Hunter (Sons of Rebellion Book 2) by Elsa Day Page B

 
    "Prove to me that you're man enough to handle a woman," he said. "If you can't, I'll show you how it's supposed to be done."
    After that, Dad pushed Tyson aside and left the room. Mom was still standing by the door. It wasn't like her to be this quiet, and she looked like she had something to say, but she was silent. She looked at Tyson, and then at me. Something had replaced the anger in her gaze. What was it? Sadness? Regret?
    She brushed past me, leaving the room before I had the chance to find out.
    "So," Tyson said, "looks like it's just you and me."
    I looked up at him.  
    "Oh shut up!"

THREE

    SLICK. THE ONE MAN I never wanted to see again. At least not alive anyway.
    The road was quiet. The wind whipped past my ears, tugging at my body. It was like even the wind didn't want me to go.
    Jase and Brent didn't either. I don't blame them. What kind of guy wants to take on a club's Sergeant at Arms on his own? A guy on a suicide mission. A guy like me.
      If it wasn't for Jase, Brent would've tackled me. He thought I was crazy. He doesn't know how lucky he was that Jase was there. Beating the shit out of my brother wasn't exactly the way I wanted to start this plan.
    As I came closer, the place loomed over the horizon. It looked just like the pictures. If I hadn't known any better, I would have assumed it was an empty warehouse. The rust on the corrugated metal made it look like no one had been there for years. But I knew better.  
    It wasn't empty. It was hiding a rat.
    I stopped my bike before I got too close. The noise would have been sure to give me away. I hid her in the bushes and made my way towards the warehouse.
    Everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly. I looked around for any bikers, and it seemed like the place was abandoned. Was I missing something? Was this a setup?
    When I reached the door, I slid my hand over the cool metal of my gun. I waited for a moment, listening. There was nothing. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat.
    I took a deep breath.
    The next moment my shoulder rammed into the door, forcing it open. The weak metal groaned before it bent under the pressure. It swung open, slamming into the wall behind it.
    I stepped inside, my gun ready to fire. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. Then there he was.
    "Well, hello there, Hunter," he said.
    Slick .
      His voice was even rougher than I remembered. It stank. Was he still smoking those same cheap ass cigars?
    "So you're the-" He started to hack. It sounded like if he coughed anymore, his lungs would fall out of his mouth. "You're the one they sent," he finally finished and wiped away the spit on his lips.
    My gun was trained right in between his eyes. Right where the deep wrinkles settled into his forehead. All I had to do was pull the trigger. I didn't have to answer him. I'd shoot, and we'd be done.
    "I was hoping you'd come," Slick said.
    He smiled.
    "Two Sergeants at Arms alone together, that seems like a fitting end."
    I wished the old man would just stop talking. As my eyes continued adjusting, I could make out more details of the warehouse. The place was empty. Picked clean. No supplies, no weapons, nothing.
      Fuck ! I was too late.
    "I was expecting you," Slick said, "so I got ready for our little party. Do you like the way I cleaned up?"
    I rushed up to Slick. Grabbed him by the collar, and rammed the muzzle of my gun into his cheek.
    "Shut the fuck up! I've had enough of your bullshit!" I yelled.
    My finger itched to pull the trigger.
    "Where are your men?" I asked. "Tell them to come out so that we can finish this mess."
    Slick shrugged his shoulders. "I sent them all home so that we could have a little private chat. Wouldn't you like that?"
    A sour taste came into my mouth and I shoved him back in the chair. Nasty fuck. Slick smiled in his seat and readjusted his collar.
    As much as I wanted to, I couldn't kill an old man with no defenses. Hell, he could barely even breathe. Slick should