“All right, Zoey,” Drake announced, getting to his feet. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I scurried to gather all my things and shove them back into my folder before answering, “But I’ve only just taken a glance at the plans. I need to take a good look, get a feel for the room,” I exclaimed, rushing out after him and almost face planting into the dirt.
“Well, what better way to get a feel for the room than standing in it.”
Fuck.
4
Huntsman
“Round them up.”
Though it was almost pitch black, I could see the smiles on my boys’ faces light up like fucking kids on Christmas morning.
They sunk back into the darkness, their black clothing disappearing into the shadows. It was almost too easy.
The middle of the desert.
No street lights.
No cars.
Nowhere to fucking run.
I stood in the center of the three cabins, which were organized in a U shape. One was the mess hall and a couple of rooms for Regan and his team. The other two housed the thirty men and women who I was about to possibly make cry.
It was only a few moments before the silence of the night lit up with angry protests and shouting as my men embraced the chance to be total fucking bastards.
“Hey! Watch it!”
“What the hell is going on!”
I stood still, watching on as the troops stumbled from their sleeping arrangements in confusion, tripping through the desert sand while my brothers shoved them forward in their fucking tighty whiteys to stand in front of us.
“Boys… let me introduce you to Huntsman,” Regan announced with a wide grin, the motherfucker taking absolute delight in handing his fucking job off to someone else. “If Nevada had a King, it would be this man right here. Not only is he an ex-Navy SEAL. He’s also the president of one of the most notorious motorcycle clubs in the country. Do you know what that means? Assholes.”
They didn’t move.
Not a single word.
Or a single sound leaving their lips.
Just the way I fucking liked it.
“It means that if you piss him off, you aren’t getting stood down or sent home…” His low, raspy chuckle had a couple of the boys’ eyes growing wider. There was one though, one little fucker who was fighting a smile. “You piss him off, and your face is going on the side of a fucking milk carton. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Are. We. Clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
Regan looked over his shoulder at me with a smug grin. “They’re all yours.”
I stomped forward, my heavy boots scuffing at the dusty Nevada sand, hitting a handful of the boys in the face before I reached some shithead with the twitching grin. “And what might your name be?” I questioned, getting right in his face. He was a good four inches shorter than me, his eyes directly in line with my mouth.
“Cooper, sir.”
Oh, good. Shit for brains had a fucking attitude.
“You almost cracked a smile a few minutes ago. You wanna share with the group what you thought was so funny?”
His gaze held strong to my mouth, and I could see his brain ticking over, considering his options. “The fact that you were once a SEAL, but now you’re a criminal, sir.”
“You find that funny, do you?”
“I’m wondering how you can serve your country, then turn your back on it…” finally, he lifted his narrowed gaze to meet mine, his dark stare full of accusations and disgust for my choices, “… sir.”
I could hear Ripley standing a few feet behind me, not even bothering to try and hide his amusement. That was the thing about my boys, my fucking men, when they signed up to join the club, the first thing they fucking learned was that respect came first. Ain’t got time for no little bastards assuming they knew me, knew what the hell I’d done for my country.
Accusing me of turning my fucking back on it doesn’t go down well.
“Here’s my first little tip for you, Cooper,” I growled, leaning a little further into his space, at the same time, pulling my 9mm from the back of my jeans and letting it hang by my side. There was something so goddamn satisfying about the way his energy changed, his breath hitching for a second. The smug little asshole was in for the shock of his life if he thought he was going to mouth off and walk away unscathed. “Next time you assume something about me, without knowing what the fuck you’re talking about… I’m going to take my gun here, and I’m going to shove it so far up your punk ass, you’ll be calling me Daddy.”
No response.
“See, Sargent Ballintine was right about one thing,” I announced, not usually one for over-dramatics, but feeling like right now, it had its purpose. “If he did this…” I took a step forward, the low blow of my punch connecting right in the soft spot between Cooper’s ribs. He hit the ground hard, dust scattering around him, wheezing as he fought to breathe while also gagging on the pain. “He would get suspended. Written up. And maybe even fired,” I continued, making my way down a now incredibly nervous line of troops. “But as far as I’m concerned, right now, we are just strangers standing in a fucking desert, about to play a huge game of hide and seek.”
“You have ten minutes to grab any kind of supplies you think you might need,” Regan announced, stepping up beside me. He knew the drill. We’d done this before, except last time, he was me, and I was the little bastard Cooper thought was hot shit and running my mouth. “If you can keep hidden from Huntsman and his men until the sun rises, you move on to the next stage of the recruitment. If you get found, start fucking walking home.”
It was easy to tell who took this seriously and who was simply there to flex their physical attributes.
It was all in what they felt was important.
I walked through the room, carefully looking over the different things they shoved inside their bags. Some went for food, others focusing on clothing and colors that would keep them camouflaged. But it was when I got to my good friend Cooper that I had to stop and raise my eyebrow.
He was wearing even less than when he’d been dragged from bed, having stripped down to a pair of boxer shorts and a wife-beater—no shoes, no backpack, no stashes of food, or sand-colored face paint.
“What’s that?” I asked, looking down at the object in his hand.
He grinned, holding it up for me to see.
A plastic straw.
A single plastic straw.
“What are yo—”
“Five minutes, soldiers. You better start hiding,” Regan screamed from the doorway, causing Cooper to leap up and disappear out into the darkness, straw hanging from his mouth. And all I could do was watch him go.
“You think the asshole with the attitude has it?” Rip asked, sliding in beside me and following my shocked gaze.
“Maybe.”
Just fucking maybe.
5
Zoey
“I need to speak with Drake,” I told the young kid standing at the gates to the MC compound.
The place was intimidating, to say the least, with its tall wire fences, the hulking Harley Davidsons that sat proudly in a perfect row, sparkling devilishly. The building was impressive—an old factory which had been renovated and modernized with amazing detail. But I guess that’s the kind of impressive shit you get when you own a building company.