Rough and Ready (More Than A Cowboy 2)

Gray looked to me. Nodded.

We walked out the doors to the lot, the cold air hitting me, my skin instantly drying. My T-shirt would be frozen if I lingered. I wasn’t planning on it.

I walked over to the driver’s window as Gray stood in front of the car. The man rolled down the window as I approached, hot air and the smell of cigarettes hitting me.

“Tell Dominguez hello for me.”

The punk was in his thirties, a thick, black cap on his head, the Broncos logo on the front. He was white and pasty, had greasy hair and when he grinned at me, a gold tooth.

“Who the fuck is Dominguez?” he asked. “If you’re looking to score, you’re at the wrong car.”

I slowly shook my head. “You want to play it like that?” I rolled my shoulders, and the guy’s smile slipped.

The one in the passenger seat, at least fifty pounds overweight and looking like Jabba the Hut with his bald, sweaty head, piped up. “Dude, we don’t want anything to do with you.”

I glanced to Gray. “Oh yeah? Why’s that? I’m the one that’s fighting.”

“Fighting? What the fuck are you talking about?”

I frowned. “Why the fuck are you here?” I asked back, kicking back the belligerent tone.

“Not for you, asshole.” He glanced up at the building, then back at me.

I looked to Gray again. This time he wasn’t just an observer. He came around to stand beside me. “You even think about my girl, and they won’t know where to find your body.”

After the shit that went down with Emory over the summer, Gray was protective as hell. No one would fuck with her. The last guy? I wasn’t exactly sure what happened to him, but I knew Quake Baker got involved. If an MC dealt with him, then he was dead and buried where no one could find. Still, Gray wasn’t going to let down his guard.

The driver, hell, both of them held up their hands in surrender. “We know who the fuck you are. You think we’d fuck with The Outlaw? We want nothing to do with your girl.”

“Then who?” Gray asked, his voice as cold and icy as the air.

“Dude, we’re outta here.” Jabba the Hut smacked his friend’s arm, and he took the hint. He put the car in gear and backed out fast enough to make the wheels squeal on the pavement.

“Catch the license plate?” he asked.

I nodded, watching the shitty sedan cut into traffic.

“They’re not here for Emory,” I said, keeping my eyes on the street, even though they were long gone. If they weren’t here for her, then why were they—

“No. But I’ll be more careful just the same. Might be time to call a friend.”

I figured the friend was Quake, and that was fine with me. That guy could get the details on the plate easier than going to the cops. Hell, the cops wouldn’t give us anything, but Quake would.

Those assholes were thugs, pure and simple. They scared people, shook them for money, made threats. I wasn’t scared of them. Neither was Gray. We just had to figure out what the fuck they wanted. Those two shits weren’t the boss. No way. They took orders. But who gave them and why?

15

REED

Harper: You’ll be proud of me.

I saw the text, and I grinned. The bar was crowded, the music so loud I felt it vibrate through the floor. I had no interest in the scene. I wasn’t drinking since I was training, and I wasn’t looking for pussy like the others were. I felt like an old man with the other fighters I was with. One was dancing with a curvy blonde, his hand riding low on her waist as she all but humped his thigh. Yeah, I wouldn’t be giving him a ride home tonight. Two others were seated beside me at a high top, but they were turned toward the dance floor, scoping out the women.

After the evening BJJ class, I was pulled into going to a bar and watching the fights, checking out the competition, then we’d gone onto another bar, then this one. It was late, after two. I felt like an old man, not used to the late hour. Shit, I was usually asleep by ten. Late night partying didn’t work with pre-dawn workouts.

I’d felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, and when I saw Harper’s text, I spun around, facing away from everyone.

Me: Oh yeah?