Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2) Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Nikki Pink
initially, before I separated him away. This one hadn’t been my type, too scrawny and greasy for me.
A man with a tear drop tattoo under his right eye gave me an appraising look. Now this guy was more my type. He had a smart, cocky look in his eyes and he moved with a flexible wiriness that hinted at a well-muscled, though not too huge, torso underneath his leather. Apart from the tattoo on his face he was quite good looking. Don’t get me wrong, I like me some tattoos (all the more so since my ex detested them), but I’ve never really gone for ones that are actually on the face.
Still, when he flashed me a polite smile of greeting and I saw his eyes flicker over my body I was pleased.
Teardrop seemed to be in charge of the ragtag group of bikers and hangers on strung around the room. I hoped they were as tough as their reputation.
“So, what’d you do with Red?” He lifted his chin as he asked the question, a piece of body language I’d soon be used to.
Although my poker face didn’t show it I grinned internally as I thought about what I’d done with Red the night before. But of course that wasn’t what he had meant. My momentary amusement at the appropriateness of the question disappeared as the video I had seen that morning flashed across my mind, again, for the hundredth time since I’d seen it.
I decided to keep it simple. “He came back to my house last night, but he left before I woke up. His motorcycle was still in my driveway this morning. I think he’s been kidnapped.”
The bikers looked at each other with what the fuck incredulous faces, as if they couldn’t fathom leaving a motorcycle behind. I wondered if they even believed me.
“Who the hell would want to kidnap that little asshole?” asked a heavy-set man with a raspy voice.
The leader let out a little high pitched laugh. “I don’t know, T-Bone. But I’m guessing the little lady has a theory.”
I nodded and stepped toward him, offering a hand. “It’s Karen.”
“Karen huh? Pretty name.” His eyes ran over me, pausing at my chest. “Pretty girl. You can call me Bottle.” He grasped my hand with his and squeezed it firmly. His handshake was warmer than I expected, and after the clammy grasp of the dick-head sheriff that morning it was reassuring. “This here is T-Bone, and the scrawny little bitch is Twist.”
I shook each of their hands politely, amused at our good manners. It’s a fucked up town when the local biker gang gives a better first impression than its law enforcers, I thought, but then again, maybe a fucked up town suited a fucked up girl like me.
After we exchanged our greetings he indicated for me to sit down on a beat up wooden chair next to a hardwood table covered in scars and burns from years of serving the rough inhabitants of the place.
“Drink?”
I sure as hell wanted one. “Gotta beer?”
He shook his head in a gesture of amused disbelief and grinned. “I meant a soda or something. It’s not even midday.” He paused just a moment. “Fuck it.” He raised his chin in the direction of the younger biker with the greasy hair, the one from last night. “Twist! Don’t just stand there numb-nuts, get us some beers.”
Was it really not yet midday? It seemed so much later. I shrugged internally, who the fuck cares. A smile crossed my lips.
“Something funny?” asked Bottle, not unkindly. His eyes had a twinkle, like he wanted to be included in the joke.
“No, not really. I was just thinking about what the hell I’m doing in a biker clubhouse drinking beer before midday. It’s not exactly how I thought life would turn out.”
“Regrets?”
“Countless.”
He laughed. “Don’t we all.”
The young guy, Twist, who barely seemed out of adolescence had scurried off at Bottle’s command. It must be nice to have people to boss around like that, get me a beer, pass me the remote, bring me a sandwich .
“I take it you’re in charge here then?”
“The president is away right now,
A man with a tear drop tattoo under his right eye gave me an appraising look. Now this guy was more my type. He had a smart, cocky look in his eyes and he moved with a flexible wiriness that hinted at a well-muscled, though not too huge, torso underneath his leather. Apart from the tattoo on his face he was quite good looking. Don’t get me wrong, I like me some tattoos (all the more so since my ex detested them), but I’ve never really gone for ones that are actually on the face.
Still, when he flashed me a polite smile of greeting and I saw his eyes flicker over my body I was pleased.
Teardrop seemed to be in charge of the ragtag group of bikers and hangers on strung around the room. I hoped they were as tough as their reputation.
“So, what’d you do with Red?” He lifted his chin as he asked the question, a piece of body language I’d soon be used to.
Although my poker face didn’t show it I grinned internally as I thought about what I’d done with Red the night before. But of course that wasn’t what he had meant. My momentary amusement at the appropriateness of the question disappeared as the video I had seen that morning flashed across my mind, again, for the hundredth time since I’d seen it.
I decided to keep it simple. “He came back to my house last night, but he left before I woke up. His motorcycle was still in my driveway this morning. I think he’s been kidnapped.”
The bikers looked at each other with what the fuck incredulous faces, as if they couldn’t fathom leaving a motorcycle behind. I wondered if they even believed me.
“Who the hell would want to kidnap that little asshole?” asked a heavy-set man with a raspy voice.
The leader let out a little high pitched laugh. “I don’t know, T-Bone. But I’m guessing the little lady has a theory.”
I nodded and stepped toward him, offering a hand. “It’s Karen.”
“Karen huh? Pretty name.” His eyes ran over me, pausing at my chest. “Pretty girl. You can call me Bottle.” He grasped my hand with his and squeezed it firmly. His handshake was warmer than I expected, and after the clammy grasp of the dick-head sheriff that morning it was reassuring. “This here is T-Bone, and the scrawny little bitch is Twist.”
I shook each of their hands politely, amused at our good manners. It’s a fucked up town when the local biker gang gives a better first impression than its law enforcers, I thought, but then again, maybe a fucked up town suited a fucked up girl like me.
After we exchanged our greetings he indicated for me to sit down on a beat up wooden chair next to a hardwood table covered in scars and burns from years of serving the rough inhabitants of the place.
“Drink?”
I sure as hell wanted one. “Gotta beer?”
He shook his head in a gesture of amused disbelief and grinned. “I meant a soda or something. It’s not even midday.” He paused just a moment. “Fuck it.” He raised his chin in the direction of the younger biker with the greasy hair, the one from last night. “Twist! Don’t just stand there numb-nuts, get us some beers.”
Was it really not yet midday? It seemed so much later. I shrugged internally, who the fuck cares. A smile crossed my lips.
“Something funny?” asked Bottle, not unkindly. His eyes had a twinkle, like he wanted to be included in the joke.
“No, not really. I was just thinking about what the hell I’m doing in a biker clubhouse drinking beer before midday. It’s not exactly how I thought life would turn out.”
“Regrets?”
“Countless.”
He laughed. “Don’t we all.”
The young guy, Twist, who barely seemed out of adolescence had scurried off at Bottle’s command. It must be nice to have people to boss around like that, get me a beer, pass me the remote, bring me a sandwich .
“I take it you’re in charge here then?”
“The president is away right now,