Hell on Heelz (Asphalt Gods' MC) by Mitchell Morgan Jane

Author:Mitchell, Morgan Jane [Mitchell, Morgan Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-02-23T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

We rode until we came to a bar in downtown Shreveport. There were no windows, but a sign flicked with the words, “The Neon Parrot”.

“Why are we here?” I asked when we’d slowed down enough to be able speak.

“Would you rather go back to the clubhouse?”

I said a quick thanks to God when I heard it wasn’t their roadhouse. I’d heard tale of what the Gods’ do there, if they catch one of us. If I was lucky, I could get this man where I wanted him, down the sharp end of my knife and get away before he took me to his brethren.

It’d only been a few minutes ride, but I was itching to call for help for Sugar. I was praying in my head about that one too. Mud parked us around back. We got off the bike in unison, being attached and all. He pushed open a door that read, Staff Only, and let me in first, sort of. Awkwardly, we walked farther inside and down a dark, empty hallway. Mud handed me a quarter and pointed to something I hadn’t seen in a long while.

“There’s still a pay phone here?”

“Yeah, my buddy likes it that way.”

I was taking it he knew the owner.

With Mud’s arm shackled to mine, I stepped into the open booth, put the phone on my shoulder and dialed 9-1-1 with my free hand. Mud listened as I told them a man had been shot and recited the address I’d made note of on the way out. I hung up before the operator could ask more questions.

“All better now?” Mud didn’t step aside as I tried to step out.

I raised my eyebrows before they creased. “No, I’m most certainly not.” I tugged on the cuff to remind him about it.

He ignored it. “Need a drink?”

“Sure,” I sounded as suspicious as I felt, but then I almost smiled in anticipation. Damn, I was an alcoholic. Nothing sounded better after the day I’d had. Besides, the longer I kept this man away from his brothers, the better.

“Come on. Wrap your arm around me like this.” Mud tugged me to his side and situated me with my arm going behind his waist. He clasped my fingers in his, holding my hand. Pleased no one would see the cuffs, I walked into the bar at his side like we were a couple.

Standing at the bar in the same manner, Mud asked me, “What do you drink?”

“A double shot of whiskey.” It didn’t matter what kind.

He laid down a fifty and yelled over the noise. “Hey, Bill!”

The burly man who answered wore the Gods’ patch as well. Holy shit. I thought Mud wasn’t turning me in yet. The bartenders patch read, “Bullet Bill”, but he wasn’t an officer.

“Who’s the pretty lady?”

Mud squeezed me against him. “She’s mine so don’t be getting any ideas. Give us a bottle of the good stuff and two glasses.”

Sitting down a bottle of Jameson, Bill reached under the bar and produced two rocks glasses.

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