Page 21 of Lost King

She rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Why?"

"It makes me feel better." I shrug my shoulders but stand firm on the issue, then decide to give in just a little. "I'll make sure he stays outside and out of sight," I finish.

Her full lips lift in a smile that reaches her eyes, and her face lights up causing my heart to skip a beat.

"Good. Thank you, Quinn."

A few minutes later, I make arrangements for Blake to drive Emerson to town and to stick around until she texts or calls stating she is ready to leave. Until we know how this whole meeting is going to play out, I won't risk leaving her vulnerable in any way.

I find Gabriel outside sitting on his bike waiting. "Let's do this, brother," I say as I throw my leg over my bike.

It takes us thirty minutes or so to make it to our destination on the other side of town. Making a left turn, we enter the RV park. Gabriel and I find one of the fuckers sitting on top of a picnic table next to an old Winnebago towards the back of the park in a secluded wooded area. He immediately jumps down, looks around and sticks his hand inside his cut. Gabriel and I slow to a stop but leave our engines running. With Gabriel's focus on the one guy we can see, I scan the area looking for signs there may be others and find none.

"My Prez wants a meeting with your Prez. The abandoned Super Inn motel on the edge of town at six o'clock tonight," Gabriel's voice booms making sure the shithead hears him loud and clear. The guy gets the bold nerve to smirk and try his best to intimidate us by slyly showing his weapon without completely exposing it to a couple of people milling about nearby.

"Message received," are the only words he offers giving us a seething, toothy grin.

If looks could kill the guy would be dead by the way Gabriel is cutting him down with his stare. I ease my bike up a few feet coming in between the two men. I give Gabriel a look, hoping he will let it go; for now. His nostrils flare with rage before looking forward.

The whole exchange takes only a couple minutes. With my eyes trained on the dumbass who has sat back down in the spot he was before, I wait for Gabriel to signal us leaving and fall in behind him until we get on the open road and ride side by side back to the club.

The remainder of the day everyone goes on with business as usual. Prez decided, for now, a complete lockdown wasn't needed. The Reapers haven't posed a threat to anyone other than us men so, there is no need to disrupt lives any further. Being vigilant is a top priority though, and you can bet your sweet ass if they mess with my family they will pay. With their life.

We've had the entire day for adrenaline to course through our veins as we anticipate all the ways this meeting can go down this evening.

All the guys including myself have met up at the shop to have a quick walkthrough of how Prez wants to go into this mess.

"No information has traveled back to me or anyone else to confirm these pussies will show up. Either way, we ride. I want every man to check your weapons. Keep a visual, have each other's backs. Check yourself before walking out that door, men. I know we are all worked up over this bullshit, but level heads prevail," Prez finishes retrieving his pistol from the holster on his side, inspects it then places it back into the holster.

We all do as we are told and check. I watch each man hold their weapon of choice. All of us have our favorites, but mine; mine is old school. A Dirty Hairy style revolver. That's how I roll. A .44 Magnum. Nowhere near ideal for concealing, but it belonged to my dad, and it feels good in my hand.

Truth be told. I have a particular bullet—I tap the inside pocket of my cut making sure it's tucked away. This bullet is for the motherfucker that put his hands on my woman. The man who should have eaten the bullet a while back. If ever the situation arises, and I get the chance he'll taste the end of my barrel just before I blow the back of his head off.

Walking out of the building, we make our way to our bikes and mount up. "Alright, brothers let's ride," Prez raises a fist in the air and commands.

I stay vigilant, my eyes scanning every building, every alleyway as we make our way through town. This is my job above all others in this club. To keep every member safe. I take it seriously. Just before reaching the abandoned motel I flag Gabriel, motioning for him to ride ahead with me to scope the area before the rest of our brothers join us.

When we pull up to the run-down building, we both circle the area on our bikes before backing up in front of what used to be the central office of the motel. Leaving our bikes, Gabriel and I clear each room—20 in all, in the single-story building. The only things we find are evidence of hookers, druggies and probably a few homeless people that have been here.

Once we're satisfied the area is secure, I call it in. Ten minutes later the rest of the club rolls in filling the empty atmosphere with sounds of thunder.

No words are exchanged between us as we wait. The sun itself begins to set before hearing the distant sounds of bikes approaching. In my position at the end of the building facing the highway, I count five riders. Quickly making my way back to the group I tell my brothers. Making sure our families were safe I designated Blake and Austin to stay behind to keep eyes and ears open while the rest of us are gone.

Doc is with us, along with Grey, making it seven to their five. The Satans Reapers pull into the parking lot, stopping several yards in front of us. The guy out in front. The one I'm assuming is their President dismounts first. It will be the first time we get a look at the son of a bitch leading their merry band into our town; on our territory. He's a big motherfucker. Not in just height but girth as well. He's sporting a Fu Manchu mustache, and the guy has a gut on him the size of a tractor tire. I'd be surprised if he can find his own dick. The other riders I recognize and immediately zone in on the greasy fucker I'd like to get rid of; Permanently.

"So, you wanted to meet with me?" The Satans Reapers Prez lifts his chin, his words heavy with the sour stench of cheap beer as they come to stand a couple of feet from us.

"That's right," our Prez folds his arms over his chest and stares at the burly man in front of him. "You see, some of your men are causing problems in town—our town. And this—" his arms spread wide to gesture, "this meeting is the final warning my club will give you and your men to get the fuck out of Polson," Prez takes a step closer, showing he means every word he is saying by invading the other guy's personal space.

I can finally see his patch from where I stand, and he goes by the name Boulder. Unfazed he's quick to square his shoulders, showing no signs of backing down or cooperation. "Do we threaten you?" he smirks, stepping into Jake's space a bit more. "Cause we ain't going anywhere."

This guy has a big set of balls.

Prez slightly shifts his weight to his right foot as he takes a step back. I recognize the stance he is making.

"Wrong fuckin' answer," I mumble under my breath.

Before anyone can react, Prez brings his arm back, swings and cracks the son of a bitch with a right hook across his meaty chin causing the big motherfucker's knees to buckle. Boulder hits the ground and proceeds to spit blood and teeth onto the cracked asphalt beneath him.