Page 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

TARGET

When things are heavy with the club, everything else takes a back seat. I have not seen Madalyn in three days, because we have been working our asses off at the garage, while out looking for these motherfuckers who think they can come into our territory.

I hate it, but it is what it is. I just fucking hope that she is not too pissed at me when I finally get to see her. Her texts have been short and distant.

The club has given me so much; it brought me back from the brink of losing myself. In those dark times when I felt like I was drowning after coming home from the Army, and shit hitting the fan with Ruth, the club was my lifeline.

The camaraderie is what ties us all together and I wouldn't trade that for anything. Most members of the club have served at some point in their lives, so we know how bad shit can get.

Each member has their own story, their own struggles— that is what brought us all to the club.

The club is more than just a collection of messed up people, it's a family, and like any family, we have our ups and downs.

But no matter how tough things get, I know I can rely on my club brothers. They have seen me at my worst and still stood by my side, offering support and understanding.

The club has given me a sense of belonging, a place where I can be myself without judgment.

It has taught me a different level of value of loyalty, honor, and respect. And for that, I will forever be grateful. They remind me that I am not alone, and that I have a family who will always have my back.

They will be there for not only me but my kids, and I will return the same when they have kids one day.

Racer is in front of the formation as we ride down the highway. We got some information that the Deadly Dwellers and the street crew are at a street race right now and drugs have been seen being passed around.

I fucking hate drug dealers, they are lowlife scum. I know we are not saints in the club but we do not take money, greed, or joy in people’s addiction or misery. There is a special place in hell for fuckers who have no fucking heart when it comes to destroying lives for greed and power.

We arrive where the information took us and the street is lined with cars, trucks, bikes, and jacked up trikes. Music is blaring some dance shit. Women are dancing around dressed like the club girls back at the clubhouse.

Men watch them dance and grind, while drinking, and smoking. It is like an overgrown frat party. We party better than this shit.

We pair up, but stay seated on our bikes as we cut the engines off.

Removing my helmet, I hang it on the bars, taking in the sight before me.

A guy is leaning against his souped-up car, getting his cock sucked by some girl who looks barely legal.

He smirks at me when we make eye contact, and I hitch a brow at him before shaking my head.

Jesus, I can’t say fuck all about that because damn, I have done it. Not the barely legal part; I make sure anyone who touches my cock is well above legal age.

“They look like rich frat boys, getting the expensive looking cars to get the girls,” Flame scoffs.

“Most are.” Logan comes to stand between Pres and me.

“Some are like me: we work our asses off to get the best car. We win races, then put our winnings into more upgrades. It is like an addiction. The excitement of building a perfect car. The rush of racing her, and winning, makes you want more and more. That is what made me leave, but also what dragged me fucking back here.” He growls, looking around at the people gushing over each other’s cars.

Some have lights around the bottom, others flashing lights inside, which look migraine inducing. Fuck me, is that a speaker in the trunk?

“This is some Fast and Furious shit right here,” Savage mumbles while lighting a cigarette.

“Those things will kill you,” Flame calls to him.

“We all die sometimes; why not enjoy the little things while the Reaper thinks of the nastiest ways to take us out,” he says with a big ass fucking grin on his face.

“You scare me, brother,” Flame replies.

“Good.”

Shaking my head at them, I turn to look at Logan, whose gaze is floating around the whole area, like he knows what he is looking for.

“Prospect, you see anyone you know from back before you left?” Racer asks.

He nods without looking back.

“I see four of the guys I used to race against. Their upgrades are immense. They got a windfall of money, or they ran good races.” He looks to us.

“I am going to go with they are running for the MC. They were trash before, and looking at them now, not much has changed except the quality of their cars.”

His voice shows his disdain for the men.

“Do we start with them, or walk around looking for your girlfriend, and see if she needs help or maybe she can get us information on the crew and MC?” I push, before climbing off my bike.

“Prospect,” I call to Reid. “Watch the bikes.”

He nods to me, setting up position against the wall behind the line of pristine motorcycles. They are in his view, so he can make sure no punk touches them.

