Page 96 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“I’ll take the lead on this one,” I tell the guys. “Diesel, you’ll be our last resort. I’ll try reasoning with the guy first.”

“Your last resort,” he scoffs. “Aren’t you dramatic.”

“The only thing dramatic about us is the impact of your fists,” I shoot back. “We might need that. Take it as a compliment, brother.”

Knox chuckles lightly and motions for me to go ahead. “By all means, lead the way, Jag.”

Patches is busy looking under the hood of an old Mustang—a vintage model most likely from the late sixties, dark blue with two white stripes running along the top.

“Oh, damn, she’s a beauty,” I exclaim upon reaching him.

He straightens his back and gives me a brief look. I respond with a cool grin, and for a split second, Patches doesn’t recognize me. When he does, however, I see the shift in his brown eyes and the speed with which his hand reaches for the gun holstered underneath his sweater.

“Don’t be stupid,” I add, patting the gun on my belt. “I’m a quicker draw than you, and you know it.”

Patches remains still and quiet for a good minute. Beside me, Knox and Diesel patiently wait while I analyze the bastard from head to toe. I remember seeing him around Marlo in the past, though I never really paid much attention to most of her goons.

“What do you want?” he finally asks, his shoulders slumping. He knows we’re not going anywhere, and he’s no longer under the Hugheses protection either, otherwise, he would’ve been aggressive.

“We need to talk,” I say.

“Then talk.”

“I mean, we need to ask you some questions, and you need to answer them,” I reply.

“I got nothing to say to you or any other Rider. I’m out of the Hughes family as you can see,” he says. “I don’t know anything.”

I give him a wry smile. “I’m more interested in what you saw and what you know up to the moment you left Marlo. We’ve got the present covered.”

“Do you? Have it covered, I mean?” he scoffs, a bitter smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he wipes the grease from his huge hands with a dirty rag. “Last I heard, Marlo had her boot up your asses.”

“You got laid off,” I say, cutting right to the chase. “I thought you and Marlo were the ‘forever couple,’ yet here you are, working for peanuts at a chop shop in Oregon’s sphincter. What gives, Patches? What happened?”

“That’s my business, not yours.”

“I’m interested. We’re interested.”

“You’ve got nothing to give me that might make me want to tell you anything. Don’t you know that’s how the world works? You give and you get.”

Diesel clears his throat. “Do you want me to step in now?” he asks me in a calm tone, “or do you want me to give you until dinner?”

Patches’s attitude changes subtly. There’s tension in his shoulders. I need to take advantage of this.

“You remember me,” I tell him. “And if you remember me, surely you remember Diesel here too, right?” He doesn’t answer, so I drive my point home. “Then you know what he’s capable of. Given the shitstorm we’re in the middle of right now, we don’t care about whose bones we have to break in order to protect what we’ve worked so hard to build. So let me present you with you two options. One: You talk to me willingly. Two: You talk to me after Diesel is done with you. What’s it going to be?”

He thinks about it for a few moments, then sets the rag aside and turns to face us. “Marlo let me go. After twelve years, she told me my services were no longer needed. More than a decade spent taking care of her, watching her back, protecting her from every Tom, Dick, and Harry who foolishly thought they could muscle their way into her territory.”

“Tom, Dick, and Harry would’ve failed anyway,” I reply. “The Rogue Riders have been keeping Redwood clean and happy for a long time.”

He sighs deeply. “But not anymore, huh?”

“Tell us about Marlo and Calvin. What are they up to?”

“That piece of shit,” Patches hisses. “A snake in the grass.”

“How so?”

“Like you don’t know him. Wasn’t he one of yours?”

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