“What fuckin’ reason could you have for waving a fucking big banner around tellin’ everyone who you are? What the fuck is the point to any of this if you’re goin’ to throw it all away on one woman?” He places both hands on my shoulders, giving me a hard shove. “Fuck, man. You’ve only been there a few weeks.”
Both of our heads whip about as the door cracks open. “Can I come in and explain?” Ryan asks from the safety of the far side.
“No!” we both shout in unison, causing her to shut the door in a damn hurry.
“She needs our help,” I whine, like the fucking sissy I am. I pinch the bridge of my nose out of sheer frustration; every time I open my mouth, my justification for my actions proves how pathetic they are.
“With what?” King asks. “Figuring out how Eddie’s going to fuck us over next?” He presses a fist into the palm of his other hand, popping knuckles.
“No!” I scissor my feet, preparing for the inevitable. “She needs to get in contact with the Devil’s Breed. I thought you might be able to help with that.” If I thought the bastard was angry before, I was fucking mistaken. His face grows red, and his nostrils flare. I backtrack to place the chair between us. “What? What the fuck did I say now?”
“Devil’s Breed?” King nods, his eyes wider than a madman. “You want me to talk to the fucking Devil’s Breed?”
“Dude,” I cry out, exasperated. “I’m askin’ here. If it’s impossible, tell me. I’m not a fuckin’ biker. I don’t know if you assholes get along or not.”
“Exactly,” King snaps, driving a fist into the top of his desk and leaving it planted there. “You ain’t one of us. You’re here because one of my officers fucked it all up with his boy way back when, and stupidly, I agreed to get us tangled up in this.”
“Hey,” I say, pointing a finger his way and stepping out from behind the chair. “You said yourself that Carlos is after more than us now. You said yourself that he’s got beef with you as well.” I steal a look at his office door, wondering how Ryan’s getting on alone.
“Dog will be watching her,” King says, reading my mind. “And yeah, fucker, I did say that. But shit wouldn’t be so complicated if it weren’t for you assholes.”
“Wouldn’t it?” I ask. “Because if I’m workin’ this out right, your club would be runnin’ from the Koreans about now if we didn’t have a way for you to earn enough to cover the debt.”
King sighs, slamming both hands to his forehead and gripping his hair between his fingers. “Be the president, they said. You’ll straighten this club right out, they said.” He shakes his head in his hands. “Didn’t tell me the place was so fuckin’ screwed from the get go.”
“Would it have made any difference if you did know?” I ask, knowing damn well what he was going to say.
“No.” He drops his hands and walks around the desk to take his seat. “Still would have helped those sorry fucks out anyway.” He sighs, waving a hand at the door. “Let the girl in.”
I step over and pull the door wide, finding Ryan backed up to the wall beside it with her arms crossed over her body protectively while she watches the brothers eyeballing her around the common room. “Get in.”
She takes a wide step sideways and slips through the door like a startled rabbit. King watches her warily from his position across the room, elbows on his desk and hands folded in front of his mouth. She glances up at me for help on what to do.
“Take the seat,” I offer, pointing to the only free chair.
She sits down, eyeing King as her hands do a jig in her lap.
“What do you need from us?” King barks from behind his hands. “Who is it you know at the Devil’s Breed?”
“Harris,” she answers, barely a whisper. “I knew, Harris.”
King rolls his eyes back and makes a dramatic show of dropping his head on the desk between his arms. “It just keeps gettin’ better,” he moans into the wooden top. “Why? What the fuck did I do in another life to get dumped with this?”
Ryan looks across to where I’m standing, and I shrug. Fucked if I know what he’s talking about, either.
King lifts his head and looks between us. “So, given you’re both outsiders, I’m going to assume you haven’t a fuckin’ clue who Harris is now.”
“Now?” Ryan asks.
“He changed his name, sweetheart.”
She stares wide-eyed at King. “I was told he’s dead.”
King chuckles. “Satan himself couldn’t bring that asshole down. He’s very much alive and kickin’ . . . and in charge. He got a new road name after he fucked over what I’m going to assume is your family.” He looks her top to toe twice and grunts as though agreeing with himself. “Am I right? It was your house he did over?”
She nods.
“Jesus,” King mutters. “Get Dog in here, Bronx.”
I open the door like a right fucking concierge and call over to Dog, whose head is currently buried between the legs of Plastic Tits where she’s propped upon the back of the sofa. “Dog, Pres wants you.”
“Fuck’s sake.” He wipes his face with the palm of his hand, and points to Plastic Tits. “Stay. Good girl.”
His fucking chin still glistens when he walks in the office, and King gestures for him to wipe his face again, looking at Ryan pointedly from the corner of his eyes.
Dog grins down at her, removing what’s left of his midnight snack with the sleeve of his shirt. “Sorry, love.”
“Dog,” King says. “Who is Tuck?” He waves his hand for him to answer, as though he’s conducting an orchestra.
“Jesus. Only the head of the Devil’s Breed. Real sadistic fucker. Has a history of carving up his victims with a bunch of symbols that signify what they did—treason, theft, adultery, child abuse . . . that kind of thing. Been contested twice, and both times the sorry sons-a-bitches ended up with a body part in each state the Devil’s Breed have ties in.”
“And what would be his given name?” King asks. “What did his momma and daddy write down on his birth certificate?”
“Harris Friar.” Dog screws his face up in confusion. “Everyone knows that, don’t they?” Dog looks between Ryan and I.
Ryan’s eyes damn near pop out of her head. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I am that my damn dinner’s goin’ cold out there.” Dog smiles sweetly at her.
“Shit,” she mutters under her breath. “I guess it’s probably right.” Her eyes stare at the floor, but her thoughts aren’t in this room with us.
“Complicates things,” I say.
King nods. “Sure does.” He swings his gaze back to Dog. “Need you to run a courier for me.”
“Why me?” Dog cries out. “That’s Vince’s job.”
“I’m pickin’ you.” King scribbles something on a scrap of paper and hands it to him. “Memorize this, then burn it. Report back, no matter when you get in. If I’m not in here, then you’ve got permission to come wake me up.”
Dog reads over the note and lifts an eyebrow. His gaze moves to Ryan. “This true?”
King nods. He throws Dog a light, and the prospect sends the paper up in flames before I can get a glimpse. Ryan watches as Dog juggles the burning scrap between his hands, and then dusts the ashes off his palms. He heads out the office door, shutting it behind him.
King sucks in a deep breath and leans his head on one hand, his elbow propped on the desk. “Harris ran with us when he was a prospect. Apex never patched him in—some bullshit excuse made up because he didn’t think he was ‘hard’ enough. Made the guy remain a prospect for more than six fuckin’ years—unheard of. Understandably, Harris went to the Breed, and well, the rest is history.” King drops his hand to the desk, fidgeting with a pen, spinning it in circles. “I guess if he’s likely to listen to anyone, it’ll be me. We used to pretty good friends until he swapped colors.”
“What did that note say?” Ryan asks quietly.
“That’s for me and Dog to know, and you and Tuck to find out.”