I get closer and see his pupils are dilated. He’s definitely off his face, and I make a mental note to check the takings.
“We need information, Dexter,” I say, and he nods as he eyes Clay warily.
“Sure thing, boss.” He sniffles, wiping his nose on his sleeve again.
“Has Reaper been sniffing around here?”
His eyes dart between us, a telltale sign that he’s about to lie through his teeth.
“Who’s that, boss?” The high-pitched tone of his voice gives him away. He’s panicking.
Clay grabs him by the scruff of his neck, pushing him up against the building. “Don’t play fucking stupid, kid,” he spits.
Dexter stutters, not able to form a sentence, and I’m sure he’s about to piss his pants.
“Er . . . erm . . . I . . .” Clay mimics, taking the piss out of the kid’s display. “Reaper from the fucking Steel Delinquents MC?”
His brow furrows. “Erm . . . oh . . . him, yes . . . no . . . I mean?—”
“Which one is it, Dexter, yes or no? Pick your answer very fucking carefully before I let Clay put a bullet in you for snorting our shit and lying,” I snap.
“Oh shit,” he mumbles. “Yes, he’s been around here. And I’m not snorting your shit, boss, I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
I raise a brow, hardly believing the balls on this stupid fuck to actually lie to my face. “Whose shit are you snorting then?” Clay growls.
“Reaper’s,” he stutters. “He supplies us with some for ourselves as long as we sell on your turf.” He has the audacity to look defeated. “I’m sorry, boss. I really?—”
Before he can finish, Clay’s fist lands a clean punch to his jaw.
“Are you fucking stupid?” Clay snaps, shoving him away. Dexter slides down the wall, covering his head with his arms as he cowers away.
I grab hold of Clay’s arm, holding him back from inflicting more damage. He glances back questioningly, and I give my head a slight shake.
“I want you off our turf. Do I make myself clear?” I bark, my voice rattling off the walls. “Boss, it won’t happen again, I promise,” he whimpers.
“Too late. You fucked us over once, and if anyone else is doing the same, you take the bastards with you, else I’ll put a bullet in every single one of you.” I turn to leave.
“You’re just going to leave him?” Clay hisses, falling into step beside me.
“Yes, Clay. He’s just a fucking kid. We aren’t in the business of killing stupid kids.”
“But what if he goes back to them? I can’t risk Bella and the boys.”
“Then I’ll fucking end him, but right now, he’s got the opportunity to pack his shit up and leave. We’ve gotta be better than them, Clay, else what’s the fucking point? We may as well let them take over. You aren’t the only one with a family, remember.”
My phone buzzes as I straddle my bike, and I inwardly groan until I see Hell’s name flash on the screen.
“What’s up, Hell?” I answer. Hell is my little pet name for her because ever since I met her, she’s been a fire that burns so brightly within me, I’m sure she was sent from hell itself to corrupt me.
“It’s time,” she chimes, the excitement evident in her voice.
“What, right now?”
“Yes, Drifter, right fucking now.” She laughs. “We’re on a clock. Remember, the window isn’t big.”
“On my way.”
Don’t get me wrong, being inside Hell is my favourite place to be, but this thing with her body clock and timing our sex is becoming a little . . . tiresome. I’ve got shit to do, with club business at the forefront of my mind, and now, I gotta drop that and perform whilst looking in her hopeful eyes, knowing she’s wondering if this will be the one time it works. All this whilst mentally preparing myself for the crushing disappointment in my woman’s eyes when she realises it isn’t.
