Page 73 of Riot

Riley straightens, bringing me out of my thoughts, and I follow his line of sight as a vehicle appears on the up-ramp.

Showtime.

Blade and King walk over to us as the car stops close to where we’re standing.

“Let me lead this,” Blade says, stepping forward.

Every instinct inside me wants to push back, but I keep quiet. Nicky told me to watch, to be his eyes and ears, and that’s what I’ll do. Besides, it’ll look odd if I try to take control. That ain’t the role I usually play in these situations.

I glance toward Riley and catch a flicker of darkness in his eyes. It lasts barely a second, but it tells me everything. Maybe he doesn’t like Blade either, or he’s just smart enough to keep his guard up.

I hope that means he’ll have my back if things go to hell.

I hold my breath as the back doors open and two men climb out of the car. They’re in their forties and dressed casually, as if they just rolled out of the pub. The guy on the left has dark hair that’s a little too long, and the other has a shaved head that reflects the florescent lights.

The cocky swaggers and the way their gazes rove over us sets my teeth on edge. They don’t think we’re a threat. Has this shit already started? Are we so far down the road that there’s no turning back?

Blade steps forwards, a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes.

He might be in Crank’s back pocket, but at least he remembers what respect looks like.

Is he offended too?

“Gentlemen,” he says, “it’s good of you to show.”

The barbed words have the two fuckers exchanging glances. “Traffic was a fuckin’ nightmare,” shaved-head guy says.

“Another few minutes and we’d have left.”

“Good thing we weren’t another few minutes then, ain’t it?” the other fucker says.

King growls a curse under his breath, and the tension is thick as shaved-head guy bounces his attention back to Blade. His glance lasts an awkwardly long moment, and I prepare to jump between him and the brother. I might not like Blade, but as long as he wears the patch, I’ll defend that and, by association, him.

“Where’s your President or VP?” shaved-head guy asks.

“Busy,” King responds with a bite.

The clear disrespect has the guy pulling his lips back into a feral smile that creates tension in the air.

“They don’t come on this kind of job,” Blade says. “Let’s get this done.”

He moves to the back of the van, his eyes meeting mine for a beat before he opens the doors.

I keep my stance casual, as if I’m not bothered by what is going on, but I see and watch every little interaction between Blade and the men.

Blade and King help them carry the two small crates of guns over to the back of their car, and when they’re done, King wanders back over.

“That shit was easy,” he says, moving to the back doors and closing them.

The shaved-head guy suddenly steps into Blade’s space, his lips pulled back into a snarl. I can’t hear the words exchanged between them, the reverberations of their voices around the space making things unclear, but I push off the van at the same time as Riley.

“You had to fuckin’ say that, didn’t you?” I groan, and when the guy grabs the front of Blade’s kutte, I move.

“Shit,” King mutters from behind me, but I’m between the prick and Blade before he catches me up.

I shove him back, defending a brother I can’t stand and who I think is betraying our club.

If I let this fucker put hands on one of our brothers, it tells the world we are not a united front, that we are not a force to be reckoned with, and that can’t happen.

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