Page 10 of Maverick

My road name nowadays was Maverick, which felt ironic as hell, considering I was once a law-abiding detective named August Adam Hart. But “Maverick” fit better than “Hallow,” which was the name I had carried back in Nashville during mystint with the Royal Bastards MC, when I met Kingpin. And it sure as shit felt better than “detective.” That label left a sour taste in my mouth now, like I’d swallowed a mouthful of burnt coffee grounds. I’d left that world of law and order far behind.

“Hey, kid,” growled Merc, the old-timer behind the bar. His potbelly hung over a thick leather belt with a tarnished buckle. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that read:Velvet Rooster - Love It or Leave It. That was his favorite line. The man was consistent. I’d give him that. “You look like you’re fixin’ to start trouble. You want a beer first?”

I slid onto a battered stool by the bar. “Merc, I’m not akidanymore. It’s ‘Maverick’ now,” I said, tapping the splintered wood with my knuckles. “And yeah, I’ll take a beer.” I could pretend to be calm. Hell, maybe I was for about two seconds.

“Sure thing, Maverick,” he muttered, emphasizing my name in a way that said he’d always see me as Hallow or that pig from Columbus, didn’t matter. He slid a bottle down the counter. A swirl of foam sloshed at the top. I took a swig, ignoring the bitterness. Beer wasn’t my top choice anymore, but I needed the cold bite of it. Needed the distraction.

Over Merc’s shoulder, I spotted Kingpin sitting in a dark corner booth, leaning back like he owned the entire joint, which wasn’t far from the truth. He had a presence that spoke of years in the MC world, of deals cut in back alleys and bodies left behind in shallow graves.

He had slicked back his long black hair, a thick beard covered half his face, and his silver ear piercings caught the red lights. He folded his arms across his broad, black leather-clad chest. The silver rings on his knuckles glinted ominously, and I remembered too well the damage they could do.

I took another lengthy sip from the long neck, bracing myself for what was coming. Even after all this time, Kingpin looking at me with those cold, half-lidded eyes ignited something twisted inside. Loathing. Shame. Regret. Most of all, I felt the old fury, that unstoppable wave of anger that’d led me to steal his wife, Sky, once upon a fucked-up time.

Yeah, we had some baggage. My ex-fiancée, Eve, had cheated on me with him. But he’d also been married to Sky at that same time. And Sky… She’s the one I kidnapped after I found out. Well, not really. She wanted to leave Kingpin, or so she said. I gave her the chance, so we took off. Then he had the nerve to marry Eve. The bastard turned around, gave Sky and me new identities, and left us the fuck alone until recently. Until Sky left me.

I slid off the barstool, my boots scraping over the sticky floor. In the bar's mirrorlike reflection, I glimpsed the man I’d become, hair longer than it used to be, scars visible on my neck and arms, remnants of close calls on the road, fights I’d barely won. My Road Monsters MC cut felt light on my shoulders. Though it reminded me I wasn’t just drifting without purpose. No, I had a purpose, even if it was just to survive.

Merc ambled around to the far side of the bar. “You two try not to kill each other in my place, all right?” he grumbled, jerking his chin in Kingpin’s direction.

Before I could respond, Kingpin raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Immediately, the straggling customers finished their drinks or poured them out and left. It was like a silent alarm had gone off. Hell, maybe it had. People in the Velvet Rooster knew better than to stick around when men like us had business. Merc locked the front door behind the last body and flipped the “Closed” sign.

All at once, the music felt louder in the emptier room, but Kingpin got up and snapped off the jukebox. That bar was dead quiet, apart from the neon lights and noisy vents. I walked forward, ignoring the flutter in my gut. My heart beat fast, but I wasn't scared. It hammered from hating. Out of anger. From a past that just wouldn’t let me fucking go.

Kingpin waited until I was close. I could see the black swirling tattoos creeping up his neck. He smirked, flashing that evil grin of his. “Hallow,” he said. He knew damn well that wasn’t my name anymore.

“It’s Maverick,” I corrected, tossing my half-empty beer bottle on a nearby table. “You called me out here, so let’s hear it.”

He just shook his head and let out a low, mocking laugh. “Maverick, Hallow, Pig, whatever you call yourself these days. Why the hell do you always come back for more?” He stepped forward. I noticed he had an old scar across his forehead. I’d put that there once. He’d never let me forget it.

I curled my fists, that old detective instinct telling me to stay measured, watch his hands, his eyes. “I’m here because you told me you had intel about Sky. You had said she was kidnapped. We found out that was bullshit, remember? She went back to that asshole Ralph Getty on her own.”

“Don’t you mean you ran?”

“I’ve checked into it. She’s with him, alright.”

“Aw, the big bad ex-cop has done his investigating,” he taunted. “Turns out you can’t let that uniform go, can you? Always snooping. It’s the only good skill you ever had. That, and running away.”

He wasn’t just talking about me looking into Sky. I knew his secret. Once I let that cat out of the bag, I was sure he’d want to have a talk.

He took a step toward me. “You ran from Columbus when your partner shot that kid. You ran from Charleston when the MC had you pinned for trouble. And you ran from me in Nashville.” He jabbed a finger in my face. “You always fucking run, Pig.”

I wanted to punch him right then, but I held back, barely. My entire life had been a chain of escapes and hearing him rub it in my face made my blood boil. But it was also painfully true. “Fuck you,” I muttered. “I don’t owe you any explanation.”

“Nah, you owe me a hell of a lot, boy,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You stole my wife, remember? Kidnapped her, took the child that wasn’t even mine, then ran off to Alaska and lived under the radar. I gave you those new IDs.”

I had to grit my teeth, because it was all true. “Sky wanted to leave you. I did what she asked. I took her away from your bullshit. She was under my protection. And yeah, you helped with new names, but I didn’t realize I was walking right back under your thumb. Road Monsters MC, you running the top, playing the fucking puppet master. I guess you always find a way to screw me over.”

His lip curled. “If I wanted to screw you over, you’d be six feet under by now. Let’s not forget that. You’re still breathing because I have bigger fish to fry.”

“Fish,” I repeated with a sneer. “That’s your name too, right? Ace of Spades. The big Fish. The grand puppet master pulling all the strings in the Road Monsters MC. Kingpin, I know who you are. I know the shit you’re into. I could out you in a second.”

He let out a short, barking laugh, stepping closer until we were practically chest to chest. I could smell the bourbon on his breath. “You think I don’t know that, Pig? Go ahead. See how far you get before someone puts a bullet in your skull. There are four Aces in the Road Monsters MC. You really think you can tangle with us all, all alone?”

I’d be lying if I said the threat didn’t rattle me. Once upon a time, I'd been some hotshot detective who believed in justice and righting wrongs. That was a lifetime ago. Now, I was just a man stuck between outlaws, criminals, and regrets. “I’ll take my chances,” I growled.

He stared hard, measuring me. The tension was thick enough to choke on. My muscles coiled, every inch ready for the fight I knew was coming. Because Kingpin and I were never going to have a peaceful conversation. We were two dogs in a cage, neither willing to back down. It was a good thing we left our weapons at the door.

He smirked. “Yeah, you always do.” A quick flash of movement was my only warning before his fist slammed into my jaw.

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