Page 30 of Demon
And then there was the ex that went after the Kings’ president as rebound when I broke up with her. And there she’d stayed, eyeballing me daily.
“Someone cut her,” I said eventually, as we carefully lowered the next pane of glass into place.
“Well, I figured that. Didn’t look like it was the kinda shit she’d do to herself.”
“I dunno Indie. I didn’t ask. She clearly didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Would be good to know what shit we’re going to have to clean up for you this time.”
“I can clean my own mess up.”
“Really? Because I don’t remember a time I’ve seen that. If you weren’t the President’s son, we’d have got rid of you a long time ago.”
“Like you all did to the Viking? Huh? And some of us know how that turned out. Don’t think being the President’s son would save you from that?”
It was a cheap shot. Helping a banished club member was an exile sentence to us all. But we’d done it anyway because Indie felt sorry for him. Or maybe it was the Viking’s woman. None of us had missed how he’d looked at her. Either way, we’d let V back onto our territory, knowing that if my father and the other club members found out, we’d have been in the deepest shit of our lives.
Indie scowled. But he didn’t retaliate. He knew the risks we’d all taken on his say so. The least he could do was absorb a few cheap shots.
“You owe me for this job, brother. And I don’t want payment in tattoos.”
“Thanks, Indie.”
“Just let’s not half kill anyone for the next few weeks. I’m running out of places to put these fuckers.”
“What did you do with him?” I grabbed a cloth from the toolbox, spraying the glass with window cleaner and rubbing it in small circles.
“Planted some shit on him and left him in the Marine Park in South Shields. To everyone else, it looked like he hadn’t paid for his gear.”
“And the Police?”
“Cops won’t be interested. Word has it they’re busy looking for bigger fish to fry. Apparently, there’s some new product being dealt.”
Indie grinned, slapping me on the shoulder, hard enough that for a moment I wanted to swing back.
“Come on, time for church. Me Da will be pissed if we’re late.”
The clubhouse had filled up, a sea of leather cuts milling about, voices booming, shouting over each other. Ciara sat at the table I’d left her at talking to Magnet’s wife, and even from this distance, I could see the animation on her face. The scar moved over her cheekbone; the slight redness of the puckered skin was just evident. But what I couldn’t take my eyes from was the way her face changed when she relaxed. I’d not seen that smile anywhere near enough, the deep smile lines lifting her face, exaggerating the heart shape and beautiful rich brown eyes set within it.
She glanced over at me, her eyes catching mine, the smile faltering slightly, a scowl developing across her eyebrows. And even that glare she fixed me with was sexy as fuck. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to see her smile or see her face contort. Or her brows pull together as she lay underneath me as I fucked her into the mattress. Both. I wanted both.
“Howay, Demon,” Indie nudged me, tipping his head in a direction behind the bar.
I followed up, leaving the bar to the women and the prospects and a couple of hangarounds that were sniffing about, hoping someone might sponsor them. Church was held in one of Indie’s rooms above the pub that you could have almost dismissed as a dining room, until you examined the divots and scars on the old oak table that stretched the length of the room. Knife injuries and cigarette burns. Evidence of wild nights and even wilder arguments.
Magnet sat opposite me; his cocky smile replaced with a sombreness. For a moment I could have rejoiced in it. For once, the world had fucked him over. His stream of luck looked like it had finally run out.
Ste took the seat at the head of the table, beside Indie on his right as vice president and Fury, the club’s Sergeant at Arms on his left.
“Magnet,” my father’s voice boomed in the loaded silence, everyone knowing that Magnet was about to have his arse handed to him on a plate, verbally at least. “Want to explain what happened to the club?”
“Aye. Seems someone was watching us. The cutting house was targeted a few nights ago. All the product stolen, and the prospects beaten up.”
“Which ones?” Cade or Caleb, I could never tell which, asked.
“Sicknote and Tony Cannelloni. Did Sicknote over good too.”
“How much was stolen?” Fury asked.