Page 9 of Hell Bent

Vicious sat listening to the conversation between Player and Joker as they gave one another hell over beer, broads, and bikes. The three Bs, on most days, were the root of all evil, especially when they came between brothers.

The patch on their backs kept people away from them. He didn’t mind the looks. It was always the same, judged by their colours and clothes. Were they outlaws? Yes. But in between the illegal shit they did, they also did good things. They helped reboot an old medical clinic in the area, keeping the doctor and his staff employed. Razor was part of that deal, bringing in another level of care for the patients. The club also owned a strip club, pool hall, and a cabaret. Those had been collateral for loans, and when the owners couldn’t pay their debt, the club took ownership of the businesses.

The chapter had helped rebuild an older neighbourhood for the elderly. They donated to widows’ and orphans’ organizations. That was a big one for Vicious. Being orphaned as a child, he had a soft spot for kids like him, though he kept that information locked down. Jameson told him more than once to keep anything about himself to himself. Information is a weakness, and people will use what they learn against you. That was always his point of view.

Vicious, did you hear me?” Joker asked, annoyed the brother was ignoring the conversation.

“Nah, man, sorry. What’s up?” Vicious scanned the area for anything suspicious.

“Did you call Zombie about keeping an eye out for those cars?” Joker picked up his beer, taking a pull on the cold brew.

Vicious glanced over at his Road Captain. “Yeah, I ran it by him. He’s puttin’ Croon on it. Told them we’re looking for a ‘65 Satellite or a ‘69 Road Runner.”

Joker nodded. He appreciated the hell out of his VP calling another chapter on his behalf. “I’m hoping they can get me a lead on one or the other.”

“What do you need with an older model Plymouth, Joker?” It didn’t matter, but Vicious was curious.

“I love rebuilding old cars. My old man had a Road Runner, and that car could run. I always wanted one like his. I’m in a good place right now, so I figured it’s time.”

“Well, if anyone can find you one, it’ll be the brothers in Provo,” Vicious told Joker.

“Player, what’s up with you?” The man had a sour look on his face. His focus seemed to be on Joker. There was no telling what Joker had done to put Player in a mood. Still, there was an undertone that was simmering below the surface like an unerupted volcano buying its time.

“I’m good. Just lost in thought,” Player replied. When Joker looked at him from beneath hooded eyes, Player adverted his stare.

Vicious took a pull from his beer bottle, leaving Player to figure his shit out, when the sound of glass breaking caught his attention. Across the courtyard sat a table full of wannabe badasses wearing their riding club’s cuts. They looked like fools with their brand-new leather vests and designer jeans. From their perfect yuppie haircuts to their fashionable designer boots, they were nothing but weekend warriors.

One of the wannabes pulled a girl into his lap, causing another glass to topple over. The waitress looked pissed and ready to throw them out. Vicious smirked, wondering which one of the assholes would show his ass first.

Why they had the party at a local bar and not a clubhouse, he had no idea.

They’d had trouble the night before with the Bloody Scorpions. Vicious had his suspicions on the guys who had been the problem, but the trio didn’t appear to be the norm for the Bloody Scorpions. Screeching tires brought his attention to the street, and his hand went straight to his gun at his back.

Vicious watched as a truck door flew open, and one pissed-off female hopped out. Even in the non-descript clothing, he could see her curves. Great rack, nice hips, and talk about an ass. Damn! Even with him appreciating her shape, he kept his eyes on her as his hand slid over his Glock. You didn’t roll up to a party like this one if you weren’t looking for trouble. It didn’t take more than a minute for everyone to be on alert.

Watching the female move across the open courtyard, he saw when she spotted her target and beelined toward a hangaround for the support club. Vicious saw a flash of brass as her hand dropped to her side. The hangaround was a guy named Jerome Michel. When he turned and saw the female in front of him, the look on the guy’s face said it all. He deserved whatever was about to befall him. The first swing knocked him sideways as blood spewed from his mouth from the brass knuckles slamming into his face.

Vicious watched as she kicked him. No one moved to help the guy. Shoving back his chair, Vicious got up and headed for the female as she stomped his ass with the heel of her boot. Jerome knocked her foot away as he tried getting to his feet.

“I know you caused my brother’s death, Jerome. You should’ve been the one in that fucking hospital room fighting for your damn life, not him.” Sway spit in the guy’s face. “You should be dead, not Tesh.” Stepping back, she looked around, almost daring anyone to come at her.

“I want to know who killed my brother!” she yelled at him.

“The way I heard it, you unplugged him.” Jerome laughed as he spit blood on the ground.

Rearing her fist back, she was ready to pound on him. Sway didn’t get to hit him again before strong hands yanked her back. Spinning around, she looked into eyes the colour of green moss. Green like the fake stuff you bought at the craft store, not the grey, dried shit that hung in trees. He was a tall man, which said a lot because she was tall herself. Five-ten, to be exact. He had to be six-two, six-three. Next to him, she felt short. His short, dark-blonde hair was contrasting to his olive complexion. He looked to be in his late thirties. Nothing wrong with an older man.

Scanning his face, Sway let her eyes rake over his body. Leather covered his long, thick legs. The dark blue, long-sleeved Henley showed off a set of wide shoulders and a broad chest. Her eyes darted back to his face. She knew him. He was the man that helped her at the hospital.

Searching his face for any recognition on his part, she scanned the leather vest he wore. It had patches in various places. The one on the left chest read ‘Vicious’. She wondered if that was his name or his disposition. Gold and silver rings caught her attention as he clenched his fists. She saw the gun tucked in his waistband. This wasn’t thesaviour she thought he was. She should’ve been scared, but she wasn’t. And even if she were, this asshole would never know. Tightening her fingers around the brass knuckles, Sway slid one foot back, ready for a fight.

“This has nothing to do with you,” she told him as her heart rapidly beat in her chest and her stomach tightened into knots. Coming there had been an impetuous act. No doubt, one that was about to bite her in her big ass.

Vicious saw she was ready to defend herself if he made a threatening move. Damn if he didn’t find that sexy. Problem was, she didn’t have the look that said she could back it up. Then it hit him—he recognized her and knew she recognized him.The young woman from the hospital parking lot.What the hell was she doing there attacking someone? Did she have a fucking death wish?

“Do you know who I am? What I am?” he asked her flatly.

“I don’t give a shit who or what you are.” Sway decided a fight with this man wasn’t what she came for. Her business was finished . . . for now. Stepping to the side, she went to walk past him, but his hand snaked out, grabbing her arm. Glancing down at the offending hand, she’d hate to hit him in the face. She liked older men, and the fact he had helped her once had her wishing they’d met under different circumstances.

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