Long Ride The Slayers MC #3) by Tara Oakes Page B

my part and nothing else. Little did I know that it would bring retaliation by the Cartel, which was under Cat’s father’s rule at the time.
    That was how this whole fucking mess started, how the Conquistadors drug cartel even came to be a blip on my radar. It all stems from the Kingsmen. So, in a way, they’re to blame for all of this. If they were able to handle their own shit and not need to come cryin’ for help, then none of the events of the last few months would have happened.
    The attempt on Stitch’s life wouldn’t have been made. My hand wouldn’t have been forced to help Mateo in his coup to take over the Cartel, and I wouldn’t be in bed with them now, forced to do business with a damn Mexican drug lord, even if he is a slight improvement from his predecessor.
    “I got some shit to clean up and it’s gonna take me a while to do it. If I need your help, I’ll make sure to come ask, but if you don’t hear from me, then it’s safe to assume that my club is fully capable of taking care of our own shit,” I make myself clear. “Any interference is only gonna piss me off. I think we both know what happens when I get pissed off, Vince.”
    There’s silence for a moment as we each stare down the man standing opposite us.
    “The Council is in two and a half weeks, Dawson. That’s how long you’ve got to clean this up. If nothing’s changed by the next time I see you, then I think it’s safe to assume that you can’t contain whatever you’ve got going on and we’ll just need to do it for you.”
    His threat is thinly veiled.
    I can see this meeting has run its course.
    “You boys best be leaving now before I tell you how I feel about ultimatums.” I use every ounce of willpower to remind myself that if I lose my shit right now, I’m just gonna be playing into his hand.
    The Kingsmen and the Slayers have been walking a fine line for long enough and both sides have just about run out of patience with the other. I don’t know for sure about Vince but I know that I’m practically chomping at the bit to fire the first shot and handle this like men, like our kind do.
    “Two and a half weeks, Dawson,” he repeats himself.
    My eye twitches and I remind myself over and over why it’s a bad idea to lose my cool. I’ve got too much to lose.
    “I’d offer you boys a beer before you leave, but… fuck it. My bar doesn’t serve assholes,” I quip as they each mount their bikes.
    One engine joins the next and then the next as they start up and fall in line behind Vince’s bike in the lead. I don’t even try to fight the urge to wave sarcastically as they take off down the highway and become nothing more than a trio of red tail lights fading away in the distance.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    MOLLY
     
    The towel in my hand is still warm, almost hot, from the dryer. Fluffy and soft it folds easily and actually bounces a little when I add it to the pile.
    There’s nothing I love more than warm towels and sheets that still smell like fabric softener. The tall stack of tan towels is beginning to climb and threatens to topple over soon so I cut it in half and carry the smaller pile carefully out of the laundry room with just enough clearance over the top one to actually see where I’m going.
    All the hard work I’m putting into balancing the laundry is almost lost as I jump at the sound of the doorbell.
    “Come in! It’s open!” Normally I would never just invite a person in, but I have a pretty good idea whose distorted shadow is behind the pebbled glass of the front door.
    “Sorry I’m late!” Baby calls down the foyer as if expecting me to be in the kitchen.
    The fundraiser carnival for Trixie’s preschool starts in about two hours and we had made plans to all go together and help set up.
    “It’s okay,” I shout down the stairs. “I’m finishing up some laundry. I’m up here.”
    Giving away my true location, it only takes her a few seconds to ascend the stairs with the the baby carrier in hand,