Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 48700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
"Came to see Phantom." I lean against a post, my eyes trained on him. "He and I got a problem. He disrespected my old lady and put his fuckin' hands on her in my bar last night, Slim."
Slim's eyes widen. He didn't know.
"I wouldn't have brought it to your doorstep, but he decided to run off instead of sticking around to handle his shit like a man." I nod at the clubhouse. "Is he here?"
"Yep," Slim says. "He's here."
"You going to bring his sorry ass out here for me to handle this shit?" I ask.
"Depends." Slim eyes me sideways. "You plannin' on leaving him alive?"
"Depends on how much he pisses me off."
"Well, shit." Slim laughs, a sharp bark of sound that echoes around us. "At least you're fucking honest, Memphis. Is your old lady okay?"
"Hand got cut up," I mutter, still fucking furious about that fact. It's been a long goddamn time since I felt the way I did last night. But seeing Phantom with his hands on her? Seeing the fear in her eyes and knowing I couldn't get to her fast enough? I've never wanted to kill anyone the way I wanted to kill him last night.
Slim's eyes narrow, irritation flowing through them. He may be a fuckin' criminal, but he's not a bad guy. He has an old lady himself. He'd tear the goddamn world apart if someone came into his place and put their hands on her. So he can appreciate my position now.
He rips the door to the clubhouse open, poking his head inside. "Reaper!" he roars. "Drag Phantom's miserable ass out here now. I don't fucking care if he's dressed or not. You've got two fucking minutes or you're both coming out with my boot in your asses."
I exhale a tiny breath, allowing myself to relax an increment. This could have gone either way. Loyalty to the club and the brotherhood is inviolable to most of these guys. But Slim isn't most guys. He's a motherfucker with his head on straight.
"This going to cause problems for us, Memphis?" he asks, cocking his head to the side to eye me. "Because I'd prefer not to have the whole goddamn club banished from your bar over this."
"So long as I'm allowed to handle this shit without interference, we're good," I say. "But he and Reaper aren't to step foot inside my bar again. If they do, they won't like the consequences."
Slim strokes his scraggly beard, nodding. "Fair enough."
Just as the second minute ticks by, Reaper and Phantom stumble out onto the porch, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Reaper's still trying to button his jeans, and Phantom looks like he's gone a few rounds in a boxing ring. He's obviously hung over, a grimace on his face and pain dulling his eyes.
"What the fuck is this about?" he grumbles, wincing as he tugs his shirt on over his head.
Slim points at me, and I see the realization flicker in Phantom's eyes before he quickly slaps a mask of indifference in place.
"Memphis has a bone to pick with you," Slim tells him, stepping away to emphasize that this isn't his fight, and he isn't going to stop it.
Phantom looks at me, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you want?"
"You want to explain why the fuck you put your hands on my girl in my goddamn bar?" I ask, my voice lethally soft.
Resignation flickers in his gaze for a moment before he shrugs dismissively. "You need to teach her some fucking manners. She was askin' for it."
A flash of white-hot anger surges through me. "Watch what the fuck you say about her," I warn him.
Reaper, standing just behind Phantom, sighs heavily. "She didn't ask for nothing, Memphis," he mutters. "Phantom was drunk and being a dick. She rejected him, and he acted like an ass. He never should have started that fight or put his hands on her. For what it's worth, I'm sorry, man. She didn't deserve what happened."
Well, at least one of them is man enough to fuckin' admit it.
"Man, fuck this," Phantom growls, turning toward the door of the clubhouse, the scar on his face sinister as he sneers.
Without another word or warning, I strike, my fist plowing into his jaw. He stumbles back onto the wooden deck with a loud thud as blood splatters from his busted lip. In the time it takes him to scramble back to his feet, I'm on him, landing punishing blows to his face and ribcage.
I don't let up until he's a groaning heap on the porch beneath me. My knuckles are bloody and raw, but the satisfaction is fuckin' worth it.
I kneel down beside him, getting on his level as I wrap my hand around his throat, forcing him to meet my gaze. "If you ever put your fucking hands on her again, it'll be the last goddamn thing you do," I growl, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You don't touch what belongs to me. Understood?"