Page 18 of Pink Poison

The man in question gags, triggering both Del and me to look at him in disgust. “R-Right. Excuse me,” he groans while climbing over the booth. His lanky legs shake as he runs toward the garbage can next to the bar.

“Jesus.” I laugh.

“Must have been some misunderstanding, huh?” Del muses, crossing her arms over her chest.

A flash of color catches my attention, drawing me to her arm. Intricately designed dahlias, colored in a vivid watercolor style decorate the majority of her skin. It’s a work of damn art, that’s for sure. “Sick ink, Del.”

She nods in agreement while rotating her arm for me to get a better look. “Hurt like a bitch, but it was worth it.”

“Badass Del.” I laugh. “Hope you like nicknames, ‘cause that’s stickin’ with the club if I have anything to say about it.”

“Fantastic,” she drawls. I chuckle at her sarcastic tone as she strides towards Darien, whose head remains planted firmly inside the trash bin. “Quit puking by the bar. Use the toilet like a civilized human.”

Darien groans, waving his hand in acknowledgment before pulling himself out. He stumbles over his feet, nearly landing head first on the corner of the bar.Jesus.“Come on, Darien. We’ll take the rest of our meeting outside,” I chide, slapping the man’s back in a faux friendly nature.

His body tenses under my hand briefly before he summons what I’m sure he thinks is courage. We walk towards the bar door, my hand still on his back, ready to pull him if he tries to take off running. “P-Please, I just need to make the c-call,” he whimpers as we walk through the propped open door.

“You act like I’m gonna off you or something, Darien.” I push him forward, hard enough to make him stumble again. “Make the call. Just know that if you try to run, I will hunt you down.”

Another wet gag escapes him while he fumbles around his pockets for his phone. Crossing my arms, I hear the beeping sound of dialing numbers before an automatically recorded voice relays the menu options. I listen to him choose his selection, opting to transfer the funds directly.Smart choice.

Kicking my boot against the dirty asphalt, I wait until I hear the confirmation that the transfer has gone through. Darien slowly turns, his face ashen to the point I’m convinced he’s a fucking ghost. He gasps, his words a wheeze between breaths. “It’s d-done.”

“Damn, Darien. You don’t look so good, buddy,” I mock. “You should probably get outta here before you pass out.”

He mumbles something under his breath before stumbling towards his car. The poor idiot doesn’t know that he was slipped anything tonight per Mack’s doing, or that I’ve rigged his souped-up piece of shit to blow whether or not he crashes. Although, it would be ideal if he crashes. The less amount of attention on a hit, the better—but the MC will handle it either way. Backing away from the entrance of Memento, I take my time getting to my bike, ensuring that Mr. Crawford at least attempts to leave the parking lot before I head back to The Deli.

A roaring engine startles me, sending a wave of adrenaline through my heart. I focus on the blacked-out vehicle as it jerks from the parking space before speeding out of the lot. Biting my bottom lip, I fight to keep my reaction under control before slapping on my helmet. My fingers turn the small silver key in the ignition, firing up my Electra quickly. I twist the throttle twice, releasing a loud purr from the engine.

“‘Bouts time yous made it b-back, Kash,” Mack slurs, tripping over his feet towards me. “Yer ready to drink?”

Scrunching my nose, I waft my hand in front of my face. “Not tonight, brother. I’ve got some sleep to catch up on.”

He wobbles on his heels, nearly tipping backwards. “Fuckin’ buzzkill.”

“Sleep it off, Mack.” I pat his shoulder before walking away.

I head towards my bunk in the back of the clubhouse. A light shines from my room, alerting me that someone has been inside.Fuckers.I stomp down the hall and drive my shoulder into the door, slamming it open. Graves and Stone sit on my futon, eyes wide, like I caught them by surprise.

“Seriously, guys?” I toss the door shut behind me. “Give a man some warning. I thought one of the prospects was in here.”

Graves scrubs his palm down his face with a tired sigh. “We have to talk.”

His tone raises the hairs on my neck, followed by an uncomfortable twist in my gut. Something is wrong, or is about to go wrong. “What’s going on, Graves?”

He swallows harshly.Fuck.“We have another meeting tomorrow night. Some big wig wants to talk with us on behalf of Atticus Lennon.”

“Ho-ly shit,” I breathe. “This is huge, guys.”

I glance at Stone, who nods his head slowly. Atticus Lennon is a big fish in our little pond—the head of the whole operation we’ve been working to hunt down. Word on the street is he does more than just dabble in the sextrade. We’ve been biding our time with him, hoping he would slip and law enforcement would get involved.

A lot of good that did us.

“This meeting will be delicate, to say the least,” Stone gruffs. “It’ll just be us and Mack meeting at Memento.”

Rolling my neck, I relax as the muscles lose a fraction of their tension. “Good. I made nice with the bartender tonight while dealing with dipshit Darien.”

“Smart,” Graves grunts. “After we deal with this meeting, we need to figure out what to do with the blonde thorn in my side.”

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