Page 41 of Kings Have No Mercy

Fuck, if I couldn’t go for another round with her. Just to let off some steam.

We haven’t said so much as a word to each other since that night. I’ve been avoiding her. Pretty sure she’s been avoiding me too.

…except for the times when we’re both on the bar floor like now, and I catch sight of her. Our gazes lock and there’s an unspoken tension that’s even worse than before.

I don’t let myself think about how good it was. Not anywhere else except late at night in bed when I remember what it felt like to sink into her tight warmth.

I squash the thoughts now, tossing back the last of my whiskey.

There’s no way I’ll let it happen again. I’ll screw fucking boulder-tittied Sandie before I let myself relapse.

Stay fucking strong.

It was the best fuck I’ve had in years. Probably ever. Something about Sydney blew my mind, made my release five times more intense than usual.

But me and her have to be a one-time thing. I’ve still got her on my radar, ready for when she reveals her true intentions. My interest has to end there.

“There you are.” Velma interrupts my thoughts and sits down on the stool next to mine. “I heard about how today went.”

“I’ve got the bandage to prove it.”

She shakes her head, not a strand of her fried hair moving. “I spoke to Tom again. He expects his call.”

“You don’t have to keep telling me. I’ll call him when I call him.”

“You don’t understand, Mace. Shit is worse than we thought.” She signals to Mick from across the counter that she’ll have a beer.

“What’s with all the cryptic words, Velma? Speak up like you always do.”

With a heavy sigh, she says, “Don’t tell Tom I’ve told you this. He wants it close to the vest. But… Mace… we’re under investigation.”

That catches my attention. My eyes narrow staring at her. “Under investigation… like by the law?”

“That’s right. Word is, there’s an informant.”

“Shit, Velma. Aninformant?!”

“Shhh. Keep it down. Tom found out on the inside. One of the guys serving with him. You yourself know all about how they did the same to the prez of the Road Reapers. Now their club is dead.”

I do. It happened years ago. Word is, one of their most trusted members was turncoat and sold them out to the feds to save themselves. Several of the members went down for murder and drug charges.

Several more went down for even harder charges—taxes.

Nobody took a greater fall than their prez, Nathaniel “Wheels” Rollins. He’s been locked up most of my life.

“It’s damning if true,” Velma says, bringing her beer bottle to her lips. “It means we’re fucked. Any guesses who it might be?”

My stomach muscles clench as I survey the noisy saloon. I land on Sydney, in a black Steel Kings t-shirt she’s tied at her navel, delivering a round of shots to a table of guys. “I’ve got a few.”

13

MASON

“You thinkwe got money to waste on glasses? You think we grow green on trees?”

Sydney eyes me like she’s not sure if I’m being serious or playing mind games. The answer is both—I’m being serious and I’m fucking with her.

This is a game. One she’s playing whether or not she wants to.