Page 134 of Outlaws of Tulsa

Not just one.

Several motorcycles are headed my way.

A sense of dread washes over me. Not that I’m worried about my brother, but the other Royal Bastards make me nervous.

Why?

Because of her.

For months she’s slowly been getting under my skin. I’ve been trying my damnedest to stay away from her, not speak toher, and work as much as I fucking can. But at night, when she’s living in my space with me like a goddamn wife, it’s hard as hell not to be tempted by her.

And the thought of Filter or Dragon giving her grief doesn’t sit well with me.

No sooner than I think of him, Dragon’s newest bike, a chrome and black Harley Breakout, leads the fray with Katana close behind him. Next, Bizzy and Gibson roll in with Bermuda bringing in the rear. I check my phone for missed calls, but I have nothing. My brother could have fucking warned me he was sending his boys in to check up on me.

Leaving my front door open, I walk back inside to start the Keurig.

“Little storm, get your ass in your room,” I bark out, my tone sharp and commanding.

Stormy peeks around the corner, her blond hair messy from sleep and her blue eyes wide. “Who’s here?”

“The guys. Filter’s not here,” I assure her. “But it’d be best if you’d make yourself scarce.”

Her brow deepens with a frown, but surprisingly, she obeys. Relief floods through me when I hear the bedroom door shut. Moments later, heavy thuds of boots on my hardwoods can be heard as the guys enter the house.

“Dude,” Bizzy says, his loud-ass voice echoing off the walls. “Did you get any damage? A tornado blew through Sand Springs.”

I finish fixing up my coffee and turn to face the men crowding my kitchen. They’re a motley crew. Bizzy is goofy as hell with a cheesy grin on his chubby, bearded face. His belly strains against the fabric of his black T-shirt under his leather cut. Gibson’s eyes are searching in a curious way as though he hopes to catch a peek of Stormy. Dragon in all his psycho-supermodel glory smirks, his green eyes flashing with hidden agendas. Katana isstoic and tense beside him while Bermuda looks as though he’s being punished by being forced to come here.

“How’s the compound?” I ask, sipping my coffee.

“A few trees got pulled up,” Gibson says, “but the clubhouse is still standing.”

The guys recently started on construction for the clubhouse site next to the main house. With Koyn’s kid coming and him wanting to grow the club, he decided some changes needed to happen. For one, he couldn’t move more bikers into his house. It’s full enough as it is. Hopefully by the end of the year they’ll have the clubhouse built.

“What’s up? I know you shitheads didn’t miss my pretty face,” I grunt out, locking eyes with Dragon, who’s clearly leading this outfit.

“Something’s up with Prez,” Dragon says, cocking his head to the side as he studies me in that unnerving way of his. Dragon knows there’s someone hiding within their ranks, which means he’s taunting me by putting me on the spot in front of the guys who don’t know. “Being secretive and shit. You know anything about that?”

Yeah, asshole, he’s looking into each and every one of you. You should be pissing your pants if you’re hiding something from him.

I roll my eyes and feign innocence. “Since PG can’t have her period, I’m guessing Koyn’s having his.” I shrug. “If there was something wrong, he’d tell me. I’m his brother.”

“Maybe think on it and let us know.” Dragon keeps his emerald eyes locked on me. “You gonna make us some breakfast or what?”

Bermuda lifts his chin. “I’ll help.”

Bizzy, Gibson, Katana, and Dragon head back outside to smoke and fuck around with the dogs while Bermuda and I set to pulling out shit to cook for these beasts. I’m on edge with Stormyhanging out in the other room. Surely she knows she better stay her ass out of the way, especially if she hears Dragon’s voice.

“Koyn says you still have her,” Bermuda mutters as he preps the frying pan to make bacon. “Chained to the bed or some shit.”

It’s been five months since my brother dropped in to physically check on the situation. Since, I’ve kept him updated that she’s still my little captive, doing my best not to show any sort of emotion that might have him wanting to take things in his own hands.

I can handle my own shit.

“I don’t always keep her chained up,” I grumble, irritated at his accusatory tone. “It’s Stormy, for fuck’s sake. You think she’d settle for being locked up twenty-four-seven?”

He chuckles. “Nah, I bet she’d have something to say about that.”

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