Soul Ties (Club Ties #4) Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Em Petrova
“Playing with fire.”
Connall raised a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I knew they weren’t in Heller’s Gap for any reason that was good. I let them know we wouldn’t just sit here and let them corrupt our town.”
For a man who’d moved four times in as many years, he’d been as unattached to his surroundings as a person possibly could be. But here…he had a burning sensation of belonging. This table was made for him to sit at. His new brothers were made to be best friends.
And Sarah…
He clamped that thought like a Hemostat on an artery.
“They followed me back to the bar. I took a bottle of Grey Goose in the nose.” He pointed to his schnoz, which felt enormous with swelling, but in three weeks would be mostly normal again.
“And they shot Bones,” Jamison prompted.
“Not exactly. They started crap with him and Harris. Then they asked about a duffle bag.”
“Son of a bitch.” Jamison’s simple words resounded through the space. Nobody spoke.
“They said it was rumored the Hell’s Sons had stolen it. Is that true?”
“Yeah,” Jamison said after a while. “But it was our money.”
“Maybe they just want the duffle back because they need a place to put their gym socks,” someone quipped.
Laughter rippled down the table, and though the atmosphere lightened, Connall didn’t feel it inside. “Bones was just in the line of fire,” he said quietly.
Jamison pressed his hands flat to the surface. “Why the fuck is everything so complicated lately? We’ve got to handle this shit. Right. Fucking. Now. C’mon, Ace, Drake. We’re going to pay our friends the Falcons a visit. I don’t know what alliance they’re making with the Raiders, but it can’t happen.”
“The Raiders.” Connall had no idea what was going on now. At first he’d believed the Falcons had just risen to the flash of his middle finger. But how did a duffle or the Raiders fit into this puzzle?
Jamison met his gaze. “The Raiders stole a bag of money from the man who owed us. They hid it in a warehouse away from their club. We got it back, but the only way the Falcons would know about that is if they’ve been talking to the Raiders. We have to end this before it starts.”
“I’ve got some new ammo.” Ace, the Sergeant at Arms, stood and his dog jumped up too.
“Is this wise?” Connall hoped he was the voice of reason. This wasn’t the Hell’s Sons. What he was seeing alarmed him far more than anything he’d seen in all his years as a patched member. “You’re reacting, but we need to think smart.”
When Jamison eased a sidearm from beneath his waistband, there was little hope in stopping the fight. “Wise? Maybe not. But we can’t sit here while they join forces. Drake, get a meet with the Raiders’ prez. Everyone else, find someone sweet to fuck, because we ride in two hours.”
Connall wasn’t one to turn from a war. He’d seen his old charter through plenty of dangerous times. He might be squeaky clean in the OR, but his button-down shirt hid tattoos and battle scars.
He stood. “I’m in.”
Jamison didn’t hesitate to include him. “Grab your choice of sweet butt. We leave at dark.”
Connall gave a nod, but he had no desire for sweet butt. He wanted a Sweet heart .
»»•««
Sarah had seen very little of the doc in the three weeks since they’d met with the Raiders, so when the man strode into the clubhouse looking like sin in low-slung denim and a club T-shirt, she had a hard time catching her breath.
Without glancing at the chaos around him, he bee-lined to the bar and Ace. “Can I talk to you?” His voice was gruff.
Gathering two empty long-necks, Sarah tried to disappear into the background while keeping an eye on Connall. The guys and their old ladies were drinking, talking about child support owed and the next ride for charity. One club member had his face buried between a sweet butt’s thighs, and the partying had barely started.
The woman moaned, and Sarah
Connall raised a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I knew they weren’t in Heller’s Gap for any reason that was good. I let them know we wouldn’t just sit here and let them corrupt our town.”
For a man who’d moved four times in as many years, he’d been as unattached to his surroundings as a person possibly could be. But here…he had a burning sensation of belonging. This table was made for him to sit at. His new brothers were made to be best friends.
And Sarah…
He clamped that thought like a Hemostat on an artery.
“They followed me back to the bar. I took a bottle of Grey Goose in the nose.” He pointed to his schnoz, which felt enormous with swelling, but in three weeks would be mostly normal again.
“And they shot Bones,” Jamison prompted.
“Not exactly. They started crap with him and Harris. Then they asked about a duffle bag.”
“Son of a bitch.” Jamison’s simple words resounded through the space. Nobody spoke.
“They said it was rumored the Hell’s Sons had stolen it. Is that true?”
“Yeah,” Jamison said after a while. “But it was our money.”
“Maybe they just want the duffle back because they need a place to put their gym socks,” someone quipped.
Laughter rippled down the table, and though the atmosphere lightened, Connall didn’t feel it inside. “Bones was just in the line of fire,” he said quietly.
Jamison pressed his hands flat to the surface. “Why the fuck is everything so complicated lately? We’ve got to handle this shit. Right. Fucking. Now. C’mon, Ace, Drake. We’re going to pay our friends the Falcons a visit. I don’t know what alliance they’re making with the Raiders, but it can’t happen.”
“The Raiders.” Connall had no idea what was going on now. At first he’d believed the Falcons had just risen to the flash of his middle finger. But how did a duffle or the Raiders fit into this puzzle?
Jamison met his gaze. “The Raiders stole a bag of money from the man who owed us. They hid it in a warehouse away from their club. We got it back, but the only way the Falcons would know about that is if they’ve been talking to the Raiders. We have to end this before it starts.”
“I’ve got some new ammo.” Ace, the Sergeant at Arms, stood and his dog jumped up too.
“Is this wise?” Connall hoped he was the voice of reason. This wasn’t the Hell’s Sons. What he was seeing alarmed him far more than anything he’d seen in all his years as a patched member. “You’re reacting, but we need to think smart.”
When Jamison eased a sidearm from beneath his waistband, there was little hope in stopping the fight. “Wise? Maybe not. But we can’t sit here while they join forces. Drake, get a meet with the Raiders’ prez. Everyone else, find someone sweet to fuck, because we ride in two hours.”
Connall wasn’t one to turn from a war. He’d seen his old charter through plenty of dangerous times. He might be squeaky clean in the OR, but his button-down shirt hid tattoos and battle scars.
He stood. “I’m in.”
Jamison didn’t hesitate to include him. “Grab your choice of sweet butt. We leave at dark.”
Connall gave a nod, but he had no desire for sweet butt. He wanted a Sweet heart .
»»•««
Sarah had seen very little of the doc in the three weeks since they’d met with the Raiders, so when the man strode into the clubhouse looking like sin in low-slung denim and a club T-shirt, she had a hard time catching her breath.
Without glancing at the chaos around him, he bee-lined to the bar and Ace. “Can I talk to you?” His voice was gruff.
Gathering two empty long-necks, Sarah tried to disappear into the background while keeping an eye on Connall. The guys and their old ladies were drinking, talking about child support owed and the next ride for charity. One club member had his face buried between a sweet butt’s thighs, and the partying had barely started.
The woman moaned, and Sarah