Page 82 of Biker Daddies

“No,” Prez and I say at the same time, and he narrows his eyes at me, pissed I’m answering questions he’s supposed to answer.

“We wait. I want more proof. Maybe Grim isn’t working against them—”

I scoff, pushing my friend off me. “You are something else. You’ll look for any reason, won’t you? You’ll search high and low to make sure the precious little club sits on its pedestal. You’re unreal. I expected so much more from you. We have gone to war for less and even now, you need more. If this goes south, it’s your fucking patch. Not mine.” I hurry out of the room to stop myself from wrapping my hands around his throat.

He wants more evidence? Fine, but let’s just hope that evidence isn’t Harlow being kidnapped. If that happens, maybe then he’ll open his eyes. It’ll be too late for him though. He’ll lose his position of power because he isn’t putting the club first, he isn’t putting his daughter first.

He’s being a selfish fucking bastard.

And it will be his own downfall.

19

COLT

The plan is to act normal around Grim. Prez is acting like nothing ever happened and his acting is too good. Everyone has been trying to be sparse, not wanting to get around the traitor, afraid they’ll slip, which is why we’re on Harlow’s college campus right now.

We need to be around her. We need to make sure she is safe. And we need to make sure she knows what’s going on.

I’m baffled at Prez’s reaction yesterday. I can’t believe he questioned Alto for having nefarious intentions. He’s completely lost in the thought of having Grim’s club backing us and giving us support to get more members, and he’s forgotten what truly matters.

We might not have quantity yet, but we have quality.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” Bane says, standing in the middle of the quad as students pass.

“Why? You know she wants to see you. She always wants to see you.”

“People are staring,” he says, locking eyes with a girl who’s around Harlow’s age.

“Cause you’re so pretty,” I tell him, trying to ease the slowly growing rage I see swirling in his eyes. His shoulders rise and fall quickly.

“What the hell are you looking at? Never seen scars before?” he sneers at another person who walks by, flashing his teeth as if he were an animal.

The group of men and women stumble away from him. “Sorry, man. No harm.”

Bane growls, curling his lip at them.

My friend is one of the meanest, most vicious men I know, but he really does hate his scars. He hasn’t learned to embrace them. A lot of people only see those scars when they look at him and they aren’t pretty, smooth scars. They are long, jagged, as if a serrated knife was used. Whatever was used was meant to inflict a lot of pain, and it worked.

Not only when it happened, but all these years later. Bane hates those scars and I don’t blame him. If you didn’t know Bane, you’d think he was a murderer.

Which…I mean…he is, but he is also a good guy.

Surprisingly shy.

“I don’t like it here,” he says.

“I don’t either, but we have recon to do and we need to find Harlow. Alto is already waiting at her apartment.”

“Why couldn’t I be at the apartment?”

“Because, Bane, you’re a better bodyguard. Don’t you want her to be protected at all costs? No one will fuck with her if you’re standing next to her.”

He nods in agreement and just as a guy walks by who others would classify as a nerd with his big glasses and stuffed backpack, Bane grips him by the bag, jerking him to a full stop.

“Oh my god, don’t kill me. I have no money. I have nothing to give you. Don’t kill me,” he begs.

I can’t help it, I laugh, because he sounds like a mouse and Bane is the big cat about to have his lunch.

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