Page 88 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“Thirty-two?! Damn, Stormy, you’re old enough to be my mom!”

She slaps my shoulder. “Bitch!”

We both giggle. The door we’re standing in front of flings open. Both of us snap our heads to meet the amused face of Bermuda.

“Can you take the slumber party elsewhere? You’re distracting as hell,” Bermuda says, his brow lifted and a familiar smile tugging at his lips. He was so cold, but right now he seems more like himself. It warms me to my soul.

“Actually,” Koyn calls out from the room, “Hadley can come in. Bermuda, take Stormy and cook us some fuckin’ grub.”

Bermuda does a playful salute and then escorts Stormy away. As soon as they walk off, I close the door behind me, eyeing each of the men sitting at the conference table.

Intense.

Brutish.

Mean.

All of them stare at me with accusation in their eyes. As though I’m enemy number one. I shuffle on my feet, shooting Koyn a questioning look. Where the others look angry, his eyes are alight with madness. A predator about to kill. He seems victorious as though he’s conquered something big.

He has me.

Little ol’ me.

Daughter of billionaire Marron Genworth.

Okay, so maybe not so little.

“How are you feeling?” Koyn asks, his voice even. Curious. Surprisingly caring.

“Fine. Should I, uh, sit?”

Koyn’s face morphs into a wolfish grin as he pushes back slightly from the table and pats his lap. “Here.”

Ignoring the stares of the other bikers, I saunter over to Koyn as though I’m prancing across a pageant stage, vying for the number one spot. In this competition, I am. I know these bikers are brotherhood above all else. I need to somehow take the throne above brotherhood. As I pass Dragon, I fear he’ll snatch me or stab me or do some other crazy ass thing, but all he does is chuckle under his breath.

These men wear leather cuts. Some have beards. Most have tattoos. Each has a weapon within reach. They give off the dirty MC gang vibe, but intelligence gleams in each pair of eyes, even Bizzy’s. They’re smart and loyal and rich. I’m not sure how Koyn created this band of brothers, but he did it with precision. Each man here is a reflection of the man at the head of the table—brilliant, calculating, hard. They’re obviously a team—a force to be reckoned with. And though I’m technically their prisoner, I’m rooting for their team.

Because the other team…the other team is scary.

Magna and my dad have always made for a wicked team. My dad is rich and has connections, therefore he gets Magna to hop around on his feet, trying to get the carrot he dangles. When not dazzled by Dad’s ungodly amount of dollars, Magna is on his own team. Hell-bent on creating the best world he can for himself. It was never about his son or his old MC or my father. It was all about Magna.

With Dad’s money and power coupled with Magna’s brutality, I wonder if Koyn and the other Royal Bastards will even stand a chance against them.

“You going to stare all night or come sit in my lap?” Koyn asks lowly, his dark eyes pinning me in place.

I suck in a deep breath, lift my chin, and strut the rest of the way toward him. My heart is racing in my chest, but I try not to seem affected by him or his men. Plopping down on his thigh, I try not to wince at my sore asshole.

“What now?” I demand, feigning irritation at having to be at a boring meeting.

Koyn splays a possessive hand on my stomach and pulls me back against his chest. “We were just discussing how poor your father grows by the second.”

“Poor?”

Koyn leans forward and hits a button on his laptop. I stare in fascination at my dad’s online banking. All the accounts are down to zero aside from his checking account, which has five hundred bucks in it.

“You missed some,” I mutter.

Koyn laughs. “I had to leave him some gas money for the trip up here.”

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