I’m going to be sore again… and I can’t wait.
PIGGY
“Did you find anything on him?” I ask as Bullet walks into the room.
I’m leaning against the headboard, wearing only athletic shorts and resting my pounding head when Bullet makes his way inside. I need to know what the fuck is going on and if it really was Garcia who tried to kill me the way I suspect.
“We got his ex-old lady in custody.”
Oh fuck.
My lips twitch into a smirk. “What are we going to do to her?”
Bullet shrugs a shoulder. I know he’s not going to hurt her just to hurt her. That’s not who we are as a club. But I also know that if Garcia is trying to pull some shit, I’m going to use the one thing I have against him, which will keep him in line.
“I brought her in so you could talk to her. Past that, I’m not going to tell you what to do. But we can figure out the next step after a discussion with her.”
Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I slowly rise to my feet. I feel a bit woozy, likely just because I’ve been in bed for more hours the past couple of days than I’ve ever stayed in bed before.
“Let me throw on some clothes,” I mutter.
Bullet doesn’t ask me if I need help, doesn’t ask me if I’m okay, and I am good with that. He knows it would be embarrassing as fuck for me if I couldn’t dress myself. I was hit over the head. It’s not like I was shot or anything.
And even if I were, I don’t think I would ask for help from him… or anyone, except maybe Millie, and that’s only because I’d be trying to get in her panties.
Ignoring my splitting headache, I tug on a pair of jeans, slip my feet into boots, and grab my cut that’s hanging from the back of the doorknob. I don’t bother with a shirt. I don’t think I could handle anything actually touching my head right now.
I jerk my chin toward Bullet before I follow him out of the room. The clubhouse is fairly quiet, most of the guys being at the Gilded Room to offer extra security for Millie, just in case this fuck attempts to go after her.
We eliminated one threat just to face another one practically the next fucking day. Although that’s been about the way of it here lately. Since we lost Shade, really. We enjoyed a lot of years with minimal bullshit, so I guess we’re making up for it now.
I push thoughts of everything else out of my head as we walk down the hallway. I need to focus on the task at hand, which is finding out everything I need to nail Garcia’s balls to the fucking ground.
And I will.
Bullet opens a door and stands to the side. I walk through and make my way into the room. She’s there, sitting on a chair, tied to it. She looks scared as fuck, but she’s unharmed and alive.
“What do you want with me?” she grinds out, demanding some answers.
Good for her.
She’s tough. I guess she’d have to be to survive Garcia, since he’s a gigantic piece of shit.
My lips twitch into a smirk. I walk over to the wall, then shift so my back is leaning against it for support. Bending my knee, I place my foot flat against the wall for a little extra assistance as I tilt my head to the side and watch her.
I’m going to make Garcia wish like hell that he didn’t come for me. I’m going to make him fucking beg on his hands and knees for mercy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
PIGGY
Garcia’sold lady lifts her chin, looking down her nose at me, her lips pressed together in a thin line as she waits for whatever is coming her way. She’s breathing heavily, in through her nose and out her mouth in an attempt to keep herself calm. It’s only halfway working. I can see the sweat breaking out across her forehead.
“I don’t really want anything with you, per se,” I begin.
Her brows snap together, but she keeps her lips pressed tightly as she begins to breathe a little lighter. She should. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t even fucking know who she is, not really. Plus, I have a feeling Garcia has done enough damage.
“You wanna talk to me about your man?”
