“You said if I was a gentleman, I’d get what I want,” he said.
But then Satan seemed to decide on a different tact. Having already gotten on the bike, he swung his legs off, stood up, and came over to me. He placed his firm hands on my hips and pulled me in. His head leaned forward. I did not stop any of this. He closed his eyes. Mine closed as well. And—
“God fucking damnit!” Satan roared as his phone rang for a third time. This time, perhaps sensing someone was calling in an emergency, he answered. “You better have a fucking good reason for calling.”
I stood to the side. Satan’s face went from furious to shocked and back to furious in what seemed like a matter of a second.
“You had better be fucking telling the truth, Spawn.”
I gulped and took another step back. I felt like I was standing next to an active volcano. The reddening of Satan’s face was only helping my reason to ascribe to that metaphor.
“Fucking bastards, I’m on my way.”
Satan hung up, pocketed the phone, and turned to me.
“We’ll meet again,” he said, “but for now, club business.”
“What—”
But before I could even say a word, Satan had revved his bike to life and was peeling out, narrowly missing the car parked in front of him. The speed with which he’d moved from saying he had club business to leaving was instantaneous. There was little doubt that between me and the club, the club was far and away his first priority.
It was a good lesson for me. If I was going to let myself feel anything beyond professional for him, then I was always going to come second.Just like he always needs to come second to your report and your documentary.
I knew the next time I saw him, it would have to be a mix of both one on one and group activities. I needed to see the club more in-depth—even if that meant getting in the line of fire.
Satan
By the time I got to the clubhouse, I hadn’t thought of Hailey since I’d left her.
The call that Spawn had given me had clouded my mind with that much rage. I sped like a motherfucker back to the clubhouse. If a cop saw me, he had the good sense not to pull me over. I wouldn’t have stopped, anyway.
When I arrived, I killed the engine, stomped over to the entrance, and saw with my own damn eyes what Spawn had told me.
The King’s Men logo had been carved with a knife into our entrance.
How…
How…
How the fucking hell did no one notice this? Just this fucking afternoon, everything had been fine. And now, in the time that it had taken me to have some drinks and sandwiches with the sexy bitch, my place had been fucking desecrated?
This was beyond bullshit. I was fucking furious at so many people. The King’s Men, obviously. King. That fucker would die.
My own men for failing to realize what was going on. We were supposed to have someone on alert at all hours. Someone had failed miserably.
Me. I’d done a shit job explaining these duties to my members and prospects if shit like this had happened. If a drive-by shooting had happened and people had died, well, that would make some fucking sense. But best I could see, no blood had been shed.
There was a whole lot of fucking anger to go around, and not a lot of explanations back.
I threw open the door, letting it ricochet hard against the wall. I stepped inside and saw an entire club just stop what they were doing. They didn’t look like they were doing much in the first place, knowing I was coming, but all idle conversation, all drinking, all music just froze on the spot.
It was just as well. Whoever was responsible would need to be publicly maimed.
“How the fuck did this happen?” I roared, not bothering with a warmup. “I disappear for three fucking hours and I learn that our clubhouse has been fucking shat on by the King’s Men? Does anyone care to explain how this happened without us knowing?”
No one said a word. Of course not.
So then it would be up to the two people who should have been in charge.
