Page 66

Kid

One night off from recruitment was all the vice president of the Royal Bastards Oklahoma City Chapter was awarded. If they were going to make anything happen, they needed numbers. Especially if they planned on being direct competition for an established syndicate.

Begrudgingly, Kid sat in the rear booth of the Knucklehead, nursing a beer so as not to repeat his overconsumption from the night before.

Torch bumped his elbow into Kid to get his attention.

“I know we’re supposed to be badasses,” his ginger-haired sergeant at arms commented. “But you’re kind of overdoing it. You look like a Doberman guarding a steak.”

“Your resting asshole face is a bit much,” Kevlar chimed in.

“Are you implying I’m scaring away potential brothers?” Kid scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “If they’re that easily intimidated, we don’t want them.”

Torch sighed. “What I’m saying is that Pooter, Bushie, and I have had a long week and would like to bring someone home tonight.”

Lionel peered at Torch. “What the fuck?”

Bushie threw his head back and laughed loudly.

Torch turned his attention to Lionel. “What? You need a road name.”

“Not that one. I thought you were kidding.” Lionel shook his head and took a swig of his beer.

Torch snorted. “Pooter it is.”

Bushie continued to howl with laughter. Tears formed in the creases of his eyes.

Pooter glared. “I hate all of you.”

Kevlar looped an arm around Pooter’s shoulders and tugged him closer. “But we love you, brother.”

“Oh really?” A feminine voice drew all their attention.

With her hip popped and her hand upon it, Kelsey smirked at Kevlar. She was a stunning full-figured woman who got tossed into the Royal Bastards’ world and never thought twice about it. Kid’s brother was a lucky man to have nabbed her when he did.

When his gaze drifted to her left, Kid’s throat went dry. Holy fucking hell.

Beside Kelsey, holding a longneck, wearing what could best be described as jean underwear and tan cowboy boots, Carrie glanced around, surveying the crowd. Or… purposely avoiding eye contact with anyone at the Royal Bastards’ table.

Fuck. She looked good.

The bikers shuffled in the booth, bumping into one another so that Kevlar could get out. Kid kept his eyes trained on Carrie—daring her to meet his gaze.

“This is a surprise,” Kevlar said, approaching his woman with his arms out.

She melted against him as the two shared a quick kiss.

“Line dancing got canceled,” she said through a frown.

“Your loss is my gain, Kitten,” Kevlar said.

“We figured we would crash your party,” Kelsey said on a giggle as she snuggled into her old man.

That explained the cowboy hat Carrie wore. Maybe the boots too. Though Kid couldn’t get rid of the fantasy of throwing her legs in the air and fucking her in them. Taking a gulp of his beer, he tried to fill his brain with other things—like Harley-Davidsons. The 1941 WLA military bike, a 1957 Sportster, his own 2022 Softail Low Rider ST FXLRST with the custom purple paint job.

Unfortunately, every bike he imagined had Carrie straddling it in the exact outfit she had on now.

Kid was fucked.