Page 100 of Royal Sons MC

Chapter Sixteen

He felt the worry whenthey entered and Lick’s little announcement. He kept a firm hold on Ayesha, making sure everyone knew she was his and not for just a night. Those types of mistakes could get a man hurt if they fucked with his woman. Fuck, he needed to chill, or he’d be brawling within the hour the way he was tossing some of the idiots out of his way. “Move fuckers,” he snarled for what seemed like the twentieth time. Ayesha kept to his side, her eyes avoiding contact with everyone else, which was a good damn thing.

He pulled his phone out when he was far enough away from the speakers and could hear Keys. “Why the fuck didn’t he just say it was Tymber and Ivy?” King growled.

Ayesha’s body shuddered. “Are you alright?” he asked, needing to know if she was level before proceeding.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

King looked down at her before he turned to Duke. “Ivy’s wearing all RED!” King met Duke’s eyes across the table, mouthing the word ‘Red’ as he punched in the ‘K’ as a response. He held his fist up, knowing Lick, Cross, and Soldier would be watching him.

“What’s happening?” Ayesha whispered but stayed beside him, not missing a step, or raising her voice.

“Don’t say a word. Just do as I say. I’ll know more in a few.” He wasn’t a man who explained himself, nor was he a coddler, which he sure as shit hoped Ayesha understood. She would be getting a crash course on what life was like being his.

“Hey, brother, did you get a late start?” Mag stood up, locked right arms with King, and pounded his back.

King gave a halfhearted chuckle. With Mag, the President of the Aztec Devils MC, he didn’t want to discipline Ayesha, but he would.

Mag stepped back, looking at Ayesha, his light blue eyes taking in her low-cut tank top, showing off her ample cleavage. King wrapped his arm around her, letting him know without words that she was his.

“Ah, staking a claim, brother?” Mag’s eyes took a little longer than King liked to return to him.

“Yep,” King said, turning to Zinc, Mag’s VP. The red-haired bastard was even bigger than King and Mag, which was saying a lot since they were a little over six-three. Zinc stepped up next to Mag. His Irish ancestry, mixed with a little something else, allowed the fucker to get a nice golden tan, making him a favorite of the ladies.

“Och, what a fine-looking lass you’ve got, King. What’s yer name?” he asked.

“Cut the fucking accent, Zinc. You were born and raised in fucking Missouri.” King released Ayesha, bumping knuckles with the other man. “Ayesha, this ugly bastard is Mag, and this one is nobody.” He pointed at Zinc.

Zinc put his hand over his heart. “I’m wounded, man. Seriously, I thought we were tight.”

King shook his head. “We got company coming. You good with that?” He and Mag went back a long time. Although the other MC was closer to One Percenters, they were solid. If King needed them, Mag would be there and vice versa.

Many believed all outlaw motorcycle clubs were the same, but there was a fine line between them. King and his MC didn’t participate in illegal activity to support their club, at least not like they had in the past. The Royal Sons' foundation was built by their forefathers, who ran everything from guns to drugs and even women. But that all began to change even before King’s father took over. Kingston Royal had tried to return to the old ways. There was no denying he was an underhanded fuck who liked to dip his hand and dick into anything dirty. He enjoyed life with the perks of the dark underbelly of things. Which they'd learned got them all dead really fucking quick.

Guns became the only thing they allowed to pass through their territory for a fee. Although the MC didn't actually make the sales. Drugs they walked away from before King’s father, and when King’s sister was taken, they shifted their focus, no thanks to King Senior. They still had stakes in several strip clubs across the states. The businesses made them a lot of money, but King and Duke were silent owners. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to one of them. If the Royal Sons brothers wanted to hang out and throw their money at the girls there, they were welcome to do so, but they were always to show respect to them.

He pulled out his chair at the head of the table, his back against the wall, and settled Ayesha on his lap. Before he could place his hand on the cool wood, Rubii, one of the waitresses, was there with two beers. “Thanks, hun.” He gave Ayesha a bottle and picked up the other for himself.

“Rubii, this is my girl, Ayesha. Ayesha, this is Rubii.” He tipped the longneck toward the little dark-haired woman who delivered their drinks.

“Would you like something else?” Rubii asked.

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