Page 45 of Cutter

Swaying and holding the table for balance, Cutter made a big deal of sitting back up. Even the chair groaned under his weight while the Chaos group laughed at his expense, yet Chema’s distrusting gaze burned him. The man was a tough customer to convince.

“Dude!” Barron intervened. “Get you another beer?”

“No, man.” He wiped his forehead. “I can’t even sit. How am I going to ride home?”

“Stay the night,” JT offered. “There’s a cot in the back room.”

“Thanks, but no. I have to go before I’m totally wasted.”

“I’ll ride with you. We’ll go slow.” Barron grabbed his arm, pretending to help him stand, and Cutter went with it. He added a couple more sways for emphasis.

“Night, everyone,” he slurred. Nothing over the top. Exaggerations never worked.

“Be careful. Watch out for cops,” JT said.

Diesel chuckled. “Yeah, those bastards like to hide behind the vape store. Say hi to Blade. Tell him we missed him.”

“Will do.” Cutter staggered and headed for the exit, ostensibly with Barron’s help.

So far, so good. Chema was speaking to Rulo now. Hopefully, he’d lost interest in Cutter. But as they crossed the room and Barron reached for the handle of the front door, Nails slapped his hand against it.

“Where’s your friend?”

Squinting, Cutter leaned forward. “Who?” He lengthened the word to two syllables.

“You know. Your fucking buddy, with Darcy,” Nails growled.

“Fucking, I hope.” Cutter laughed as if that was the best joke of the night. But when Nails held his arm, he shook the guy off. “Hey! Don’t touch the merch.”

“You’re not that drunk,” Nails seethed. “Can’t shit a shitter. And you know where Darcy went. I’d tell Diesel, but I can’t prove my suspicions.”

“Get out of my face.” Barron shoved Nails in the chest. Wide-eyed, the guy stumbled a couple of steps.

With the exit cleared, Barron and Cutter shuffled out. Still in the act, he staggered to his bike. Johnny Gun’s bike was gone. By now, Darcy should be safe in the clubhouse while Blade was probably hurling every curse he knew at his sergeant-at-arms.

“We can’t split,” Barron said. “They’ll be following us. Going in different directions will give Nails more ammo.”

Cutter sighed. “Yeah. Since I’m the drunk fool, you’re spending the night at my place taking care of me.”

“Not like I haven’t done it before,” Barron said. “Your spare bedroom and I are good friends.”

“All right. Let’s get out of here.” He straddled his chopper.

“You lead, I follow,” Barron said. “And don’t break any speed records.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Slowly, he rode onto the street. As he turned on Pooler Parkway, headlights glinted on the side mirror. The tailing was back on.

Chapter Nine

Saturday mornings were supposed to be laid back and easy. According to her routine, Emily had slept in until nine. She’d brewed her first cup of coffee and was still wearing her favorite unicorn PJs when the doorbell rang, followed by three insistent pounds.

“Coming.” Careful not to slosh her coffee, Emily dashed, shouting at the impatient person. She peeked through the door’s magic eye and gasped, stepping back.

Cutter? Oh, crap. I’m not ready!

“Open the door, Emily.” Cutter spoke from the other side. His voice was an irresistible call to obey. Shyness and a touch of self-consciousness at her dressed, or better yet, undressed, condition stalled her.

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