She stared daggers at the other agent that had been in the room with her, but he was too intent on comparing cock sizes with me to notice.
“Yeah, that’s right, keep comparing if you want your ego deflating a little more,” I snickered to him, and he snarled and looked away.
Another agent threw some pants to me, and they hit my chest with a loudthwacksound. I grabbed them and slid them on, slowly, before taking my place on the ground next to Mason.
“This your doing? You fuck up again and order a hooker instead of a pizza?” I snarked.
He chuckled, stopping only when an agent came and put a foot in his back, forcing him closer to the ground. I swiveled my head around to get a good look at the agent in question. It was the one that was in charge.
“Blue eyes, pale skin, hair like Dawson fromDawson’smotherfuckingCreek, thick-framed glasses,” I said, my gaze narrowing as I moved down his body to the boot that was currently on Mason’s back. “Size seven army boots, little scuffed under the right heel like he has a limp.” I nodded, satisfied.
He scowled down me. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked, leaning down.
I smiled up at him. “Just making sure I don’t forget you after this ends. And it will end, and then we’ll see who’s in charge and whose foot is pressing another man into the ground.”
He had the good sense to look uncomfortable, and I grinned slyly.
“That’s right, motherfucker, your heartbeat probably jumped a bit then, thinking about all the ways I’m going to fuck you up.”
He glared down at me but there was no denying the fear on his face.
“All right, enough of the cock show. Where is it?” the lead agent asked, coming forward. He crouched down, getting close to Vin. “The truck, Marcus, where is it?” He looked over at the rest of us, his gaze lingering on me longer than necessary. “And the men involved…I’ll be taking them too.”
“Not sure what you mean, Agent Lear,” Vin replied. “And only my mama or my enemies call me by that name, you feel me?”
“Well, we’re not exactly friends now, are we, Marcus?”
“Oh, I don’t know. We’ve been connecting like this for so long now, I was beginning to see you as one of the family,” Vin sneered.
Agent Lear chuckled before leaning down closer to Vin’s face, and before I could blink he had punched Vin in the face twice, causing his lip to split and blood to trail down his chin. Big mistake.
“How’s that for family?” Agent Lear asked.
Vin licked the blood from his lip. “Just like fighting with my little brother. I let him get in a couple of shots too before I kicked his ass.”
Agent Lear’s smile dropped and he stood back up. “Cut the crap, Vin. Let me lay it out for you real simple, because I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding on how this is going to go down for you and this club. I want the truck with the drugs and I want the men that just shot and killed three of my agents. If I don’t get them, I’ll be taking your entire club down.”
Vin looked up, his gaze dark and hooded. “Fuckin’ try it and see what happens.”
Agent Lear rubbed his chin, clearly pissed the fuck off. He moved his gaze over us all, his eyes lingering on me for a second. “They were good men—families, wives, kids with no daddies now. You really protecting men that would do that?”
Vin glared up at Agent Lear. “I’m protecting no one. My men weren’t there, doing whatever it is you think they were, killing whoever it is that got your panties in a twist. But I tell you what, you let us up, get the fuck out of my club, and we’ll call it even. I’ll even send some flowers to the funerals of those nice young men you were just talking about.”
Agent Lear looked even more furious. Hatred pouring from him in a single glare, he shook his head and looked at the other agents. “Tear this place apart!” he yelled.
Two hours later and Agent Lear and his men were driving away with nothing but their sorry tails between their legs. They’d found guns, which were all registered and clean since the dirty weapons had been taken off site and hidden. And they’d found some pot, but nothing more than a couple of joints’ worth. Agent Lear promised to come back again—every week, no less—unless Vin changed his mind and gave him some names. And now there we all were, waving goodbye to the fucking ATF.
I was still in just a pair of jeans, and I scratched a hand across my bare stomach.
“I’m hungry,” I said, turning to go back inside.
I shook my head, looking at the mess they’d left behind. Couches were torn up, gashes sliced through every cushion; walls had huge holes in them, sledgehammers having made light work of them. Floorboards had been ripped up, leaving the cavity underneath exposed. Everything and anything had been trashed, right down to the old black-and-white photographs on the wall of past club members.
Vin was pissed.
Skate was still missing.
And Crank’s stitches had split open and he was bleeding again.
