Page 2 of Devil’s Disciples

Upon seeing us, Baker stopped in his tracks. His eyes darted around the room and then locked on us. “What in the absolute fuck is going on?” he asked in a demanding tone.

I kept my eyes fixed on him. I wondered how he was going to save me. Surely, he’d give me a signal.

Something.

I felt the barrel of the gun press against the back of my head. “I’ll kill this bitch. I fucking swear. Don’t take another step, Baker.”

“Her?” Baker raised his hands to the sides of his head. “I don’t give a fuck, kill her. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

She doesn’t mean anything to me?

With each of those six spoken words, a dagger was thrust into my heart. How could he say such a thing?

My assailant wrapped his arm around my neck and yanked me off the stool so hard I slammed against his chest. Struggling to breathe, and now facing Baker, I searched his face for answers. His eyes were fixed on the man who towered over me, but offered nothing to ease the pain of what he’d said.

The wild-eyed maniac took a step back, dragging me with him. “I’m not fucking around, Baker. I’ll put one in the back of this bitch’s head.”

Slowly, Baker lowered his hands.

The pistol pressed hard against the base of my skull. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Baker.”

She doesn’t mean anything to me. The words echoed in my mind. Then, it dawned on me. That was his sign. He had a plan, I simply didn’t know what his next step was. Whatever it was, it was going to have to be precise. One wrong move, and I would be nothing but a memory.

I closed my eyes.

Please. Guide me through this. Help me understand what it is that I need to…

The explosive sound of the gun firing caused me to suck what would surely be my last breath.

Warm blood cascading down my face and onto my chest followed.

Then, everything went black.

1

Baker

Six months ago.

Cash paced the room with his eyes glued to the floor. I stroked my beard with the web of my hand while I waited for him to respond. After wearing the soles of his boots thin and streaking my freshly cleaned floor with scuffs, he paused and looked up.

“We don’t kill women, children, or the elderly,” he said under his breath.

His actions were unacceptable. As the president of Devil’s Disciples MC, I had many responsibilities. Keeping my men out of prison was one. Being a babysitter wasn’t. I demanded that everyone follow the rules outlined in the club’s bylaws. If they couldn’t – or wouldn’t – there was no place for them in the MC.

I could count the rules on one hand. Following them was paramount to the club’s success.

I studied him. An intimidating man to outsiders, he was lean and muscular with a mess of hair that obscured his eyes when he didn’t take the time to clear it away from his face. His jaw was sparsely covered in scruff, and his tanned skin was spotted with tattoos. His eyes were commanding, making looking away from him difficult.

“You understand the importance of that rule, don’t you?” I asked.

“Suppose so,” he said in a flat tone.

I pushed my chair away from my desk and stood. “You suppose so?”

“I guess so.”

“You’re guessing?” I sauntered toward him. “You know how I hate guessing.”