Holiday Havoc (Reckless Bastards MC 7)

I nodded and took a few bites of my own food. “You got any idea what’s up with Gunnar and Stitch?” The tension between them was pretty fucking hard to ignore and it was more than just the shit they’d been through together in Mexico.

After he finished a bite of fried rice, Jag shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “My guess is that Gunnar was being his typical asshole self, blaming Stitch for something he couldn’t have possibly known. The same way he blamed you for Rocky. Me for Vivi.”

I nodded because we’d have to be blind not to see that the Gunnar who’d returned was a bigger asshole than the one who left to look after his dying mother. “Think we should be worried?” No one had said a thing but we were all worried about how the anger between them would affect our moves today.

Jag nodded and wiped his hands on a napkin. “He hasn’t been himself since he got back. I can’t explain it but it’s like he’s twitchy or something. Like he wants out of the Bastards. I wonder what he’s thinking.” Leaving the club was a big fucking deal and not something that was done lightly.

“Yeah, I think he’s got something going on. But Stitch? That kid is a true blue Reckless fucking Bastard. Bringing us a damn good weed supply and a war with the cartel all in his first fucking year.” I took another bite.

“I’m surprised you’re so relaxed about it considering you have a family to worry about, now.” Jag said, scooping up a bite in his chopsticks.

I shrugged it off. “This is the life of a cowboy, Jag. We’re always fighting some fucking outlaw or other bad guy and saving strong-willed damsels in distress. I chose this life with my eyes wide open. We all did.”

“Even with a wife and kid?”

“Kids,” I clarified, sharing the good news with my best friend.

“No shit? You’re having another kid. That’s fuckin’ great, Lasso.” His bright white smile lit up his whole face. “Congrats, man.”

“Thanks. We just found out a couple days ago. With all of us turning into old men, getting’ hitched and having babies, it’s more important than ever for the Bastards to keep winning. We have more to fight for. More to live for.”

That didn’t mean that I wasn’t scared as fuck

about fighting with the cartel because those fuckers were ruthless. Pointlessly violent, raping and killing just for the hell of it. Or in retaliation. “When you’re in the club, you can’t half-ass it, you know that better than most. You have to be willing to do what it takes for your club and your family. Look what Vivi did for you, fuck for all of us. That’s family. That’s hardcore fucking family, man.”

Jag’s lips twitched, half in amusement and half in pride. “Fuck Lasso, when did you get so deep?”

“Apparently when I met Rocky. Falling in love makes you strong as fuck and since I was already strong as fuck, I’m damn near invincible. And arrogant,” I told him with a smile. “Rocky always says I’m too cocky to die.”

“She’s right about that,” he agreed with a quick smile and stacked his empty plates on the edge of the table. “Don’t worry, Cowboy, I’ve got your back.”

“Damn straight!”

Jag’s smile faded and he started to rise from his seat. “Look alive, Lasso. We’ve got three black SUVs turning into the lot.” Then he was on his feet, an expression of pure steel on his face. When the first couple emerged from the lead SUV, Jag groaned. “Fuck me. I don’t know whether to be relieved or fucking frustrated.”

“Better to be a bunch of old couples going dancing at the Community Center than a carload of psychotic Mexican cartel members.”

“Yeah but the longer it takes him to show up, the more antsy I get.” Jag scrubbed a hand over his head and grunted. “This waiting is driving me fucking crazy.”

I knew what he meant but an hour later, this Carlito guy still hadn’t shown up.

Or the hour after that.

Even I was starting to think the asshole wouldn’t show.

Chapter Twenty-Two - Stitch

Ten goddamn hours. That’s how long Carlito kept us waiting before he showed his stupid fucking face, showing up with a caravan of black SUVs. He strutted up in his white denim pants and a big ass cowboy hat, belt buckle, a light pink shirt complete with a fucking bolero tie that had a humongous turquoise rock in the center. Pointy toe Italian style boots completed the look. His smile was smug, so fucking pleased with himself for making everyone wait on him, I wanted to pound his face into the fucking cement. “Motherfucker,” I grumbled under my breath, ignoring Gunnar’s heavy breathing beside me.

The big man was seething and I knew we’d have to be careful until I set eyes on Marisol. He pushed off the side of the truck, squaring his wide shoulders and standing at his full height. “It’s about goddamn time. Where the fuck is the girl?”

The girl? I scoffed but kept my thoughts to myself. Gunnar was a stubborn son of a bitch and there was no point getting myself riled up over shit I couldn’t change. But I stood next to Gunnar because, right now, we were a team.

Carlito’s smarmy grin spread when his fat fucking henchman appeared at his side. He took a step back when Gunnar took a step forward. “She is here. Where is my shipment?”

“Inside the big fucking truck you gave us, shit for brains.” Gunnar snorted out a bitter laugh and crossed massive arms across his wide chest. The man was a beast and the only signs of intelligence Carlito showed, was being afraid of him. “Show us the girl and you’ll get your fucking truck.”

His brown eyes studied Gunnar and me for a long time before he turned and whispered something in Spanish to Guapo, who went back to the middle SUV and pulled Marisol out, much harder than he fucking needed to.