Page 42 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

“I mean, come on, I’m not going to just air out all my dirty laundry to you. You have to tell me something about yourself first!”

He laughs, finding this all rather amusing.

“You’re an expert at trying to take the focus off you. I’ve got some bad news for you, darling. We’re all fucking watching you. We’ll find out what’s going on sooner or later. We always do.”

With that he stalks off like he didn’t just flip my entire world upside down. That motherfucker. All of them, tiptoeing around the inevitable truth that I’m lying, leading me with bread crumbs in case I slip up.

Before he exits, he stops.

“And, Izzy, if I were you. I wouldn’t be sniffing around for things that I don’t fully understand. You might not like what you find.”

The door shuts behind him. Another warning. Another threat.

10

TANK

Isit back, arms folded, as Hawk runs the meeting with the kind of iron-clad authority that reminds everyone here why he's President. He stands at the head of the long, battered wooden table that's seen more cuts and scrapes than most of the guys in this room. The garage is thick with the smell of oil and sweat.

It’s hard to focus on anything. Even while the boss is talking.

I’m still fucking hard as a rock after that ride with Izzy.

Her ass looks too good in those tight black pants and little flannel she’s walking around in. And I’m damn sure she’s clueless to what she’s doing to us. I clench my jaw.

God. I need to get this meeting over with.

“The Dead Demons are sniffing around the edges of our territory again. We've spotted their colors just outside town three times this week." Hawk’s jaw is set, his blue eyes like chips of ice. No need to say he's pissed; you can read it in the hard set of his shoulders, the way his hand is clenched around a beer bottle like he might crush it.

Murmurs ripple through the room. The Dead Demons are bad news—always have been. They push, we push back. It's an old dance, familiar steps.

Izzy claims to have ties with them, but we all see through her flimsily lie clear as day. She’s a good girl. Too sweet to be found in a wretched underworld along with guys like us, and it only makes me wonder what the hell she’s after.

Hawk thinks she’s a fed, but I’ve dealt with those bastards my whole life—Izzy ain’t one of them.

She’s upstairs right now, feet away. Maybe in the shower. Water slides down her skin, gathering in the hollows of her collarbones like dewdrops on a rose, and I can't help but imagine my hands tracing the same path down. Down to between her legs, where I know she’s wet and ready.

“Tank!” Hawk bellows, bringing me back to the present with a jolt. “Earth to Tank! You got a death wish, or you just hard for one?”

“Present, Boss.”

Fuck me. I’m too busy wondering what Izzy’s cunt tastes like. I’d let her sit on my face and eat my way to her heart all day.

They’re all waiting for me to say something, add to the conversation. Vance is holding back a laugh because he knows what’s going on.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Do we know what they're after?" I ask, keeping my voice level. It's a legitimate question. “Are they just testing the waters, or is there something specific they want in our backyard?”

There, I saved fucking face.

“Not yet. Could be they're expanding, or maybe they're after something specific. We need to keep our eyes open, see what they're poking around for." Hawk pauses, scanning the room, making eye contact with each of us in turn. "I don't need to tell you but stay sharp. I want patrols doubled and everyone checking in more often. No one rides alone until we sort this out."

“Screw 'em. They don't have the balls to take us head-on," Mace growls somewhere from the back, and a few heads nod, the mood shifting from tense to a more aggressive readiness. But Hawk doesn't smile, doesn't join in the bravado.

"They don't have to take us head-on," he says, his voice low but carrying. "They just have to be a big enough pain in the ass that we make mistakes. And I'm not about to give them that satisfaction."

He's right. The Dead Demons play dirty, and it's not about courage; it's about chaos.

Hawk sets down his bottle with a clink that sounds like a gavel. "Meeting adjourned. Keep your heads on a swivel, and report back anything, no matter how small it seems."

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