We left two of the prospects back at the club with Ice, and Bolt, to keep an eye on things. Not that we are expecting any trouble to meet them, but you never know.

I got a bad feeling after our last meeting with Crypt and his band of fucknuts.

Walking around, I scan the area, checking for any danger. I do not need to get bloody tonight. Each of the brothers fans out, talking, commenting on cars and bikes, trying to get a feel for the people. Some look away, some stare us down, making me laugh.

Some girls wink, giggle, and if I was a shittier man, I would lap up the attention but fuck me, these girls look like they belong in high school and should be home tucked in bed.

“What, you bikers needed around the streets?” one calls out. I look to him, and stifle a laugh because this motherfucker needs a damned belt for his pants.

“Just looking, my guy. We can appreciate some good-looking cars and motorcycles, ya know?” I reply to him.

His eyes narrow, looking over my shoulder, then they go wide.

“Well fuck me, bitches; it is Logan-fucking-Vaughn.” His voice is filled with fucking excitement but I see how Logan tenses, not stepping forward.

“I thought you left, brother,” one says, stepping forward.

“Not your brother.” His voice is low, and the smile drops off the guy’s face.

“What, you too good for us now, man?” His voice takes on an aggressive tone.

The brothers step closer and his eyes widen, seeing that Logan has backup if needed.

“Never said that, Sly. How did you afford these upgrades? Last time I saw you race, you were left in my dust and just about everyone else’s.” The prospect keeps his tone flat.

This Sly guy doesn’t like being disrespected in front of his people, and he steps forward, glaring at Logan, who does not flinch.

“I worked my ass off for my upgrades, motherfucker. Not into that drug shit that your crew has been peddling,” he snarls. Turning my head to Savage, who is like a human lie detector, he nods, telling me that Sly is not lying.

I inch forward, moving closer to Logan. “He is telling us the truth.” He nods, his body relaxing.

“Not my crew anymore. Got out, remember? But trouble has dragged me back. You know anything about that?”

Sly looks around like he is checking that the wrong ears are not close.

“I heard that you boy got cuffed, and your girl is working off his debt—” he leans forward “—But do not believe what you see, brother .”

“What do you mean by that?” Pres steps in, looming like the big motherfucker he is.

“Who the fuck are you?” Sly snaps, but I see the subtle step back he takes.

“I am the President of the Rugged Skulls MC. Now answer my question.”

Before he can say anything, we hear clapping and laughing and the familiar sound makes my fucking blood boil.

Tuning my head I see Crypt walking toward us, with his men behind him and a chick with long dark wavy hair, legs that go all the way up and breasts that are barely being contained by her top.

The way Logan tenses, and steps forward, being stopped by Pres with a hand on his chest, I take it this was once his girl. The one he came here to help.

Looking around the crowd, I see the men glaring at us, but the chick has her laser focus on the prospect, and if looks could kill, my man would be six feet under meeting his maker.

“I see that you have come into my territory now, Pres,” Crypt states with a fucking grin on his face.

“You like running that mouth, don’t you, fuckface?” I growl, inching forward, which only makes his smile widen.

“Phoenix is Rugged Skulls territory, Crypt and you know it,” Racer states firmly. “Drugs, or anything else that you are pushing, are not welcome and I will take the trash out if needed.”

“Do you hear this motherfucker? He thinks he can speak to me like that when he is outnumbered.” Crypt laughs, but so does Savage who sweeps forward, next to Racer.

The laughter dies on Crypt’s face when he sees Savage’s face. The fucker laughs manically and his smile is like the fucking clown Pennywise or The Joker or some shit.

“You need to learn to count, fuckface. You are the ones outnumbered.” He jerks his head to the side, and my brothers step forward in a line, ready to take down any fucker who makes a move against our Pres.

“We can take them, man,” one of Crypt’s guys says.

“You can try.” Racer’s voice is tight. “You see Savage here got his name for a reason. So did Target. We do not want trouble here, but if you decide to not listen to me, then well, fuck, I see a lot of spilled blood in your future.”

