Page 40 of What He Wants

Apparently, Jumper was watching them in his side view mirror, too. “Think it could be your friends, Shooter and Whistler?”

They weren’t my friends. “I doubt it. They had their bikes.” I lowered my speed to see what the SUV would do. They slowed, and then gradually veered off into the right lane and the exit. I gave Jumper a smirk. “Getting paranoid, brother?”

“Getting old.” He watched the SUV take the exit. “Too fucking old for this shit.” He tossed his cigarette butt out the window. “We’re pregnant, brother.”

He didn’t sound happy about it. Michelle was Jumper’s old lady, a sweet, friendly woman who was totally in love with him. You could see it on her face every time they were together. She looked like a biker chick, too, with tattooed sleeves and piercings. She had short, spiky hair and was thin as a rail, not a curve on her. She was also a lot younger than Jumper.

“That’s good news, yeah?” This would be their first kid.

He exhaled loudly. “Didn’t think I’d ever have kids,” he admitted. “But Michelle’s young, she’s been wanting a baby.”

“Bound to happen when every old lady in the club is popping them out.” He nodded. “So, what’s the problem?” I saw his shrug out of the corner of my eye and decided to let it go. He apparently didn’t want to talk about it, and it was none of my business.

The “Welcome to New Hampshire” sign was coming up, and then we would enter the granite state. Thank fuck. We’d taken our time, turning a four-hour trip into five, wanting to make sure that Clay and Cooper were well ahead of us and in position. We’d know soon enough if our plan had worked. If Shooter and Whistler showed up in Last Hope, then it had. We didn’t expect any interference with Covacks and his men, and we didn’t expect any help from them either. It was enough that he’d warned Hawk about the conversation his men had overheard.

It was up to me to put myself out there to draw Shooter out and end this shit between us. I was looking forward to it. When we entered the town of Last Hope, we took our time driving through before we headed toward Covacks’ place. Covacks had fucking houses all over the country, but we were headed to where the fighting took place, which was in an old barn way out in a field. All Covacks had done was put a ring in the center of the barn. There were no chairs, so clients and participants stood around the ring to watch. He’d made a ton of money on the fights, and it was one of the few places considered to be neutral ground for bikers.

Not one to let Mother Nature ruin a good thing, Covacks kept the surrounding field plowed during the winter. Small mountains of snow had been pushed toward the tree line behind the barn. There were plenty of vehicles and bikes parked around the building. Most brothers who came to fight came to make easy money, leaving shortly after they either won or lost. Some just came to watch, put money down in a bet, hoping to win big. I wasn’t a betting man.

I was a fighter. So was Ned, though lately he’d been on a break. One too many hits to the head, one too many concussions was scary shit. The club didn’t really need the income from fighting, we made plenty from our businesses and the clients we worked for. So, if a brother needed extra income, Hawk let them keep what they earned.

I hadn’t planned on fighting this time around, unless I was forced to. We had to stick to our plan and the original reason we’d made the trip there. Shooter was smart. He’d scope out the place and would expect to see me in the ring at some point. If he didn’t, he’d figure out why. I knew that Shooter liked to be in control, that he liked to do things his way. We’d been tight once before, and he’d probably already figured out that this was all a set-up. He’d come anyway, figuring he could turn the tables.

As I looked for a spot to park the truck I could hear the shouts and cheers coming from inside. It was apparent they were in the middle of a fight. I pulled in between two bikes and cut the engine. The barn doors were open, and a few men were standing in the entrance, facing the ring, looking animated as they reacted to what was going on inside.

It was almost dark. That could be a good or bad thing depending on how shit went down. I reached for the glove box. “Put your earbuds in,” I told Jumper, handing a set to him. “We need to contact Clay and Cooper before we go in.”

Once mine were in place and on, I made contact. “We’re here.”

A slight crackling came over the line before Clay responded. “Where?”

“Still outside in the truck. See Shooter or Whistler yet?” I opened my door and exited the truck. Jumper did the same.

“Negative. Had a little surprise on the road here, though.” I waited for him to continue. “Trouble Makers.” Fuck. Jumper could hear our conversation, and we made eye-contact. “They passed us on the road, going the same way.”

“They want us to know they’re around.”

“Figured that. Gave each other the finger hello.”

I grinned at that while walking toward the entrance and digesting the information he’d just shared. Had Shooter called in some of his crew, or had the passing on the road been a mere coincidence? Shit, I didn’t believe in coincidences.

“How many?” Jumper asked.

“Three.”

I snorted. Five against four. Shooter had probably figured that he’d be up against more Phantom Riders this time around. “Have you seen them here?”

“Negative.”

I exhaled loudly as we entered the barn. The lighting sucked, except for the one that hung directly over the ring. The place was packed with brothers from all over. There were also some suits there, and hanging on their arms was the usual eye candy. The women looked bored and a little appalled, and why wouldn’t they be? I’d never met a woman yet who enjoyed seeing two men beat themselves into a bloody pulp. These fights were dirty and no holds barred.

“We’re in,” I said, looking around without being obvious. “Where are you?”

“At the back.”

I glanced toward the back of the barn and saw him and Cooper standing like two wooden figures, arms crossed and legs braced apart. We made eye contact, but that was all. I then saw the Trouble Makers’ cuts as three bikers moved slowly in front of me, keeping their backs to me. I knew the move had been made to make a point, to let us know that they were there. Their cuts looked brand new and stood out among the worn leather on some of the more seasoned bikers. I nudged Jumper and nodded toward the three men, who seemed more interested in the fight going on in front of them than in finding us.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

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