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Me: how’s my boy doing?
Setting the phone back on the table, I opened the article I found.
Titled “Dangerous and Ignored,” the article was written by someone with an ambiguous screen name but seemed to know quite a lot about the different politics going on around the area.
Leaning forward, I squinted as I began scanning the text.
The problem is no one will speak of what they see or know. There seems to be a rapid danger growing in this part of Virginia, where local authorities turn their heads every time one of these local motorcycle clubs get into yet another gun fight. Take the recent battle between the notorious Stone Riders and Death Raiders. It’s been said the Stone Riders originated here in town from Cecil Stone, who started the club with fellow factory workers. His battle with the Death Raiders, said to hail from Pyle or close to it, has been ongoing for close to thirty years. Just when the rival clubs seem to make peace, there seems to be something new they’re battling over. My source says Simon Stone, the current leader of the Stone Riders club, has engaged in close to fifteen deadly encounters with the Death Raiders. This wouldn’t really be news for anyone who has ever read about various turbulence due to a small rough and tough group such as this, but the fact that this small slice of Virginia has not one but four different rival clubs that wear the one percenter patch makes for a terrifying situation. I have personally written the governor to make sense of why so much violence has been overlooked in our part of the state and have yet to hear a reply. There is even a group that has started pledging to eradicate the clubs from this part of Virginia for the safety of our children and local community.
A vibration on the table made me jump.
Killian: your boy is misbehaving and won’t listen to a word I say—heads up, he’s going to be a mess to deal with. But that’s not new. He’s been like this for a while…
My brows caved in confusion as I stared at his text. Max was usually a great listener, and a breeze to babysit, even for strangers, at least from what I’ve been told. Why would Killian have—
I peeked up in time to see Garrick making his way back to me. His pallid face and strong chin were ruddy, and he stormed toward me with an exasperated expression. It took me a second to piece together why he would look so upset, but the person trailing behind him finally had it clicking into place.
Wearing those brown motorcycle boots, and denim jeans loose in the legs yet tight enough to fit him perfectly in all the right places, Wes strolled through like he owned the whole entire world. His black cut was layered over a white tee and his face was clean shaven, revealing his wide, strong jawline that had become even more devastating over the past seven years, and gripped in his fist was a dark purple leash, nearly forcing a bubble of laughter out of me. Max trotted next to him, his mouth gaping, tongue out, and drool leaking from his mouth as they walked.
Killian was going to pay for this.
“Callie, this man keeps insisting on seeing you,” Garrick explained in a terse tone, keeping his gaze low. The color of his face made me wonder what Wes said to get under his skin.
I smiled at my old friend and placed my hand on his arm. “Thank you, Garrick, sorry about the trouble.”
Garrick gave me a small smile, ignoring the dog and motorcycle leader standing next to him. Wes put his arm out, against Garrick’s chest, effectively pushing him away from me.
“Thanks for doing your job, Jerod.”
With a severe glare, my friend corrected him. “It’s Garrick.”
Wes gave him a smirk. “I don’t give a flying fuck. Get out of here.”
Max ignored them both and found his way to my stomach, where he nuzzled me. My hand went to the soft fur on top of his head.
“Why do you have my dog?” I asked Wes as Garrick clenched his jaw and turned around, heading back to his desk. Wes took the opportunity to round the table I had been sitting at and steal my chair.
“Hey!”
His arm went up, pushing at my waist as I tried to protect what I’d been reading.
Wes scoffed, as he began reading out loud. “These rival clubs are more akin to gangs and need to be stopped. Click here to read more about what you can do this next election season to ensure we put a stop to these clubs. Every one of their members deserves to be behind bars, and it’s my mission to see that accomplished.”
My arms became a band of steel across my chest as he continued to scan the text.
“Wow, this is some riveting shit, River.”
I hated that he was still calling me that, even more so because it still created a trail of goosebumps down my arms when he did.
“I was just reading up on the news from around here,” I said offhandedly, as if I could keep him from discovering exactly what I was trying to do.
To make matters worse, a text came in, making my phone vibrate next to Wes’s hand.
He picked it up and read it out loud.
Laura: Killian just walked into the bar and pulled me away from the guy I was talking to. He said he’s taking me somewhere to eat. If you don’t hear from me by tonight, either I’m dead or he is. If you care for him at all, keep him in your prayers, because that mother fucker gets under my skin. *prayer hands*
Wes lifted his face, catching my gaze, with a small smile skirting his lips.
