Bikers and Tinsel
Page 22

“He’s not here,” one of the guys yells.
“Funny that,” Jackson says, pulling his gun out and holding it up. We do the same. “I heard he was.”
The men move quickly, putting their hands up and calling out to heir boss. A moment later, an older man with greying hair and tattoos all over him walks out. He stares at us, and his body visibly stiffens.
“Can I help you?” he mutters, walking closer.
“Yeah, I believe you can,” Jackson growls. “I believe you’ve been threatening one of our ladies.”
The old man shakes his head. “Don’t know what you’re fuckin’ talkin’ about.”
I walk forward, shoving the note in the son-of-a-bitch’s face. I want to beat him until he’s bleeding, but there’s a way of dealing with this shit, and that ain’t it. Not right now anyway.
“What do you call that then?” I growl.
He stares down at the note, and back up at us. “Since when is that bitch with you boys? You know she’s married to a fuckin’ biker.”
“A biker we ended,” Jackson growls.
He shifts a little nervously. “Yeah, well he owes me money.”
“He’s fuckin’ dead,” I bark.
He shoots me a glare. “Then she owes me money.”
I storm forward, gripping his collar and twisting it, lowering his face. I press my gun to his temple and hiss, “She owes you nothing, you filthy scumbag.”
“Come on man,” he pleads. “Just doin’ what I gotta do.”
“That’s my woman, and I don’t take kindly to her bein’ fuckin’ threatened.”
“Just doin’ my job!” he yells.
I press my gun harder into his temple. “And I’m just doin’ mine.”
“Here’s your option,” Jackson says, stepping forward. “You drop it, and leave her the fuck alone, or we deal with you now.”
“She fuckin’ owes me money,” the bastard growls, twisting.
Jackson lifts his hand, bringing his gun down over the man’s head. He bellows and blood trickles from his head.
“We don’t fuck around. I’ll put a bullet in your skull without hesitation,” I snarl. “You have only one option, and that option is to fuck off away from my woman.”
“I got people after me. If I don’t pay...”
“Not my fuckin’ problem,” I hiss.
“I need that money; they’ll kill me...”
“I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you come near her again.”
“Okay, okay,” he yells. “I’ll let it go.”
I let him go, shoving him backwards. He growls and straightens, glaring at us. “You fuckers think you can just come in and do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Damn right,” Cade snorts from behind us.
“You should be more careful who you fuck with,” Spike growls.
“And you should be more careful who you threaten,” the man growls, reaching around behind him.
I’ve been in enough situations to know what he’s about to do. He’s got a weapon in his pants, and in a split second he’ll use it. I don’t give him a chance. I pull the trigger, hitting him in the middle of his chest. He drops to the ground with a bellow, face hitting the dirt. I walk over pressing my boot into his back. He screams.
“That was a stupid fuckin’ thing to do.”
I lean down and grip the gun from his pants, tossing it to Spike.
“Your call, Muff,” Jackson growls. “I say we take the fucker out. I don’t trust him to stay away. It’s your call, though.”
I lift my eyes to meet Jackson’s, and in a steely voice, I growl, “Let’s take him out.”
And that’s what we do.
No one messes with our family.
~*~*~*~
Janine
I pace backward and forward, knowing he’s out there, and not knowing if he’s okay. It’s been twelve hours, and I haven’t seen or heard from him. What if he’s hurt, and it’s because of me? What if I put him in a situation that will endanger his life? If I lost him...no...I can’t think like that. My chest seizes, and I take a deep, calming breath. Muff knows what he’s doing. He’s a biker; they all know what they’re doing.
In the distance I hear the rumble of a Harley-Davidson, and my heart thumps.
Is it him?
Is he okay?
I rush to the window, and peer out. I wait, my entire body stiff as a bike comes into view. As soon as I see it’s his, my entire body goes weak and tears tumble down my cheeks. A moment later Muff is at my front door, opening it. He sees me staring pathetically out, and walks over, gripping me and pulling me into his arms. I try not to notice the red on his knuckles, and how they’re swelling.
“Hey, baby, hush, I’m here,” he soothes.
“I thought...it’s been twelve hours, and...Muff...If I lost you...”
“But you didn’t,” he says. “I’m okay.”
“You’re...you’re hurt,” I whisper, stroking his knuckles.
“Nothin’ for you to worry about.”
“Muff, what...”
“No,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You know I ain’t answerin’ that, princess.”
“I just—I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“We got it sorted, and you’ll be happy to know there ain’t no loan sharks comin’ after you now.”