Page 51 of Kaz
Kaz was out of his chair the next second, following Kian down the stairs two steps at a time. Walking out of the garage, his gaze found his brothers and sisters waiting by their bikes, some already seated on their bikes.
He headed across the courtyard, the slam of a door stopping him in his tracks. He jerked his head toward the front door of the clubhouse, seeing Emma and Miles talking as they walked down the steps. Emma’s face was pinched as she spoke low to her brother, who threw his hands up in frustration, his gaze moving across the bikers until it landed on Kaz.
Miles’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he took off toward Kaz. He straightened, steeling himself for Miles’s endless questions.
“Why the hell is everyone armed to the teeth?” Miles demanded, stopping barely a few inches from Kaz, his eyes a blazing inferno as he stared hard at Kaz.
“’Cause we got shit to do, Miles.”
“Are you seriously not going to tell me?” Miles snapped, his cheeks reddening more with each word. “You’re gonna put my sister in danger, and you won’t even tell me why?”
Kaz clenched his jaw tight to hold back the words he knew he’d regret saying.
“We can talk later,” he hissed under his breath. They needed to go, and he couldn’t let Miles be the reason they got there too late.
“You’re assuming I’ll still be here,” Miles said, his voice deceptively calm.
He didn’t give Miles the chance to walk away. He grabbed a fistful of his shirt and jerked the man against him, forcing Miles to tilt his head back to meet his gaze.
“Oh, you’ll be here, Sweetheart,” he drawled, one hand snaking down to grasp Miles’s hip, jerking the man against his body.
Miles hissed. “Fucker.”
Kaz grinned at him, then pressed a quick kiss to Miles’s lips. Miles followed when he pulled back, and he gladly kissed him again, tongue swiping along Miles’s bottom lip.
Miles groaned and pushed closer, but Kaz reluctantly stepped back.
“I have to go.”
Miles opened his mouth, but Kaz silenced him with a hard kiss before turning and heading across the parking lot to his bike. Solo was holding his helmet toward him, and he took it with a nod of thanks.
He pulled the helmet over his head and secured the chinstrap, then put his gloves on, and just before he took off, he glanced toward the house, gaze catching on the man standing on the front porch watching. The anger burning in those golden eyes made him hesitate, but then Miles touched his fingers to his lips, and the anger was replaced by something softer. Something warmer. At least for a moment, but that was all he needed before he drove away.
∞ ∞ ∞
He sat on his bike, waiting. His jaw was clenched, and his gloved hands were squeezing the handlebars so hard the leather creaked. Something in his gut told him this was wrong. It didn’t feel right.
“How certain are you?” he asked. Their comms were open to everyone, but they all knew who he was talking to.
“Not at all,” Killian muttered. “You think they might’ve caught on?”
Killian had been asking around about the gang, and a source told him about the shipment arriving soon at the import/export company they used as a front for their trafficking. The building was surrounded by residential areas, so any action they took could cost them.
They’d pulled into a small park just a mile away because it provided some cover and would work well as a base for this operation.
“Let’s treat it like they have.”
He pushed his visor up when he noticed Kian approaching on foot, his helmet off and his phone in hand. His lips were set in a firm line, and he wasn’t surprised at the man’s words.
“Dante’s not here. He’s in Baltimore.”
That horrible feeling in his gut? It doubled.
“It’s a trap.”
He was certain of that. If not, Dante would’ve been here to receive his ‘shipment,’ which told him that the truck was either empty or filled with gunmen waiting to take them out.
“What if it’s not?” Wilder asked, his voice steady, though one look toward the man showed he was tapping his thigh, a thing he often did when he was contemplating something. “What if therearepeople in that truck?”
