Page 5 of The Vows We Keep
“Spicy Italian with a ton of vegetables.”
“Thank you.” I put my boots up on the table in front of me and take a massive bite.
“Did you hit him too hard?” she asks.
We both look at the man. He’s attractive. Dark hair flops forward over tanned skin and high cheekbones. It hides the gnarly looking scar that runs down the side of his face. No one mentioned King, the president of the Iron Outlaws, having such a scar. It gives me pause for a moment, but it must be him.
He has strong, broad shoulders and a firm ass that looks good in worn denim, both of which made it tough to wrangle him into the van.
But he holds the answers we need. And once he tells us, his life will be of no value to me.
“Possibly,” I mumble with a mouthful of sub. “It’s not like there’s an exact science behind pistol whipping someone. I wanted to make sure he went down.”
Neva hops on the bar stool by the kitchen counter. The leather is tattered, as if a dog chewed it up. “I hope we get to be creative in how we persuade him to talk to us.”
We are of the same mind. “I noticed you’d already laid down tarp. Thoughtful girl, but I’m not using knives. At least, not yet. We just need information.”
Neva licks mayo from her fingers. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Nope.” It’s true. I don’t. “But the club wasn’t giving me or Mamá the answers we needed. Papá rode north on business and never returned. It’s not enough to know he came here for the good of the club. And it’s not enough to know he was killed here, and the club had to leave the body behind. We need to know why, and this is the best option we have.”
“Maybe then, you’ll realize Los Reyes had nothing to do with your father’s death and we can go back to our lives.”
I sigh at her comment. I want to be like Neva. I want to believe the club I’ve called home is innocent of any wrongdoing. But I’m struggling to believe that whatever they ran into was so bad they left my father’s body behind. “I hope you’re right.”
“Are you sure this man is King?” Neva asks. “Because Perrito wouldn’t be seen dead without his cut.”
“Again, nope. All I had to go off was a verbal description. Tall. Black hair. Blue eyes. To get it, I had to sleep with Felipe again. Now he’s hinting at a permanent seat on the back of his bike.”
I think through the horny messages I’ve received since I’ve been gone. Ones that promise all kinds of sexual satisfaction I’ve not seen evidence he’s capable of delivering. But they’re still better than the drunken ones at three in the morning that promise a life of love and protection if I become his old lady.
Neva wrinkles her nose as if it’s cute. It’s the only thing we disagree on. She thinks we should each marry one of Perrito’s sons. “There are worse seats to ride on. I’ve seen him in gray sweats, and you know he prefers commando. His dick celebrates its size as it embraces its freedom.”
I can’t help but laugh. “As I embrace mine. I’m not made for the back of someone else’s bike when I’m perfectly happy on the front of my own.”
Neva almost chokes on a bite of food. “Last time you said he gave good oral.”
“I mean, he’s very generous with that mouth of his in bed. Plus, it’s the only time he’s quiet. But he’ll be dead within two years because he’ll also run that mouth of his off somewhere he shouldn’t. All it took was a blow job to figure out Papá came to visit the Iron Outlaws’ territory. Perrito would be appalled at how easy it is to get information out of his son.”
“I’m ... gonna kill ... you all,” the man tied to the chair says between grunts.
He takes two deep breathes, winces, then lifts his head. I can only imagine how badly his head aches.
I place my sub back on its napkin and wipe my fingers. “Calm yourself.” I move to crouch in front of him. “We need some answers. Whether or not you walk out of here or are carried out in pieces is wholly dependent on your answers.”
“Who the fuck are you?” He tries to fight against the rope tying his arms to the chair. The veins in his neck pop with effort.
“It doesn’t matter who I am.”
A line furrows between his brow. Then he blinks a few times. “You think I’m telling you shit, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“King,” I say.
He looks at me, does a double take, then looks confused for a moment.
“King. President of the Iron Outlaws. Right?”
“Wha—yeah. That’s me. And you are—?”