No one says anything for a long time, the tension so fucking thick is would choke most people. My shoulders are tight, waiting to strike if they make a move, so are my brothers. Savage is vibrating with the need to cut someone and disperse their body parts all over the desert to feed the birds.

“Val, come here, sweetheart.” Logan’s voice breaks the silence.

Val steps forward, her eyes meeting Logan's with an intensity that suggests she is seeing him in a new light. Her arms hang loosely at her sides but I see her fists clench.

She moves with caution, each step deliberate.

The way she looks at him, it is like she is seeing someone different for the first time. Her focus narrows on Logan, and I am trying to decode the unfamiliar expressions that play across her face.

Logan's once impenetrable gaze softens slightly as he watches her approach, a subtle shift that most would not see.

“Are you alright?” Logan asks, his voice steady yet gentle, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounds them.

“Am I alright?” is her only reply, before she brings her hand back to punch him but with cat-like reflexes, he catches her fist.

“You fucking bastard. You fucking left. Vinnie is in prison because of you!” she screams at him.

Logan looks shocked but I see anger swirling in his blue eyes as he holds her wrist firmly.

“My fault? You and your brother went behind my back and stole all of my savings and entered a fucking race you knew he could not win. That is why I left. You both betrayed me, not the other way around. As for Vinnie going to prison that is on him, sweetheart. He got into bed with the wrong people and got snatched for it.”

“I am not your sweetheart. I am not your anything.” She snatches her hand back, stepping backwards toward Crypt, who laughs.

When she reaches him, he slings his arms around her neck, pulling her in for a deep sloppy kiss. A statement to my prospect. Logan looks to the ground, hands on his hips, shaking his head, but it is in disappointment more than anything.

“Enough of the dramatics. Get the fuck off our streets or we will force you,” Racer growls.

“Nah, I don’t think we will.”

“What is going on here?” a firm voice of authority comes, and we all turn to see the sheriff strolling toward us, flanked by two of his deputies, who belong on a fucking football field.

I have no idea how the hell they fit into their uniforms with those thick thighs and biceps.

“Nothing, Sheriff, just a friendly reminder to our friends here,” Racer jumps in.

The club has a good relationship with Sheriff Palmer. He knows Racer runs a tight ship after Tank and he wouldn’t do anything to risk losing the trust and support of the local law.

“Is that right?” Wallace looks to Crypt and Valerie.

His eyes scan over the girl, no doubt checking for any signs of distress, before settling on Crypt.

“All good here, Sheriff. Me and my boys were just out taking in the scenery.” He waves his hand around the crowd.

“Well, then I suggest that you move on to better scenery, boy. This here is my territory and I do not take kindly to people coming in and causing trouble. You feel me?” Wallace is an imposing fucker: big broad shoulders, he reminds me of that guy Reacher from the TV show.

Crypt hates being called ‘boy’ by the look of anger that crosses his face. Lips pressed thin, his nostrils flare, and his body tightens.

“Miss, I suggest that you find better friends.” He looks to Valerie, but I get the feeling that he knows her, which is why he said it.

Valerie glares at him. “Fuck off, Benson.” Crypt’s eyes narrow, then he smirks.

Shifting his gaze from the sheriff to me, he winks.

“Say hi to my girl for me. I bet you had fun finding out all about me, didn’t you?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, just spins on his heel, dragging Valerie with him.

Logan lunges but I grip the back of his cut, keeping him close.

“Not the time, brother,” I whisper in her ear.

“She can’t go with him,” he growls.

“Prospect, it looks like she was more than willing to go with him. You can deal with her later.”

I keep him in my grasp to make sure that he does not go off half-cocked and get himself stabbed or fucking worse. Racer deals with the sheriff, making sure he knows what is what with these fucking cunts who are bringing drugs to our people.

The sheriff keeps stealing little glances at the prospect, making me think they know each other or there is a connection there.

Time to do some digging I think, before shit blows up in our faces.