“Yeah. I just don’t want to rush you.”
“I’m up to try.” Her hands were in my hair again and I was having a hard time concentrating on anything but the feel of her touch.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. You want to have a sleepover on Saturday?” She gave me a sly grin. “We can cook, then maybe we cancook?”
“Is that a newfangled word for ‘fuck’?”
“Isn’t it what the kids are saying these days?”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
She shrugged. “Well, I’m making up a new word, then.”
I laughed again. “Yeah, let’scook, baby.”
“Okay.”
“But if you change your mind, don’t feel any pressure to say so.”
She smiled. “I won’t.”
“Lookin’ forward to it.”
“Me too.” She leaned in and kissed me again. “Okay, back to work, handsome.”
“One more,” I demanded.
She obliged, and then we got back to work.
Hatch
ROSIE’S BAR AND Grill wasn’t one of my regular haunts, not that I had many these days. Most of my drinks were poured in the Dogs’ clubhouse and I rarely had time to hang out there these days. Being a husband and father meant my life didn’t belong to me, and being the president of an MC meant I was responsible for lives and livelihoods of nearly a hundred people. Members and their families had become part of my extended family, and I would do whatever it took to protect them all.
Rosie’s wasn’t quite in the sticks, but you could see them from there. In fact, you could see themthrough any number of the vintage leaded glass windows that were the pride of the establishment. But I didn’t choose the location based solely on its architecture. Approximately one hundred and fifty feet to the east of the bar was a dense wooded area. Hidden in those woods, tucked away within the ubiquitous Douglas Fir pine trees found all over the pacific northwest was a talented young woman named Trouble. Trouble was a biker and full-patch member of the Burning Saints MC. She was the old lady of a fellow Saint named Doozer and the club’s only female member. She was also a highly skilled sniper, part of an elite FBI task force, and my personal guardian angel. If Warlock so much as reached for his beer in a way Trouble doesn’t like, she’d been instructed to put a .308 Winchester through his skull via the window next to our booth.
Trouble parked a half a mile up the road and hiked into her position over an hour ago as we assumed the Spiders had lookouts stationed in the area. I rode up alone and unarmed exactly on time to ward off any suspicions, to find Warlock waiting for me in the parking lot. He was leaning against his bike, smoking a cigarette.
“You still sucking on those cancer sticks, huh?” I asked as I climbed off my bike.
Warlock smiled wide. “Cancer ain’t gonna kill me, old buddy. You know that.”
“Oh, yeah. What do I know?”
“Cigarettes won’t be my cause of death. Thelifeis gonna be what brings on my demise. Likely from someoneinthe life, you know? Hell Hatch. Maybeyou’re the lucky biker who punches my final clock.”
“I’m here to talk peace, that’s all,” I replied.
“Of course you are. The road to peace leads to Hatch. Everybody knows that.”
I nodded. “Good. Let’s sit down, have a drink for old times’ sake, and figure out a peaceful solution to our problems.”
“Jesus, Hatch. I’ve got to take some ‘How to be an MC president’ classes from you. You sound more like a Don these days. It’s beautiful.”
I shook my head and chuckled. “Same old Warlock.”
We made our way inside and were seated at the table I’d secretly prearranged for us two days earlier. From our location, Trouble had a straight, unobstructed shot to Warlock’s head, without fear of hitting any patrons or staff members.
