Will scowled over his shoulder at Dallas in the back seat but didn’t say anything.
“I’ll be fine. No one will talk to us if at least one of us doesn’t show up on a bike.” King slapped the side of my truck. “And I don’t want you on one in the rain, Sweetness.”
“Then let’s wait for better weather,” Dallas called, but he was already talking to King’s back.
Will stared after our president as the storm swallowed him up. “Leave him alone. It’s his life,” he said gruffly.
If looks could kill, Dallas would’ve murdered him dead, but I’d learned enough in the last few weeks to understand Will’s point, so I kept my mouth shut. No one could get King to change his mind once he had it set on something anyway.
“So, where is this place? Bullet?” Will asked.
“I’m not sure. I guess we’ll follow?—”
King roared off on his black Harley Heritage Softail, the headlight cutting a bright swath in the night, and I groaned because I hadn’t even started the truck yet.
Dallas leaned forward and a frown snuck across his lips. “Does he think you know where this bar is?”
“Maybe.” I was tired, beat up, and ready to help Dallas murder the prez. “What the fuck?” I slapped the steering wheel.
“I’ll Google,” Dallas said with a sigh as I started the truck. The trip took forty-five minutes, and we were well out in the countryside away from the city by the time I pulled into a packed gravel parking lot. I spotted King’s bike, but not the man himself, so he must already be inside.
We all hopped out and walked across the gravel as fast as we could. Bullet was more a large shack than a bar. The vertical wooden siding could’ve been nice, but it was old as dirt and weathering gray. Two spotlights lit the silver metal sign in the shape of a bullet, but there was no actual name written on it.Lights on either side of the entrance did manage to seem friendly in the storm.
“At least he didn’t spill the damned bike.” Dallas ran his fingers along the wet seat of King’s Harley as we hustled past it. I didn’t see any bikes that stood out from the rest. Nothing tweaked my memory.
Will scowled, but I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “King can do what he wants, but the man who loves him has the right to worry about his dumb shit.”
Will ran his hand over his face as we stepped inside, then rubbed the rain on his damp shirt. “The devil couldn’t kill King. What does Dallas have to worry about?” He grinned at me and relief settled in my chest.
I was so glad we were able to dance around this topic—concern about other people on their bike—without it boiling over into a fight.
“So, there I was on my Harley, trailing this piece of shit Demon.” King sat with his back to the bar, drink in hand. He couldn’t have been there long, but he’d already been served. His white T-shirt was translucent under his leather King’s cut, showing off his abs and solid chest and muscles in a way that had a few of the women sitting at a round wooden table near him salivating.
Dallas gasped loud enough that we could hear him over the hubbub of the bar. Everyone and God knew that King didn’t mind people drooling over him—he was an equal opportunity slut.
Akeep five feet away from my mangleam entered Dallas’s eyes that would terrify anyone with an ounce of common sense. His hands balled into fists. He was a quiet one, but those were the ones you needed to watch. Too bad the women didn’t notice him.
Will hooked his thumb at Dallas and winked at me, and I slapped him with the back of my hand and shook my head.
“And he’d been running his mouth all night about how much better the Demons were than the Kings, which we all fuckin’ know isn’t true.” King shot his drink, then held his glass out.
The bartender, an older man sporting an eye patch who was hooked into King’s story, diligently filled the glass with two fingers of rum. Then, tipped in more, trying to bribe King to keep talking.
“This shithead was new in town. I’d barely seen him around.” King rolled his eyes as we took seats near him at the grungy bar, but he’d already gathered an audience, so he ignored us. Everyone within ten feet of him was hanging on the edge of their seats. “You know, one of these kids who think they’re tough shit because they’ve never been in a real fight.”
That earned him a few laughs from the old-timers.
Dallas was busy scoping out the crowd, assessing body shapes, I guess, because I hadn’t seen faces. I kicked myself mentally and started to search, too, but got discouraged pretty fast. This wasn’t going to be easy. I had good visual abilities, but no one really stuck out. Dallas and I locked eyes, and he shook his head with a small frown, so I didn’t think anyone jumped out at him, either.
“So, keep in mind the little bastard had sucker punched me and run off to his bike. I thought about knocking him off the damned thing while we were going down the highway, but that has no class. I like to teach lessons. Give a man an opportunity to learn from his mistakes.”
More laughter rolled around the crowd.
“I followed him onto the highway. His underpowered Triumph was no match for my Harley. I took out my knife.” King pulled out a massive pocketknife and flipped it open. The curvedsilver edge glinted and he cocked his hand back and forth to make it glitter.
Will grunted.
Dallas smirked, transfixed by King. It was times like this that it made sense they were together. So often I saw him irritated with King, but he really did love him. Or he was awed by him. I couldn’t tell which.
