Havoc (Tattoos and Ties 1)

Keyes turned back, eyeing Alec. Yep, the guy was sex on a stick—a very clear indicator of a bad fucking decision. On the other hand, bad decisions made for good stories. Yeah, but warnings signs flashed in big neon letters predicting the result. Keyes didn’t need any more complications in his life, and Alec was nothing if not a very huge, distracting complication. Keyes finally shook his head and again started for the cab of his truck.

“I’m good. You need to hit the road. It’s not the safest of places out here,” Keyes warned and ducked into the driver’s side, turning off the outside lights. Under normal circumstances, he’d have thought that was enough to get Alec moving, but instead of fleeing in terror, the guy opened the passenger side door of his truck as he started the engine.

“Then what were you doing out here?” Alec asked, his gorgeous smile not masking the curiosity in his eyes.

The truth was as good an answer as any to help ward off the flirting, so Keyes replied, “Searchin’ for answers.”

“Hmm.” Alec’s grin only grew. “I can accept that.”

The door shut, and Alec went back to his vehicle. Keyes made a wide U-turn, watching in the rearview mirror until Alec pulled in behind him. He kept that visual all the way to the highway, lifting a single hand, waving as Alec sped past him.

Regret struck immediately. What had he done? He was an idiot. He should have thrown caution to the wind and allowed himself the transgression—damn the consequences. He could have buried himself deep and hard in that gorgeous man and forgotten about the shitty ass day he’d had. He was certain he wasn’t going to be able to jack himself enough to appease his pissed off dick.

Sunday morning

Keyes stifled a yawn, scrubbing a hand down his face while balancing on the two back legs of the hardest chair he had ever sat on. Why the club hadn’t upgraded their seating, he couldn’t begin to understand, but the lack of comfortable chairs probably shouldn’t be the first thing on his mind right now either. The whole club was in a shitload of trouble, and left with their pants down so to say, scrambling to tug them back in place.

“The feds picked up Chain and Ace last night,” Jacoby Fox, the president of the club, informed them, opening their second mandatory meeting in less than ten hours. Keyes found out about this one after about forty-five minutes of sleep and his old man screaming his name from across the small space they shared. Though he definitely didn’t see any reason or sense in screaming to be heard in less than nine hundred square feet.

“Fuckin’ hell,” his father, or Smoke as he was known to the rest of the club, called out as the other members of the club immediately jumped in to share that exact same sentiment. The gruff, brazen way all of the club members shouted their grievances derailed the meeting, and it took several long moments for Fox to regain enough control to continue.

“The charges include…” Fox picked up a piece of paper, staring down at the list. “They got aggravated battery, criminal gang activity…”

“We aren’t a fuckin’ gang.” Devilman, Fox’s kid and a patched in brother, called out. Fox ignored him, just raising his voice to be heard.

“Criminal recklessness, criminal organization activity, possession of a handgun without a license, and possession of a handgun by a convicted felon, possession of a controlled substance. The fuckin’ list keeps going. They’re chargin’ us with racketeering, intent to possess and distribute heroin…”

“What the fuck? Goddamn, there ain’t any of us messin’ in smack,” Dev shouted over the objecting grumbles of the gathered brothers.

“That shit ain’t worth our time. They might’ve found some fuckin’ weed, but that’s it,” Mack, a trusted advisor to the president said, slamming his heavy fist on the hard oak table. The force of the strike caused Keyes’s chair to topple forward, all four legs scooting across the floor.

“Let me fuckin’ finish,” Fox yelled, irritated now. “All this pissed off ain’t helpin’.” When the room quieted, Fox lifted the scrap of paper and read the last two charges. “There’s a firearm trafficking charge and interfering with a government investigation.”

“So what the fuck does all that mean?” Devilman asked.

“It means our enemies just got bigger.” Keyes’s father grunted. “We ain’t hardly doin’ none of that, shit.”

The door to church—the name they gave their meeting room—was pushed open, something very few people were brave enough to do when the members were talking club business. A middle-aged woman dressed in her courtroom finest came through, immediately yelling over the guys, “Don’t say anything I’m not to hear.”

Margie Thomas was the long-time club attorney. She’d handled everything for as long as Keyes could remember which was probably for his whole life.