Page 12 of Dizzy

“We’re in her kitchen all the time,” Eighty observes. Grinder casts him a dirty look.

“We eat her food. We don’t steal her can openers,” Pig Iron points out. “And none of us is short enough to need an overturned milk crate to reach the shit on the top shelf of the pantry. I asked Crista to eyeball the bar just now. She’s missing a bottle of vodka and a bottle of SoCo.”

I don’t feel the need to say shit about the Southern Comfort. Dues come out of my paycheck, same as everyone else.

“Holy crap,” Boots cackles. He must’ve woken up at some point. “We got a Goldilocks infestation! Who’s been drinkin’ my hooch? Who’s been openin’ my cans?”

That earns a chuckle. My chest eases. That sweet little thing who spread her pussy lips for me ain’t a threat. For all her bravado, no one could mistake her for hard. If she’s involved, she was put up to it.

“She’s probably down on her luck. I mean, she was ridin’ with Chaos.” I still don’t fuckin’ like that.

“We’ll find out when we catch her.” Jed cracks his knuckles.

The fuck you say. I push back from the table, and my chair screeches. “No one touches her.”

Heads swivel, eyes blink at me. Yeah. I ain’t one to speak up at church. Or anywhere else, really. I’m a fairly mild-mannered man, and I don’t generally have opinions about shit other than engines and craft beer. It tastes like piss.

Everyone’s gawking at me like I got two heads.

“She’s mine. Anyone finds her, they bring her to me.” I push back from the table and stand. I couldn’t say why I’m so sure about this. But ain’t no other man here gonna lay hands on her. That’s just crystal clear in my mind.

“You know her?” Jed asks.

“No.”

“You got some kind of claim on her?” he pushes.

“What just came out my mouth? You wanna go?”

There’s a ripple ofwhoa’s andholy shits.

“You ever see the boy fight?” Boots whispers to Eighty, loud enough the whole room hears.

“Can’t say I have. Fifty bucks says he knocks Jed out in one.”

Boots shakes his head. “Sucker bet. Ain’t takin’ that.”

“You want to weigh in on this bullshit, President?” Jed sucks his teeth.

Everyone looks to Heavy. He’s studying me, brow furrowed.

Folks say we look like brothers. We got the same wavy black hair and wiry beards. I’m big—six foot two, two hundred forty pounds—but he’s got four inches and thirty pounds on me. It might not be coincidence. Parties got wild back in the day. Still do.

Regardless, I don’t doubt for a minute that he’ll back my call.

That’s what guys like Eighty and Jed don’t quitegetyet. Heavy Ruth ain’t his dad. He don’t live for the club. He lives for his brothers. And there’s a difference. He don’t always know what’s right, but I have never once had cause to doubt his motivations.

We might or might not be blood, but we’re family, without doubt.

“All right, brother,” he agrees. “You gonna lead the hunt?”

Blood rushes to my cock, an image of that sweet ass jiggling as she lifts her knees high and sprints away, her laughin’ brown eyes sparklin’. A jolt of adrenaline puts my hangover on mute.

Then, I remember. The kids. “I got to get the boys by six.”

“Okay. Until then, you work with Nickel and organize sweeps. I’ve called in the prospects. We’ll set them up on the perimeter, cordon off the search grid.” Heavy’s in his element. He fuckin’ loves logistics.

He carries on, arguing with Grinder about who should pay a visit to the sweetbutts to see if they have a houseguest.

---