider’s brother is here and it’s like a family gathering.”
Marx cocks his brow the exact way Mad Dog does. “There’s a rich fucker lying on the floor, Buttercup.”
“He was mouthing off.” She shrugs.
“Huh. I didn’t even know Rider had a brother,” Blanche says, eying up this Deacon guy.
