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Authors: Christine Edwards
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place a heavy emphasis on old .”
His eyes narrow sharply. “Depends.”
“Oh yeah? This conversation is over. Get the fuck out of here.” I throw my left arm out in a dismissive wave and jerk my head toward the street. Turning to make my way back into the garage, I hear him call out behind me, “More than one of my boys saw someone wearing your club’s patch on their leather as they drove off with the stolen ride, Mikkel. You owe me an explanation. Right now!”
I freeze mid-stride and spin around. I stalk right up to him, stopping short right before our black boots touch. Getting right up in his grill, I grind out, “That so? You calling out Devil’s Wrath for stealing, my man?”
I watch him weigh his options before responding. We’ve known each other since grade school, used to be best friends for years ’til his true dark character began to emerge, one I detected at a young age and wanted no part of.
He seethes anger as he hisses at me, “You always did think you were better than me, didn’t you, Mikkel? All your intellect, your family’s name and wealth. Always on the straight path in life, you never could do any wrong, could you?”
I ignore his stupidity and give him a low, cautionary warning, “None of my boys took your brother’s ride. Our members save every fucking kroner for the sweet custom rides they own; you can take that fucking fact to your grave, Dag. Besides, I would know, and I don’t put up with bullshit like that in my club. We’re tight and we’re clean, unlike others. Now that’s far more of an explanation than you deserve, you fucking asshole. Get the hell off my property!”
He glares at me with such intensity he’d probably strangle me on the spot if he could get away with it. I know that he runs guns through his MC. The Hellraisers Club needs constant funding to keep it running, pay the mortgage, etc. If you’re not bringing in the bankroll in a legit fashion then bikers often look for lucrative alternatives.
“Are you insinuating that we’re into something illegal?”
I nearly spit nails at him as I lash out, “It’s a fucking fact, Dag. You’ve always been into that shit, ever since you started your club, asshole. Not my fucking fault that you don’t have the legit talent to keep it up without the weapons. Now, for the second time, I have shit to do, can’t stand out here and listen to you fucking moan like a woman about your missing cycle, so get lost.”
The two hulking guys get off their parked bikes, the insult too much for them to take. Bern’s moving in even closer, flanking me for the fight that’s about to bust open. He’s a bad-ass black-belt kick-boxer, studied that shit since he was five years old. He can hold his own, and so can I. I’m calm by nature, but once that bottle’s uncorked, that pent up rage becomes unleashed, I can be deadly.
I smile calmly and whisper to him in a sinister, taunting voice, “Come on, you little pussy, throw the first punch. You’ve wanted to for so long now. Give me a reason to kick the shit out of you … again.”
The insult is enough to ignite his rage. He lunges quickly for me, in an obvious attempt to take me down. I step back quickly and pivot to the side as he grazes past me, nearly falling forward from his own momentum. He turns, shouting loudly in anger, lowers a shoulder, and tackles me hard around the waist. We both topple over and fall to the black pavement with heavy thuds, and the savage blows immediately start up from both sides. He lands a punch square against my mouth, but I’m so pissed off that the pain doesn’t even register.
I hear Bern growl out from above, “Back the fuck off! Let ’em fight!”
The long dormant hatred I hold for him fires up within me. It swiftly takes over as we furiously lay into one another. With my larger size, I’m able to maneuver on top of him and let loose. I land three blows on his face before someone pulls me roughly off of him. I struggle against the
His eyes narrow sharply. “Depends.”
“Oh yeah? This conversation is over. Get the fuck out of here.” I throw my left arm out in a dismissive wave and jerk my head toward the street. Turning to make my way back into the garage, I hear him call out behind me, “More than one of my boys saw someone wearing your club’s patch on their leather as they drove off with the stolen ride, Mikkel. You owe me an explanation. Right now!”
I freeze mid-stride and spin around. I stalk right up to him, stopping short right before our black boots touch. Getting right up in his grill, I grind out, “That so? You calling out Devil’s Wrath for stealing, my man?”
I watch him weigh his options before responding. We’ve known each other since grade school, used to be best friends for years ’til his true dark character began to emerge, one I detected at a young age and wanted no part of.
He seethes anger as he hisses at me, “You always did think you were better than me, didn’t you, Mikkel? All your intellect, your family’s name and wealth. Always on the straight path in life, you never could do any wrong, could you?”
I ignore his stupidity and give him a low, cautionary warning, “None of my boys took your brother’s ride. Our members save every fucking kroner for the sweet custom rides they own; you can take that fucking fact to your grave, Dag. Besides, I would know, and I don’t put up with bullshit like that in my club. We’re tight and we’re clean, unlike others. Now that’s far more of an explanation than you deserve, you fucking asshole. Get the hell off my property!”
He glares at me with such intensity he’d probably strangle me on the spot if he could get away with it. I know that he runs guns through his MC. The Hellraisers Club needs constant funding to keep it running, pay the mortgage, etc. If you’re not bringing in the bankroll in a legit fashion then bikers often look for lucrative alternatives.
“Are you insinuating that we’re into something illegal?”
I nearly spit nails at him as I lash out, “It’s a fucking fact, Dag. You’ve always been into that shit, ever since you started your club, asshole. Not my fucking fault that you don’t have the legit talent to keep it up without the weapons. Now, for the second time, I have shit to do, can’t stand out here and listen to you fucking moan like a woman about your missing cycle, so get lost.”
The two hulking guys get off their parked bikes, the insult too much for them to take. Bern’s moving in even closer, flanking me for the fight that’s about to bust open. He’s a bad-ass black-belt kick-boxer, studied that shit since he was five years old. He can hold his own, and so can I. I’m calm by nature, but once that bottle’s uncorked, that pent up rage becomes unleashed, I can be deadly.
I smile calmly and whisper to him in a sinister, taunting voice, “Come on, you little pussy, throw the first punch. You’ve wanted to for so long now. Give me a reason to kick the shit out of you … again.”
The insult is enough to ignite his rage. He lunges quickly for me, in an obvious attempt to take me down. I step back quickly and pivot to the side as he grazes past me, nearly falling forward from his own momentum. He turns, shouting loudly in anger, lowers a shoulder, and tackles me hard around the waist. We both topple over and fall to the black pavement with heavy thuds, and the savage blows immediately start up from both sides. He lands a punch square against my mouth, but I’m so pissed off that the pain doesn’t even register.
I hear Bern growl out from above, “Back the fuck off! Let ’em fight!”
The long dormant hatred I hold for him fires up within me. It swiftly takes over as we furiously lay into one another. With my larger size, I’m able to maneuver on top of him and let loose. I land three blows on his face before someone pulls me roughly off of him. I struggle against the
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