Page 79 of Biker Daddies

“It’s because of the tattoo. The pain from that is blocking it.” It’s a piss-poor excuse, but the guy seems like he needs a break.

“That makes sense. That makes a lot of sense. Can I reschedule? I want to get it finished.”

“Yes, no problem. Call me when you feel better.”

“And we can discuss you prospecting another day, okay?” Colt adds, bringing a smile to the poor bastard’s face.

“Awesome. That’s so cool.”

“Yeah, man. You’re the coolest,” the paramedic says with a little too much sarcasm for my liking, and I grip him by the back of the jacket as his partner rolls the gurney outside.

“Listen, no one is exactly proud of passing out, okay? Don’t give him shit or you’ll deal with us. Got it?”

He swallows, visibly shaken. “Yes, I get it.”

“Good.” I shove him forward. “Give him your best care.” I drop my eyes to his nametag. “Frank.”

He rushes out the door, tripping over his own two feet.

“Really? Him. As a prospect? Dude would faint at the sight of blood,” Bane states, popping a squat on a stool.

“Well, some people don’t get off on it Bane.”

Bane shoves Colt and he smacks against the wall.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have someone like him in the club. To show we are more than big scary guys. He’s…”

“Scrawny. He’ll get eaten alive,” Bane says, taking out one of his knives he likes to scar people up with.

“Maybe he’ll bring brains to the table. Instead of all these muscled-up jackasses with tattoos on their heads and who have a tongue ring,” Colt whips.

Bane throws one of his knives and it whizzes by Colt’s head, landing right into the wall.

Again.

I growl in irritation, wrapping my hand around the blade and pulling it out, pointing it at Bane. “You’re fixing that hole and all the other holes you’ve put in this place. Got it?”

“Tell Colt to stop being stupid and I will.”

“Tell him not to be so hotheaded!”

“Okay, the both of you, stop acting like teenagers. I don’t have the patience for it.” I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I’m free the rest of the day. I’m going to go. I have a few errands to run.”

“Alright. We’ll shut the place down. We will see you later,” Colt says. “We only have a few more appointments anyway.”

I walk to the back of the studio and snag my keys, jacket, and sunglasses. “I’ll see you later,” I call out, walking out the back door to where we park our motorcycles. Checking my phone, I click on the message from Harlow and grin when I see a picture of her. She looks perfect. Her hair is in pigtails and she’s holding up a peace sign while sticking out her tongue.

I’m completely way in over my head and absolutely obsessed with her.

Which is one of the reasons why I put on the GPS on her phone, to protect her, which is also why I might have decided to track Grim too.

I don’t trust him. At all. And if no one else is going to protect the club and Harlow, then I will. There’s no way in hell I’m going to have Harlow in harm’s way because of him.

Harlow is safe and in class, but the dot on Grim’s is moving and going toward the outskirts of town, right where the drugs have been heavy.

This doesn’t sit right with me.

Swinging my leg over my bike, I place my phone in the holder that I have for it, strap it in so it’s secure, then pull out of the parking lot.

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