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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TARGET

Riding along with brothers at my side, I feel the familiar hum of our motorcycles beneath us as we cruise around, searching for new crew members and the MC they've tangled themselves with.

The prospect is with us, his eyes sharp and vigilant, scanning for any familiar faces or signs that might give us an edge. He knows his job, and he's doing it well.

The sun is setting, and the roar of our engines echoes around the buildings as we search. Each of us is ready to deal with these fucks, to see what they want with our territory. We may not be a one percent club but fuck me, we do own Phoenix.

And we will protect it and its people.

We ride in formation, we ride with a purpose.

The prospect rides a little behind, still earning his patches, his commitment tested with every mile. I know he is internally dealing with shit linked to why we are riding, so hopefully we can sort it out and he can find some sort of peace and move on, earn his patch and find an Ol’ Lady.

Like I found mine, I just have not yet claimed her publicly the right way. Yeah, I called ‘Dibs’ but she needs to be wearing my cut once I make it known, and fucking loudly, that she is mine.

We pass through the streets, our presence announced by the thunderous growl of our bikes. People turn their heads as we roll by, some with curiosity, others with respect or apprehension.

The Rugged Skulls MC is one of respect, loyalty, and sometimes fear, a world that demands strength and determination. We do good by most of the laws, but fuck me sometimes laws are meant to be broken, especially when they are for the right kind of justice.

Pres signals to us, letting us know we are about to stop.

We line the bikes up in formation, me alongside Racer. He pulls his helmet off once the bikes are shut down.

“Got a text from Maverick. Both he and Astrid have received some information that the Deadly Dwellers like to hang out at a dive bar not five miles from here. So we are going to check it out and see what these fucks want.”

“Prospect, have you heard anything more about your friends?” I call out to Logan.

“No, VP, not linked to this anyway. Just that Valarie has been seen having heated words with her close friend, but I don’t think it is linked,” he expresses.

“You know this friend?”

“Yeah, Stevie. They were tight in high school. I am not sure about now, though.”

“Okay, you hear anything you let me or Pres know.” He nods to me in understanding.

“Let’s get this shit over with. I need a fucking drink and some pussy,” Racer bitches.

He has been grumpier than usual lately; I need to corner him and find out why.

I would say we need to find him a woman who can chill his ass out but we know how he feels about taking an Ol’ Lady. He has said a few times that it will never happen, but hey, never say never until you take your last breath.

We mount our bikes and I do so with Madalyn in mind. I still have not seen or heard from her and I can’t help but fucking think she has ghosted me. Peter says that she has been busy with work, taking on more contracts but a simple text would be greatly appreciated.

If I am being honest, Darian has not been around the club either, so maybe they are so busy that she can’t have a second to catch her breath, but fuck me, I miss her.

Never thought I would find a woman who I would miss this much. She has dug deep under my skin and has her claws in me, and I never want her to let me go.

Something about her calls to me, more than Ruth did. It is not nice to compare the women as they both mean a lot to me in different way, but what I felt for Ruth doesn’t even come close to what I feel for Madalyn.

The dive bar is that, a fucking dive: a dark old building, the neon sign has only half the working bulbs, and the music coming from inside is old rock, but not the good kind if you ask me. We dismount, needing to go inside and seek out the Deadly Dwellers, to find out their deal.

Pres pushes open the heavy door, and the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke hits me like a punch to the nostrils. Fuck me, this place is disgusting.

Women walk around wearing bikini bottoms, with their saggy old tits hanging out. It is like a dirty grannies Only Fans puked up in here.

The dim lighting hides the cracked walls, and sticky floor.

I do not want to fucking think about what I am walking in on.

The patrons barely glance up from their drinks. Racer takes the lead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the haze. I follow closely, scanning the room for any threats, my brothers doing the same. I know without looking because this is what the Rugged Skulls men do.

The Deadly Dwellers are sitting in the back booth, drinking, and laughing like a pack of hyenas.

Racer looks over his shoulder at me, we silently communicate, and I nod, letting him know that I have his back. Keeping close, my brothers at my back, I push down all thoughts of Mads until we leave, and then it is fucking on. She is mine.

As we get closer, one of the men lifts his head at seeing us approach. A sickly smirk spreads across his face, making me want to punch it in.

“Well, well, look who we have here, brothers. Racer, welcome. We have been expecting you.”

“You have me at an advantage, because you are clearly not important enough for me to know who the fuck you are.” Pres’ voice is deep, deadly, which makes the fucker’s eyes flicker but he recovers quickly.

He doesn’t like the fact that Pres is making out that he ain’t shit in our world. Fucker hates being a nobody.

Racer takes no shit from anyone, and now that he wears the president patch, he takes that very seriously as should all leaders. This fucker seems to think it is funny to disrespect our president.

Leaning back and showing a relaxed posture, he chuckles, before lighting up a cigarette, blowing smoke in Racer’s direction.

I take a step forward, inching closer and his steely gaze meets mine, a smirk sliding across his lips. The look he gives me is like an invitation to kick off and start a brawl, but Racer stops me.

The vibe I get from this cunt is a bad one, one that makes me want to put his head through the table and use his body as a footstool.

