Page 32 of Mex

“Touch your guns and I’ll shoot him,” I warn.

“You fuckin’ shoot him, I’ll blow your head clean off your shoulders,” Western throws back, his voice like ice.

I give him a cold smile. “You won’t have the chance to get your gun out before I put a bullet through you, biker. I’m a fantastic shot.”

“What the fuck are you doin’ with him?”

“Well, your boy here was on the hunt for me, but I found out and got in first. I don’t like being tracked down like a dog, and I don’t like when people try to take me. I’ve been having a great time with him.” I smirk. “He’s a feisty one.”

Mex gives me a look that makes me want to burst out laughing, because he’s less than impressed at my statement. Still, the expression he gives me only makes it that much more believable, and it appears the three bikers in front of me believe my little story, because the next words that leave Western’s mouth are the ones I want to hear.

“What do you want?”

I give him a casual expression and shrug my shoulders. “Nothing. But if you want your biker back alive, you’re going to have to lay off the hunting and tracking. I don’t like it.”

“You fucked over my club,” Western growls, his eyes scarily empty. “I don’t take kindly to that.”

“And I don’t take kindly to people getting in my business. Now what’s it going to be, biker? Are you going to back off or am I going to bring your friend down?”

I have no intention of either happening. In fact, I want them to take me, so I ensure I give Mex the chance to take me out – so when Colt moves, I spin the gun toward him. He barely moved, but it’s a good enough reason for me to move the gun away from Mex. As predicted, he moves quickly, slamming his body into mine. I trip and stumble to the ground, landing on my hands and knees. Within seconds a huge body lands on top of mine and my hands are jerked behind my back.

My shoulders burn as the biker on top of me stretches my arms back as far as he can. I spit a curse at him before he hauls me up to my feet. It’s Colt who has me, and he isn’t letting up on his grip as Mex digs around in his bag to find the keys for the cuffs. The other biker, the one I don’t know, undoes the cuffs, and when his hands are free, Mex turns to me. “I’ll take her.”

“This where you’ve been this whole fuckin’ time?” Western asks, his voice gruff and pissed off.

“It’s a long story, boss. She’s smarter than she looks.”

Ouch.

Rude.

Colt shoves me toward Mex, who slaps the cuffs on my wrists. Holding my bound hands, he pulls my back to his chest as he hangs on. His mouth moves closer to my ear, and he murmurs, “Well played.”

I would smile, but that would give it all away.

“What are we goin’ to do with her now?” Mex asks Western.

“We’re takin’ her with us. There is a lot of shit goin’ down and she knows about it. She might not be talkin’ yet, but we might not even need her to. People are lookin’ for her, and her mother, and if we have her then we have the upper hand. She’s bait.”

Wonderful.

Bait.

That’ll end well for them.

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