Gypsy chuckled, motioning toward the table. “Either way, looks like Tool’s eatin’ good.”
Tabor pulled out a chair, spinning it around so he could straddle it backward. “Not the only thing he’ll be eatin’ if he keeps talkin’ shit,” he teased, shooting a look at Trip, who flipped him off without missing a beat.
Gypsy’s smile lingered for a second longer before it faded into something a little more serious. He clapped Tool on the shoulder. “Eat up. After, we need to talk.”
Tool caught the look in his brother’s eyes—something brewing under the surface. He gave a short nod, feeling the easy vibe of the night shift ever so slightly.
But for now, the food was hot, the beer was cold, and the brothers were still laughing.
And Tool wasn’t about to waste that.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Killer pulledup in front of The Firehouse, the rumble of his engine cutting through the night like a warning shot. As he backed the bike into place, his gaze landed on the cluster of brothers out front—Tool, Angel, Gypsy, and Romeo—all standing in a loose circle, mid-conversation. The energy shifted the moment they noticed him.
The second the engine died, Killer reached down and tapped Brandi’s leg, the silent signal they’d arrived, and she could climb off.
She swung one leg over and planted her feet on the pavement, unaware that every eye out front had zeroed in on her. They all knew what was coming. No one moved to stop it.
Tool had made his bed months ago when he failed to do what Gypsy told him. Three months. Three goddamn months of silence. No calls. No visits. No claim. As far as the club was concerned, Brandi was free to do whatever—and whoever—she wanted.
Tool didn’t get a say anymore.
Brandi barely had time to straighten her jacket before Tool stormed forward and grabbed her by the arm—hard.
“The fuck are you doin’ on the back of Killer’s sled?” he snapped, his voice cutting sharp enough to draw stares from the bar patio.
Brandi winced, trying to pull away. “Let go of me?—”
Killer didn’t hesitate. He shoved Tool with both hands, hard enough to break his grip.
Tool let go—more from the jolt than choice—but it caused Brandi to stumble. She lost her balance and hit the pavement with a sharp gasp, landing hard on her side.
“Brandi!” Killer dropped to help her, but he barely got a hand out before Tool’s fist came from nowhere.
The punch landed clean across Killer’s jaw, snapping his head to the side and sending him down to one knee.
Angel swore. Romeo pushed off the wall. And Gypsy didn’t move. Not yet.
The only sound was the scrape of Killer’s boots on the pavement as he pushed himself upright, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
The air was tight—about to combust. Tool was breathing heavy, chest rising and falling like he didn’t know whether to fight or fold.
Then Brandi’s voice cut through the tension, shaking but furious.
“You don’t get to touch me,” she said, eyes locked on Tool as she pushed herself to her feet. “Not anymore.”
Killer stood, his shoulders loose, his expression tight. This confrontation had been coming.
Tool squared up, nostrils flaring, fists clenched like he had something left to prove.
Angel started forward, but Gypsy threw an arm out, stopping him cold.
“Don’t,” Gypsy said, voice low but final. “He earned this.”
Romeo took a half-step too, but one look from Gypsy rooted him in place.
Brandi stood off to the side now, her arm still stung from where Tool had grabbed her, her hip throbbing from the impact with the concrete, her lip trembling—not with fear, but rage. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.
