Romans & histoires Dodging You (outlaws Mc)

Victor had stood up and was addressing the crowd now, talking about territory disputes and how the clubs needed to respect boundaries if they wanted to avoid another war like the one last year. This was my chance. I started walking toward the front, weaving through the tables. All the men in the room started to turn their heads towards me. My hand slipped into my jacket, fingers closing around the grip of my gun. "Ambrose!" I shouted. Victor stopped mid-sentence, his head snapping toward me. "What the hell are you doing, Maddox? Go on and sit your ass down with the other VPs!" I ignored him completely and locked eyes with Ambrose. He was still seated, his pipe resting in one hand, but his fa

he asked. I smirked. An idea came into my mind. “Work with me.” He was confused for a moment. Then let out a small laugh, “You’re kiddin’, right?” “I’m not.” I stood up and locked the door of the club office. I told him the concept of Ringo Dingo and explained how does it work. For a minute or so, he was utterly shocked. “But that’s illegal!” “I know.” “And we are a Catholic school!” “I know.”

Jared stood in front, my biggest threat, while I kept Miles and Damon in my peripheral vision. Jared moved first, testing me with a swing aimed at my gut. I ducked under his arm, dropped to my knees, and slid toward Miles. My fist shot upward, straight between his legs. The sound he made was half-gasp, half-groan. He crumpled instantly. One down.

I drank myself sick at endless business dinners and networking events, and in the end, I helped him secure a comfortable position as CEO. However, once his career stabilized, he suddenly claimed he needed to "test my sincerity". He said he would only agree to marry me if I passed all 52 premarital tests Chelsea had set up. So, under the excuse of testing me, Chelsea made me collect 9,999 handwritten blessings from strangers. When I arrived at the office, she would deliberately dump ice water over my head. She even put laxatives in my drink, so I ended up having explosive diarrhea during business meetings and humiliating myself in public.

She's in full mother tiger mode. The talk with Linc goes as well as I expected. It ends with me sitting in the living room with my head back trying to keep my bloody nose from making a mess. I refused to defend myself because I completely understand his anger. Beth, the baby, and Shelby are next door. They'll stay on Shelby's side of the duplex until Dax arrives. Dax is another thing my brother's angry about. Dax is the president of Desert Crows, an outlaw motorcycle club in Arizona. They have close ties with Moon's organization but it's not widely known. If Gimonde gets anywhere near the Crows' compound, Dax and his men will defend their territory to the death.

He anticipated my move and dodged once more. After fighting him for a while, I could read the patterns. This bastard avoided my punches rather than blocking them. Just as I suspected, he preferred dodging to striking. This time, I feinted. When my left fist swung, the man moved to my right side to dodge. With my sharp right claw, I clawed his shoulder, stopping his movement. He cried out as blood flowed from his shoulder through the wound. I then twisted his arm and dropped my body to push him off the dumpster, forcing him to crash to the ground. His arm cracked and tore under my claws. I was about to sink my fangs into his shoulder, but he pushed me to break free.

A cut. It's different. This one not matching the cut of the Nightmare Warriors that I have seen. This one has an image of a skull with a cross bone under it. Around the image in big bold white letters are the words Rejects MC. I narrow my eyes as his stands there with his arms crossed leaning against my car, smoking a cigarette. I march over, get in front of his vision and cross my arms matching his gesture. "Um excuse me sugar, but last I checked leaning against a person's hood was rude. Maybe your mamma didn't teach you that, but I can assure you it is." The stranger smirks then pulls his cigarette out of his mouth and flicks it away from the two of us.

His voice was hoarse, but mockery still clung to every word. "What's your name?" I asked, calm, though my gaze never left him. He spat on the floor. "Like I'd tell you." His laugh cracked the silence, harsh and ugly. Daxon's patience broke. The baseball bat came down fast and hard against the side of the Outcast's skull. The sick thud of bone meeting wood echoed off the walls. The Outcast let out a low growl, pain mixing with stubbornness. Without pause, Daxon grabbed the dart gun from the table and fired three quick shots. The darts buried themselves deep in the Outcast's chest. His body jerked, and a groan slipped out of him.

“Because it’s true.” Before I could respond.... A loud clink cut through the room. Glasses. Voices quieting. Attention shifting. I turned. A guy stood at the center of the room, raising his drink with a grin that screamed trouble. Cameron. “Alright!” he called out. “Let’s make this night interesting.” A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd. People gathered. Closer. Tighter. More dangerous. “Truth,” he said, smirking, “or dare?”