“Fuck.” I grab the bottle of whiskey he’s been drinking from and take a giant swig. I’ve never done the bromance conversations before, and I need the liquid courage. “Had sex?”
He asks, “With each other?” and I nod my head. “Nope,” is his answer. There’s a long pause, and I take another swig. “Are you guys?” His voice holds no judgment, which makes it easier to be honest.
“We did.” I don’t dare look over, not yet. Am I a pussy or what? “It’s fucking Logan, man, she makes everything different.” It’s my only explanation.
“You guys keeping her?” I confirm that we are, while giving him a look that questions his sanity because I thought it was obvious. “Safe, sane, and consensual is all that matters, man. Unless she likes a little force, then I say go for that too.” Something in his tone tells me his own woman might be into that.
“Yeah, I guess.” I don’t know what the fuck I was looking for here. I’ve never felt this level of uncertainty in my fucking life.
“What you guys do behind closed doors, hell, even in the open, is your business. Someone has a fucking problem with it, and they fucking leave, man.” His powerful tone has always amazed me because not many men can achieve it.
“Appreciate that, man.”
Hearing footsteps, I turn to see Viking coming down the stairs. He doesn’t say anything as he approaches, grabs the bottle from my hand and takes a swig, before bending down to give me a biting kiss that feels more territorial than intimate.
“We good?” His question is for me, not Brute, so I can only imagine he heard our conversation, or parts of it anyway.
“Yeah, we’re good.” And my fucking dick is hard again. The way we’ve been fucking Logan the last few days, it shouldn’t be possible.
“Good, because Ian and Conner need to be dealt with now, and it’s time they find the bottom of a fucking swamp.” With that, he walks away.
“Night!” Brute calls out, earning the middle finger before Viking disappears out the back door. “He might leave without you. Don’t worry about Logan, she’s good here.”
I head out after Viking, with a quick glance upstairs, longing to be tight between her legs and needing her to be safe. He’s loading weapons into his saddle bags with a bag of things for me to put in mine.
“You having regrets?” His low-key question gives me pause.
“Not a single fucking one.” There’s no doubt what I want for the three of us. “It just, I don’t know, felt too good to be true, you know?”
Viking meets my stare for a long beat before nodding and mounting his bike.
“You know where they’re staying?” I ask, and he confirms that he does. “I’ll follow you then.”
We leave our cuts behind because, even though there aren’t many other bikers in town, we don’t want to make it obvious that we’re going after these assholes.
An hour later, we arrive at a motel on the side of the highway, just outside of Gulfport on the way east to Alabama. It took longer because we rode every back road we could to avoid any cameras that might spot us.
The owner of the motel is a guy we’ve helped out before, so he’ll turn off his property surveillance, unconcerned with who we’re here for. This is the kind of place you rent by the hour, and he only keeps cameras on because his mom was a hooker and had been assaulted one too many times with no proof, so he does it for the girls that pass through here.
It’s not an overly busy night, but it’s quiet; most people are sleeping. After being given access to the logbook, we easily locate the fucking weasels and approach their room at the end of the motel lot. The lights are out inside, and all we can hear is the sound of the TV.
“How do you want to do this?” I ask.
“Depends on how much damage you want to inflict,” Vik responds.
So fucking much. They hurt and abused our girl, and they deserve to pay, but I don’t want to be away from her longer than necessary, so I respond, “Hard and fast.”
“Okay. You take Connor, I’ve got Ian.”
Nodding, I slip the keycard into the lock and slowly open the door. The light from the TV shows both men sleeping in separate beds, with no one else in the room. Entering quietly, we each move to our man and count down. Viking grabs a free pillow and shoves it over Ian’s face while I do the same to Connor, and with a few swift punches to the kidneys, neither is able to fight back. Their cries for help go unheard.
Releasing them from suffocation, they cough and curse before Ian locks eyes on us and glares. “You!” he shouts.
It’s hard not to recognize us if I’m honest.
Viking’s villainous grin terrifies them. He looks purely homicidal and maniacal.
“Us,” he retorts, “and you fucked up. We gave you chances to leave. To forget Logan ever existed, and yet you’re still here.” Drawing a blade from his pocket, he opens it slowly before slamming it tip first into the man’s gut and covering his mouth to extinguish his scream. “It’s time to die now.” He repeats the action, pulling back and stabbing three more times. And from the spurt of blood, he’s clearly hit an artery.
