Page 166 of Fortress of the Cursed

“I think what I have in mind might actually sweeten the deal, for everyone concerned.” Gunner laughs like he’d be doing this poor, unsuspecting chick a favor. “She might be a little bit more flexible about things when I’m done with her.”

I don’t know why I want to punch his face right now. Maybe it’s because I like her... or maybe it’s because someone should fuck up Gunner’s face just so he’ll give it a rest for a while. He can’t rely on personality alone; he needs his looks.

“Not with this girl,” I mutter.

All eyes fall on me.

“She’s too smart for you anyway, brother,” I add. “A woman like that won’t jump into bed with you or anybody, that I can guarantee. She’s too prim and proper, she’s a ball buster, and she ain’t gonna go down without a fight. I know her type. Anyone who quotes about the IRS and depreciation laws isn’t gonna be a walk over.”

“I’d like to see her prim and proper on the end of my…”

“Steel’s right,” Hutch cuts in before we all get an unwanted visual of what Gunner’s about to describe. “She’s not stupid, which is a shame because it would make life a hell of a lot easier. If she’s inherited Max’s pig-headedness this could be a long, drawn-out process.”

Groans roam around the table. He’s right.

“What’s the plan of attack?” Bones asks. “What’s the offer?”

“More than we should pay,” Hutch grumbles. “We’re better off ridin’ this out, getting the bank to foreclose, and moving in with a dirt-cheap offer. What she’s asking is more than fair in this current economic climate, but I don’t feel like playing fair right now. Max fucked with me for too long, and someone has to pay. It’s a pity that it has to be his pretty daughter, but life isn’t fair... plus, I don’t really give a shit about her feelings, this is business.”

“Should we be ridin’ this out?” Brock asks, concerned. “I mean, prime real estate in this town doesn’t come around too often.”

Hutch gives him a pointed look that says everything. “Who is honestly going to dare to outbid the Rebels?”

That is an extremely good point. Nobody in this town is going to go in and undercut Bracken Ridge MC, or Richie Hutchinson for that matter. They’d have to be demented... or suicidal. While the club is completely legitimate, there is still an element of fear around the MC where outsiders are concerned. Although, they don’t seem to mind too much when donations are needed for charity events or town projects. Oh yeah, they are happy for the Rebels help then.

The club has been established in Bracken Ridge for over thirty years, but it had taken Hutch a good ten years to drag the club’s name out of the dirt and stop all the illegal shit going down. This meant other members have come and gone; some were locked up and some just dropped off the radar. Now we all have businesses and work, no illegal shit and definitely no drugs. Too many brothers over the years had been into guns and drugs and ended up in a concrete box or six feet under. No one sitting around this table wants any of that shit going down again. It just isn’t worth it.

“You got intel on her?” Hutch asks me.

“Yeah,” I reply, offended he even has to ask. “Not much to tell, she’s an ex-banker or some shit from Cali, an only child, single, no kids, and she’s got a fuckin’ degree in business management. So, she knows money and obviously has some smarts, not your average blow in, lord knows why she’s bartending but I haven’t dug that far.”

“She was definitely well put together,” Rubble remarks.

I leave out the intel on her personal life that I’d stumbled upon. I wish I’d left the single part out, too, on Gunner’s account.

Ever since I first laid eyes on her ten days ago, I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. One thing is for sure though, I sincerely doubt she wants any biker action.

Brock sighs. “So, what’s next?”

“We send back a ridiculous counter,” Hutch retorts, like it’s obvious. “And if she refuses, then we won’t budge. If it’s a war she wants, then she’s got one. Max owes this club, and we’re going to get our dues, brothers, that I can promise you.”

Agreement goes around the table. Hutch pounds the gavel and sits back, satisfied.

Then he turns and points at me. “You’re going to deliver the new counteroffer.” He turns just as swiftly to Gunner and then points at him. “And you’re going to keep it in your pants, at least for the moment, you got me?”

“This sucks,” Gunner mutters like a little girl.

“Until the deal is done,” Hutch grunts. “Then I don’t give a flying fuck where your dick lands. Chase her out of town for all I care.”

I bite back my bark at that thought. What do I give a shit what Gunner does anyway? I mean she is just another piece of ass, a challenge for him, another notch on his belt. That shouldn’t bother me at all; I was the same at his age. She probably finds him attractive; most women do.

“You got that?” I say as we stand, glancing at Gunner. He’s not amused, but I like winding him up; it keeps him on his toes. “What little Miss Morgan doesn’t realize is she needs a real man to soften the blow, not some pretty boy hotshot who can’t even grow a decent amount of facial hair and has nipple piercings.”

“I know what she’ll be blowing,” he counters, smiling sarcastically. “Just because we’re not all mountain men doesn’t mean we’re useless.”

“You’re too fuckin’ pretty. That’s your problem. Chicks want a bit of rough, not Keanu fuckin’ Reeves.”

“Bite me.”

Then I grab my junk for good measure. “They don’t call me Steel for nothing, bro.”

“Shut the fuck up, the two of you,” Hutch bellows. He crosses out the amount typed neatly on the purchase offer and scribbles some stupid amount that even I balk at, then shoves the papers at me. “Nobody’s sticking nothin’ nowhere, got me? Now get out of my sight and go bicker like little schoolgirls somewhere else. And Steel, when you’ve got her answer, call me. Until then, I don’t want to see or hear from either of you.”

We shove each other around until we get to the door, and he insists I go first because of “age before beauty”. I elbow him hard in the stomach, winding him as he curses me under his breath. Pussy boy.

“Good thing you got looks, brother,” Rubble grunts, barging past Gunner and shoving him into the door too, injuring his shin and causing him to curse some more. “Cause you’re shit at comebacks and even worse at growing a beard.”

I laugh, leaving Gunner cursing both our names and wander to the lot out back to retrieve my Harley and get home to my baby.

* * *

---