Page 24 of Psycho

Huxley shrugged.

“I heard about that. But I was in jail at the time, thanks to you. Since you put me there, we took a vote and we agreed that there are exceptions to every rule.”

Huxley handed his pistol to one of the Rebels next to him, and pulled a knife from his boot, flipping it in the air and catching it with ease.

“My Old Lady left me when I was in prison. I lost my house. The only thing I have left to my name is my place among the Rebels as their Road Captain.”

I clucked my tongue.

“Aww. That’s sweet, saving your seat at the table like you’re besties back in middle school.”

Goading him wasn’t a bright idea, but I was tired and pissed off. If Huxley wanted a fight, to hell with it. I’d give him the fight of his fucking life.

A muscle twitched in Huxley’s jaw and his grip on the knife’s hilt tightened. I braced for impact.

His gaze flicked past my shoulder and a glimmer of recognition sparked in his gaze. He could easily see into the kitchen from the entry way.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Huxley pointed in Bobbie's direction. "I heard a redhead was sniffing around, asking questions about me."

"She's none of your business," I bit out.

Huxley laughed, low and dark.

"Give me a few minutes with her. I'll find out if she's your precious little rat."

"Put your hands on her and I'll rip you to fucking pieces," I said coolly.

He lunged, taking a wild swing at me, blade singing through the air. He aimed for my ribs again, jabbing and slashing. I was prepared this time and blocked the blow, ramming my wrench into his gut.

Huxley grunted from the force of the impact and doubled over. His eyes flashed with anger.

“I’m not some scrappy newbie anymore, too green around the gills,” I said. “If you want to win this time, you better work for it.”

Huxley spat on the ground between us, adjusting the knife in his hand.

Just as he took a step toward me, the glare of flashing blue and white lights spilled through my broken windows.

“Cops,” one of the Rebels said. “Cyclone, we gotta go.”

Huxley seethed at being forced to back down. But if he didn’t go now, the cops would take him back to jail. He had to choose—killing me, or keeping his freedom.

In the end, he pointed at me with his knife.

“This isn’t over, asshole. I’ll be back and I’ll skewer you and your girlfriend like a piece of meat for ruining my life."

“Looking forward to it,” I replied in a bored voice.

Huxley huffed, turned on his heel, and bolted out the door. The roar of motorcycles filled the air. I watched as The Filthy Rebels dodged the line of police cars pulling into my driveway, and disappeared into the night.

Cops and bikers were usually like oil and water—we didn’t mix well. And since my home was the site of a shootout, that would give the police even more reason to scrutinize every damn thing I said or did.

I could take the heat. But Bobbie…

When I returned to the kitchen, she peered up at me from where she was huddled into a tight ball. My shirt swamped her thin figure. The urge to simply pull her into my arms and hold her overwhelmed me, but we couldn’t afford that luxury right now.

Someone cleared their throat. I turned to see a middle-aged police officer skirting around the ruins of my front door, dangling haphazardly on the hinges.

“Sheriff Todd Whitfield with the Juniper Creek Police Department,” he said, shaking my hand. “It looks like you were roughed up tonight.”