I went outside to see three bikers pulling up. They all wore black cuts, and I didn’t even need to see the logo to know who these assholes were.
The Black Reapers.
Even as a loner club, we’d heard of the growing size of the Black Reapers. They’d first made a name for themselves with an enormous amount of violence just north of Los Angeles, though rumors said that was more because of their rival. Then a chapter had suddenly popped up in New Mexico.
And now we, like the fucking peanut butter and jelly, were jammed in between the two clubs.
If nothing else, I suppose they weren’t affiliated with the King’s Men since no fucker could be stupid enough to send another messenger to me after what I’d done to the last asshole a few months ago.
“You boys have a lot of guts showing up here,” I said, folding my arms. “Unfortunately, those guts seemed to have taken the place of your brains.”
I spat on the ground. Spawn and Sonny came in behind me. One of the guys was on the shorter side with a buzzcut. One looked like a fucking mountain, as tall and bald as anyone this side of the fucking villains of Hollywood movies. One was average height, with floppy hair and tattoos up and down practically every square inch of his body.
It was an interesting mix, to say the least. Although I couldn’t say we didn’t have our fair share of oddballs in the Devil’s Patriots.
“You keep your distance, and the worst that happens is you wasted a shitload of gas to come here,” I said. “You take a step further, and you’ll waste away like the fucking idiots that you are.”
“The worst that can happen if you don’t listen to us is that King will come and take your club by force,” the smallest of the three said. “We know he’s already tried the diplomatic route with you.”
It was a damn good thing I had sunglasses on because I had no fucking idea how these clowns knew that. Were they better connected than I realized? And if so, it would seem to give weight to the idea that they knew what they were talking about.
“I’m Cole,” the same guy said. “This is Butch, and this is Connor. We’re not interested in a war.”
“Good thing for you,” I said, leading to some chuckles from Sonny. Spawn didn’t react at all.
“We’re interested in an alliance.”
“You’re interested in changing us from the Devil’s Patriots to a chapter of the Black Reapers.”
“Yes.”
Give credit to the midget for honesty, I suppose. Not that credit for honesty went a long way in these parts. Maybe it would spare him from death if I had to beat his ass.
“And tell me,” I said as I pulled out a cigar and began smoking it. “Why the fuck would I ever do that? I’m a fucking God, no, I’m fucking Satan in these parts. I haven’t had a war here in Phoenix in fifteen years, not because I don’t have any opponents, but because the ones I do have are too fucking terrified of me to fight back. You think King scares me?”
“He should,” the one with the tattoos said. “He funded our rival. Nearly tore our town to shreds with military-grade weapons.”
I let out a puff, paused, and gave a loud belly laugh.
“Military-grade weapons!” I said, taunting Tats over there. “Oh, shit, it’s like you boys have never been in a real street fight before! I’m supposed to join you? You’re supposed to join me!”
“He will come for you,” Mountain Man said. “And he will destroy you.”
I got off from the front of the clubhouse and walked down to the assholes. I stood right before Mountain Man, who had maybe three or so inches on me but not that much muscle. It was rare that a man towered over me, but I kind of welcomed it. I appreciated the chance to show I could kick some ass regardless of size.
“No one has even fucking attempted anything on me in years,” I scowled. “If this King guy is so scary, why did he send a messenger boy to try and reason with me?”
“Probably because he knew your power and didn’t want to make it bloody if he could help it,” Midget said. “But make no mistake about it, he’s pissed. He’s looking to reestablish himself in the Southwest. And he will take out anyone and everyone who he deems a threat—which includes you.”
I was playing it cool, but I had a little bit of concern. Well, concern was the wrong word; I wasn’t fucking scared. But I certainly understood Midget Man wasn’t speaking out of his ass entirely.
“And when he comes to us, we’ll crush his sorry ass and turn the King into a fucking homeless man,” I said. “You’ve already gotten an audience with me. That’s more than the last asshole could say. I suggest you leave before my boys and I do the same.”
“We did not come to inflict violence, but we will defend ourselves if need be,” Mountain Man said.
I took a puff of my cigar and blew it in Mountain Man’s face. He did not even flinch.
I had to give these boys credit; they were real bikers. They were not pussies. They were not like most of society.
