Off Limits (Kings of Mayhem MC 5)

Bryce hid his disappointment behind his cute smile. “Sure, maybe another time, then.”

“Definitely.”

“Perhaps we could swap numbers and you could give me a call in case you have questions. Or want to grab coffee.” Again, he gave me that cute, crooked smile.

“Sounds good.”

We punched our numbers into each other’s phones.

“There,” he said, handing my phone back to me. “Don’t be afraid to use it.”

“Thanks.” I threw my bag over my shoulder. “I’d better go, I’ll see you in class next week, okay?”

With another cute smile, he walked off and I couldn’t help but admire his cute butt in his jeans as he walked away. He was just cute all over. Smart and attractive. A very dangerous combination.

I grinned to myself. It was true.

When it rained, it really did pour.

RUGER

“Really? We’re back here?” I said to Bull after we pulled into the alleyway behind the Slip ‘n Slide.

It was late morning and in the bright light of day, there was no hiding just how seedy the club was from the outside. Garbage from a nearby dumpster festered in the heat and the stink was thick in the air around us.

When Bull said he needed me to follow him to an appointment, I didn’t realize we’d be paying our sleazy Spider friend a visit.

I made it a point of trying to avoid people who gave me an immediate urge to punch them in the face.

“I got a call from the mayor’s office this morning. Seems we have a new resident in town.”

The Kings of Mayhem MC had a lot of allies in this town. The mayor’s office was full of them, including our new mayor, Sallie Holloway. Who was also secretly keeping Bull’s bed warm.

“Who?” I asked, climbing off my bike.

“Someone bought Eagle’s Nest.”

“The vineyard?” Eagle’s Nest was a winery just out of town. “Who?”

“Gimmel Martel. You ever heard of him?”

The name wasn’t familiar. “No. You got a feeling about him?”

“I’ve always got a feeling about wine tycoons buying into this town,” Bull said, opening the back door to the club.

Inside, the stench of stale liquor, cigarette smoke, and sex was thick. The lunchtime trade was already starting. Men in suits. Men in tennis shirts and shorts. Men with tight cotton shirts and comb-overs. Men whose wives had no idea they were here. They drank beer and watered-down whisky as a woman wearing nothing but a thong and a cowboy hat danced on stage.

Spider lounged at the bar. Today’s suit was red and brown plaid. When he saw us, he came over.

“What can I do for my favorite bikers?” he asked, rubbing his hands together. “Blonde? Brunette? Maybe a feisty redhead? What tickles your fancy today, gentlemen? Perhaps you prefer something with a little more of an international feel? German, perhaps? Claudia is a lovely chick. Great tits. Even better ass.”

“Gimmel Martel. What can you tell me about him?” Bull said, ignoring the offer.

Spider glanced around, suddenly nervous at the mention of the name. He adjusted his collar and his shadiness went from ten to a thousand in a matter of seconds.

“Follow me,” he said with another nervous glance around the club.

He led us through the scattering of empty tables to his office in the back. It was just as seedy as his club, and once inside I couldn’t help but wonder how much body fluid was drying on the surfaces.

“So you’ve heard,” he said, walking behind his desk.

“Yeah. We’ve heard. The question is, why didn’t we hear it from you?” Bull asked.

“I just heard about it myself.”

“Yeah, I find that hard to believe, Spidey.”

“It’s true. I swear. I mean, I heard rumors but nothing concrete. Not until this morning.”

“What can you tell us about him?”

“Word on the street is that he’s into some pretty heavy shit with the Saljav cartel.”

I looked at Bull but he remained motionless despite the mention of the Saljav. They were a fierce and greatly feared cartel that ran out of Central America. They were ruthless killers who showed little restraint and no mercy. Not someone you got into bed with.

If you did, chances were you’d wake up with more than a horse’s head lying next to you.

“This word on the street… how reliable is it?” Bull asked.

“Pretty fucking reliable.” Spider looked serious. “I have to be honest with you, Bull, the idea of those freaks being even remotely involved with anyone in this town scares the fuck out of me. You know they were behind the Lobo limousine incident, right?”

Lobo was a small town in Central America. So small it wasn’t even on a map. One morning last June, a limousine rolled down the town’s main street and came to a stop by slowly crashing into a streetlight in front of the police station. Inside were the decapitated bodies of several people, their shoes off and their heads in the trunk.