Page 46 of Property of Mongrel

Jonah: Later, bro.

With those tasks done, I head into my ensuite to take a much-needed cold shower. Since I met her, I’ve jerked off more times than I did when I first figured out what my dick was used for. Good thing that clean up will be easy thanks to water and gravity!

My cut is in my saddlebags since I’m riding through an area that’s controlled by another club. Rio has already called to let them know I’d be riding through without stopping as a courtesy, but I won’t fly my colors out of respect. Still, I feel naked and can’t wait to get where I’m going so I can pick up a transport then bring it back home to be laundered then banked. The customer is old school and believes in cash, so the paper trail is all but eliminated. What I think he fails to realize is that there are cameras everywhere right now, so all it would take is a Nosy Nellie to be suspicious and it could blow up in his face.

“You’re just the messenger on this one, Mongrel,” I say out loud, the wind the only thing that hears me.

When I finally reach my destination, I bite back a grimace. It’s a dive bar to end all dive bars, complete with grungy, suspicious looking men in leather cuts standing outside. A quick glance shows it’s the club Rio said we were dealing with for this particular run, but I remind myself to be on my guard. The last thing I need is to have a problem, so I press the button that Nerd installed right next to the ignition, which is a tracker. That way, my brothers know I’ve arrived and if it doesn’t move back in the direction of the clubhouse in thirty minutes or so, my brothers will ride out.

Standing, I give chin lifts to the three men standing around smoking. “Is Jezz around?” I ask as I get closer.

“What do you want with him?” the tall guy asks.

“Supposed to meet up with him. I’m Mongrel from the Kings of Anarchy,” I reply as I stand there.

This isn’t my first rodeo with this kind of run; the customer postures and tries to rattle us to see if we’ll cave. Joke’s on these assholes; I won’t.

“Huh, it seems the Kings are diverse now,” the taller guy sneers. I don’t bother looking at his cut to catch his name; he means nothing to me.

“Naw, we all still ride Harleys,” I retort.

“Talking about you being a half-breed, brother,” he jeers.

“Best part of my mom and dad,” I state, refusing to let him rattle my cage. Tougher assholes than him have tried and failed.

“She shoulda swallowed,” he counters.

“We might be related,” I warn, “because my grandfather said the same fucking thing. Regardless, I was told to meet Jezz here, so here I am, now where is he?” I question.

The one guy who hasn’t said a word pops his head in the door and somehow, despite the pounding music, he manages to yell out, “Jezz, Kings have come knocking.”

While I wait for him to come out with the payment I’m picking up, I shoot a message to Rio advising of the current status. If they start any shit, I’ll do my best to finish it, even though I’m definitely outnumbered based on the sheer number of bikes I see. Based on my phone, they’ve got roughly ten minutes to go before my brothers ride hellbent for leather straight for me.

Finally, finally the ugliest asshole I’ve ever seen in my life walks out onto their porch. He’s got a protruding gut, long stringy hair that’s long overdue for a good scrub, and a beard that he’d be better shaving off based on the fact it’s stringy as fuck.

“You Mongrel?” he asks, spitting a wad of chew to the side. It’s a disgusting habit and one I was never able to embrace, but I’m not gonna knock someone else’s habits. I’ve got enough issues of my own.

“Yeah, you Jezz?” I query.

“You got him, now go on, what you’re looking for has been slipped into your saddlebags. Tell Rio I appreciate it. You’re good to fly your colors home, boy,” he replies.

Rio had mentioned that’s what they did; they didn’t do a direct hand off, someone usually slipped it into the runner’s saddlebags. I’m just trying to decide if his ‘boy’ is derogatory or that’s how he talks to those younger than him. Then I figure at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter.

“Appreciate it,” I tell him.

“Keep the shiny side up,” he replies before turning and heading back into the bar.

I waste no time getting back on my bike to make a beeline home. The amount of cash I know is in my saddlebags is enough to give me hives, but it’s always a risk with these transports and as a brother, I knew what I was getting into when I became a prospect. As soon as I’m far enough away, I pull over, pull my cut from the opposite saddlebag and slip it back on. Just the weight of my leather on my back makes me feel invincible. Once that’s situated, I send a text to Rio letting him know I’m on my way back, only to get a thumbs up emoji in return.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Addy

“TGIF,” I whisper to myself as I get out of bed when my alarm rings.

Mongrel was true to his word. We talked every single night, and our conversations were so comfortable, without any kind of awkwardness and I feel like we got to know each other better. There’s something intimate about talking to someone you’re falling for while you’re both curled up in your respective beds.