Ryder (Savage Wolves MC) #3

Chapter Thirteen

Everyday, it's something new with them and I know the club is getting antsy. We want out of this deal, but it's going to look bad if we break it off with them. Them being the only people who will do business with us. People will still buy, but getting someone to sell to us is another problem. Another thing to be worried about is the Australians taking it out on us after the deal.

If we renege on our deal with the brothers, they'll shit on our tarnished name even further, ruining us with any potential contacts.

Grabbing a smoke and putting it to my lips, I inhale deeply, trying to keep my cool as I watch the limo pull into the half moon shaped driveway in front of the Lotus.

I'm right behind them, pulling up to the small parking lot area reserved for my brothers and I.

"Don't turn around," I mumble to myself. If I see them now, I'll rush them. I'll end it right where they stand. In this moment, I wish I could have a drink. Just to calm my raging emotions. To give me more of a level head.

I pull fiercely on the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stomping it out with my booted foot.

Hearing a woman's laughter, I finally look up to see Stevie leading the two men inside of the building, her hands at their backs.

I only catch the backs of their heads, both blonde military cuts. One even has sunglasses perched low on the back of his head.

"Fucking idiot," I spit, killing the engine on my bike and getting off, taking lengthy steps to get to the front.

"Welcome back, Sir, in for a night of fun?" Liam, the valet out front shouts as I breeze past him.

At one point he was a potential member, even going as far as to be offered a position as a prospect. Then his girlfriend got pregnant and he turned it all down, not wanting to get caught up in something his offspring wouldn't be proud of.

I don't blame him. Club life isn't supposed to be like this. Club life is a brotherhood, based in the love of motorcycles and family. It's not meant to be this constant cycle of wrongdoing, illegal activity, death and murder. There's plenty of clubs out there running the straight and narrow. Hell, the vast majority of motorcycle clubs are completely free of the shit we do. I guess I can only hope we pull in that direction one day.

"Got some business to handle," I say, not waiting for a response before ducking into the front entrance.

People surround me as I step into the large lobby, covered in light pink and gold accents. Lotus flower carvings are expertly placed along the walls, glinting in the bright lighting of the room. Chaise lounges draped with guests surround me, the chattering nearly overwhelming as everyone talks over everyone else.

My eyes zero in on exactly who I came here for, though, and it doesn't take but a second to catch up to them before they enter the double doors leading to the main casino.

I stand from afar, pressed against the wall as to not draw any attention to myself - not that they would ever recognize me. We've never met and they are completely unaware of my existence as their worst nightmare.

They have no idea I'm stalking them, staying just out of arms reach where they can't pick up on the predator lurking nearby.

"Let me get a whiskey, neat, and for the lady?" The bigger of the two men speaks. Chris Dafoe. Ex Marine, dishonorably discharged for drug abuse and theft of equipment. Unmarried. Unattached. A pussy. A lowlife. The dirt under my boot.

Tattoos peak out from the back of his button down shirt, the tribal kind that kids freshly turned eighteen get to piss their parents off.

"I'll have a glass of Chardonnay," Stevie breathes seductively. Good girl. I told her to not order anything too strong if she was coerced into ordering drinks. I didn't want her to lose herself too much. There's no telling what they're going to try and do to her, but I'll be there before they get the chance.