Page 242 of Hate Mates

“Keep playing along. Safety is off, and there’s one in the chamber. If things go bad, don’t hesitate to use this on them and put a bullet in each of their fucking heads.”

Emilia

Bile crawls up my throat, threatening to make me wretch on the old, worn, sticky floor ofSmitty’sback room as soon as we step inside it.

The three men immediately turn to face us, and the one in the middle, who appears to be the leader of the little crew, crosses his tattooed arms over his barrel chest. I don’t miss the flash of a gun grip at his hip as his jacket shifts or the matching bulges in the same place on each of his “friends.”

Who the fuck are these guys?

And what thehellis Will doing with them?

Even with all the weirdness that’s existed between us the last year and a half—avoiding each other, glaring at each other from across the room, when we’re forced to be there together, each ofus wearing our disdain clearly on our faces—I never would have expected anything like whatever the fuckthisis.

He isn’t a criminal, and these dudes are very much giving off “we belong in the pen for ten to twenty or more” vibes.

Will closes the door behind us, then urges me to stand at his back, seemingly both to put himself between me and the three men and to offer me easier access to the gun.

We both know I’ve always been a better shot than him, so it makes sense he’d want me to be able to grab it if I need to…which doesn’t bode well for the future of this meeting.

I swallow thickly, forcing the acid down while simultaneously trying to maintain my coolandget a read on the three men in front of us the way Dad trained me to in these types of situations.

Determined.

Strong.

Dangerous.

A familiar tattoo bulges on the main guy’s bicep.

Shit…

When the local MC shows up, it’s never good news, and Will knows better than to get involved with them. The Will IthoughtI knew never would.

But I guess he hasn’t been that person for a while now…

What the fuck is he doing?

The man, who appears to be their leader, raises a black brow at Will. “Do you have it?”

What the hell isit?

Will crosses his arms over his chest, feet planted wide. He’s already bigger than those three—both in height and build—but I don’t miss the way he tries to make himself appear even more intimidating. “Not yet, Rocky. Have some patience.”

The guy snarls at him, and I flinch.

“Patience?” The man, apparently named “Rocky,” sneers. “I have been waiting a week, and every day, you’ve told me tocome back ‘tomorrow.’ What the fuck is going on, Pike? Are you fucking with me?”

Will shakes his head slowly, remaining completely calm, despite the obvious tension and threat in the air. “No, Mother Nature is. You want me to drive my boat out to the middle of Lake Michigan to meet that fucking freighter and pick up your shipment—I can’t do it when the weather is like this.”

Shipment?

What the hell are they talking about?

I have to bite my tongue more than metaphorically to keep from asking just that. Something tells me these men wouldn’t appreciate me digging for information when I’m clearly only here so Rocky will have a way to get to Dad should he need his help.

Rocky’s dark brows furrow. “When the weather is likewhat?”

Will snorts. “You don’t know shit about being on the water. Why don’t you leave it to the fucking professionals? As soon as the waves stop being big enough to flip overNeptune’s Granddaughter, I’ll go meet the fucking boat and get you the shipment. Until then, you have to sit tight. So come back tomorrow.”

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