“Come again?” I asked the motherfucker standing in front of me.
“I’m here to offer you half a million dollars to walk away from Kimber.” The piss ant said.
Kimber growled.
Shocked. Unable to comprehend the fact that this three-piece-wearing, loafer-ass punk motherfucker walked into my club.
My fucking club and offered me money for the woman who held my heart in the palm of her fucking hand.
My woman that was my entire world.
“No,” I growled out.
“A million,” he said.
“Let me put it into words so you’ll understand. My woman is worth more to me than the highest dollar your brain can comprehend. There is nothing that I would ever take to leave her. Not. A. Fucking. Thing.”
Kimber’s hand squeezed mine.
“Two million,” he said.
“Why the fuck do you want her so bad?” I asked.
He scoffed, “You wouldn’t understand.”
I shook my head, “Nah, I ain’t the one who ain’t understanding shit.”
He opened his mouth, but I was done.
“You won’t understand my statement, but any man in a motorcycle club will. And that statement is this. I started this club with my brothers almost twenty-five years ago. And if she asked me to leave, if she told me right now that she wanted to live somewhere else, I’d do it. I’d take off my kutte right here and now and follow her wherever she wanted to go.”
“Three million,” the fucker said.
“Man, are you fucking deaf? You know what, I don’t give a fuck, you don’t get out of here by the time I count to five, I’ll kill you.”
He opened his mouth, but I cut him off, “One.”
I heard my brothers moving.
Kimber moved behind me and reached under my shirt. I smirked, “Two.”
I felt the cold metal slide into my palm, “Three.”
I brought my gun forward, “Four.”
His eyes went wide, then he squealed like a fucking girl and ran to his car and smoked the tires as he peeled out of the parking area.
I shook my head, then looked at my brothers.
They were all shaking their heads, putting their guns away.
Then Kimber moved to stand in front of me with a smile on her face.
“Is now a good time to tell you that I’m pregnant?”
I started to smile... until an unmistakable sound lit up the entire forecourt of the clubhouse.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
