Page 52 of Target

“No, VP, not linked to this anyway. Just that Valarie has been seen having heated words with her close friend, but I don’t think it is linked,” he expresses.

“You know this friend?”

“Yeah, Stevie. They were tight in high school. I am not sure about now, though.”

“Okay, you hear anything you let me or Pres know.” He nods to me in understanding.

“Let’s get this shit over with. I need a fucking drink and some pussy,” Racer bitches.

He has been grumpier than usual lately; I need to corner him and find out why.

I would say we need to find him a woman who can chill his ass out but we know how he feels about taking an Ol’ Lady. He has said a few times that it will never happen, but hey, never say never until you take your last breath.

We mount our bikes and I do so with Madalyn in mind. I still have not seen or heard from her and I can’t help but fucking think she has ghosted me. Peter says that she has been busy with work, taking on more contracts but a simple text would be greatly appreciated.

If I am being honest, Darian has not been around the club either, so maybe they are so busy that she can’t have a second to catch her breath, but fuck me, I miss her.

Never thought I would find a woman who I would miss this much. She has dug deep under my skin and has her claws in me, and I never want her to let me go.

Something about her calls to me, more than Ruth did. It is not nice to compare the women as they both mean a lot to me in different way, but what I felt for Ruth doesn’t even come close to what I feel for Madalyn.

The dive bar is that, a fucking dive: a dark old building, the neon sign has only half the working bulbs, and the music coming from inside is old rock, but not the good kind if you ask me. We dismount, needing to go inside and seek out the Deadly Dwellers, to find out their deal.

Pres pushes open the heavy door, and the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke hits me like a punch to the nostrils. Fuck me, this place is disgusting.

Women walk around wearing bikini bottoms, with their saggy old tits hanging out. It is like a dirty grannies Only Fans puked up in here.

The dim lighting hides the cracked walls, and sticky floor.

I do not want to fucking think about what I am walking in on.

The patrons barely glance up from their drinks. Racer takes the lead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the haze. I follow closely, scanning the room for any threats, my brothers doing the same. I know without looking because this is what the Rugged Skulls men do.

The Deadly Dwellers are sitting in the back booth, drinking, and laughing like a pack of hyenas.

Racer looks over his shoulder at me, we silently communicate, and I nod, letting him know that I have his back. Keeping close, my brothers at my back, I push down all thoughts of Mads until we leave, and then it is fucking on. She is mine.

As we get closer, one of the men lifts his head at seeing us approach. A sickly smirk spreads across his face, making me want to punch it in.

“Well, well, look who we have here, brothers. Racer, welcome. We have been expecting you.”

“You have me at an advantage, because you are clearly not important enough for me to know who the fuck you are.” Pres’ voice is deep, deadly, which makes the fucker’s eyes flicker but he recovers quickly.

He doesn’t like the fact that Pres is making out that he ain’t shit in our world. Fucker hates being a nobody.

Racer takes no shit from anyone, and now that he wears the president patch, he takes that very seriously as should all leaders. This fucker seems to think it is funny to disrespect our president.

Leaning back and showing a relaxed posture, he chuckles, before lighting up a cigarette, blowing smoke in Racer’s direction.

I take a step forward, inching closer and his steely gaze meets mine, a smirk sliding across his lips. The look he gives me is like an invitation to kick off and start a brawl, but Racer stops me.

The vibe I get from this cunt is a bad one, one that makes me want to put his head through the table and use his body as a footstool.

“I am the VP of the Deadly Dwellers, you may call me Crypt.”

“I will call you what I want, boy, but we will not play these silly childish games. What are you doing in Rugged Skulls MC territory, causing havoc on my streets with your racing and drugs?”

He looks to his brothers, who smirk and grin like they have no cares in the world. Bringing his gaze back to us, he grins.

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