“I am the VP of the Deadly Dwellers, you may call me Crypt.”

“I will call you what I want, boy, but we will not play these silly childish games. What are you doing in Rugged Skulls MC territory, causing havoc on my streets with your racing and drugs?”

He looks to his brothers, who smirk and grin like they have no cares in the world. Bringing his gaze back to us, he grins.

“Simple reason— money, Mr. President.”

“Watch your mouth,” I snarl, my blood boiling.

This fucker makes me want to commit violence when I am usually a calm motherfucker.

“Or what? I know all about your little club; you do not break the law like us outlaws. That is why it was so easy to move in on your territory.” His voice shows his proud disillusionment.

“No, you see, Crypt. We may not be a 1% club, but do not make the wrong assumptions about us.” Racer’s voice lowers, showing his intent to make both a threat and a promise. “I suggest that you leave Arizona, and find some other state to do your dealings in.”

Crypt sits forward, and I stare the fucker down, watching his every move, knowing that my brothers are already watching his men. Savage is vibrating behind me, his body and soul ready to pounce, to draw blood from any one of these cuts.

“My Pres wanted us in the area, got good intel on what we wanted, so here we are.” He stares at Racer, then looks to me, the look in his eyes pissing me off.

“What intel would that be?” Racer asks, not backing down.

We want this fucked up club away from our people. Phoenix, hell all of Arizona, is protected by the Rugged Skulls.

Leaning back, again relaxing his body, showing he has no cares, he looks to all the men at my back, before then settling back on me. The glint in his eyes tells me I am not going to like what is about to come from his mouth.

“I was told that my girl moved here with her friend. Owns her own company, helping, planning, and all that shit that women love to do.” Something feels off with what says.

Is he talking about Darian? Both Madalyn and Darian have brought up that they know how club life works.

As the question fills my head, I know in my gut the answer to my own question.

“If she was your girl, shouldn’t you know where she is?” Pres asks.

“Not man enough to keep track of her, huh?” Savage adds in his two cents, making the air around us turn icy.

One of Crypt’s men pushes to his feet, and I reach for my gun, tucked in my waistband.

“Sit the fuck down,” Racer snarls. “No blood will be shed.”

“Says you, Old Man,” one guy replies, baring his teeth.

I scoff, looking at the weasel-faced punk bitch.

“Bitch, he will snap you like a twig, old man or not. Shut the fuck up and sit down,” I command.

His mouth opens to reply to me but Crypt kicks his legs out from under him, making him fall back into his seat. Then he looks back to Racer.

“Do not make demands of my men, they are mine to command, not yours. We are here to stay, Pres , so get used to seeing us.” He winks, then looks to me again.

Fuck, I hate this prick.

“I do not think so,” Racer replies calmly, stepping closer to the table.

I see a flicker of fear flash in Crypt’s eyes, betraying the bravado that he has been showing since we got here. He is a fucking prick who thinks because he wears a club cut and patch that he is a big man, a tough biker. Well, the Rugged Skulls will knock this fucker down a peg or two.

“We will not be disrespected. The Rugged Skulls hold force when it comes to people trying to step on our toes. Now, I suggest that you kindly fuck off, since you came here to find your girl who clearly does not want to be found, and we do not want drugs or your street racing in our state. If you president is man enough to come and face me himself—” he pauses “—you know where to find us.”

Race turns his back on Crypt, whose jaw is tight, ticking with the pressure that he is adding by grinding his teeth.

I smirk at the cunt.

“You have been warned.” He gaze finds mine when I speak.

He blinks, his shoulders dipping subtly before he speaks.

“Sure, if you say so. Now excuse us, we need to handle our business then I need to go and see my girl . I miss her pussy so fucking bad.” He grins sickly.

Biting back a snarl, I turn to leave, seeing that Savage is inches from me. I nod to him when I make eye contact, telling him we’re okay to leave. With one last deadly, but silent look at the group of men, we leave.

“I want to cut that motherfucker into pieces but not before I got him, watching his intestines fall to the floor. Then I will remove his eyes with a fork and feed them to the crows.” His voice is deadly, low and full of promise.

I slap him on the back. “Brother, I love that you have my back.”

“Remind me never to piss you off; I don’t wanna be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of my life,” Forge calls out, making everyone laugh.

“I worry about you, brother.” Rogue says, lighting up a cigarette.

“Why?” Savage asks, mounting his bike. “I’m a fucking delight.” He winks, and fires up his bike.

“Target, are you thinking his girl might be Darian?” Racer asks.

I shrug one shoulder. “Fuck knows, Pres. She would be the best guess out of the two women, but honestly Arizona is a big place, fuck, so is Phoenix, so he could be in the wrong place looking, and grasping at straws that we know something. I mean, what are the chances that he came here, found his girl, and she is linked to the club?”

He thinks it over, then turns toward his bike.

“Go and check on Madalyn, see if she can offer up any information on this prick.” He shakes his head, slinging his leg over his beauty. “This is why I will never take a woman.”

I chuckle at him, following suit and climbing my girl and following Pres back to the clubhouse.

There is something I need to sort at the garage before I head over to see Mads, and maybe dig to see if she or Darian are linked to this motherfucker.