Page 29 of Property of Tacoma
He’s the VP and one of the Saints’ important business associates.
And unfortunately, I put him on his ass.
And put a gun to his head.
Not good. Not good at all.
I blame Mason for that, of course. My brother should have given Tacoma and the Kings a heads-up that I’m a woman, lord knows he never lets me forget it.
You need to find a new line of work, Cali. It’s too dangerous, Foxy. You’re a woman in a man’s world, little sister. Blah, blah, blah.
It’s not like I don’t know I have a vagina.
Not that what’s between my legs should matter.
I can take care of my damn self.
Hence, me being out here in the blinding sun, looking for Tacoma’s brother so I can make peace.
Lifting my hand to shield my eyes, I look down one side of the street for the pissy man. I see a woman and her kid walking into the bakery on the other side of the road, and a man in board shorts and an awful Hawaiian button-up is coming out of Paradise Pawn.
Sighing, I drop my hand. Where did the big jerk go?
My eyes drift to the parking lot. His bike is still parked beside mine. How did I miss him peeling off somewhere?
Heat floods my cheeks as my fingers unconsciously rise to touch my lips where Tacoma kissed me.
Oh yeah.
That’s how I missed it.
Damn, that man can kiss. He owned my mouth like his life depended on it, like he’d been stranded out in the desert for a hundred days and he’d finally made it to water.
I’m pretty sure my toes curled when his lips touched mine.
I thought that stuff only happened in the romance books I keep hidden in my RV.
I’ve never felt anything like it, not with Zane, not with anyone.
“Fuck you!”
My head snaps around at the sound of raised voices coming from the side of the building.
What the heck?
Then I hear the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh—that sickening thud that anyone who’s grown up in MC life knows all too well.
My heart is racing as I dash around the side of the building, my hand instinctively going for the gun at my thigh. I come to a sudden stop when I turn the corner.
What. The. Absolute. Fuck?
Two men have Bane’s arms locked behind his back, while a third—a mountain of a man—delivers a savage punch to his face. Bane’s head snaps to the side, sending a spray of blood flying with the force.
The men holding Bane are wearing Sinners cuts. The one on the left has a shaved head decorated with tattoos. With every blow to his captive, his face lights up. He’s enjoying this—a lot.
The other guy is taller with shaggy, dirty-blonde hair and a thick scar on the side of his face. He seems indifferent to the beating his buddy is dishing out.
But it’s the third man who makes my blood run cold.
