The Death Lords, Volumes 1-3: His Wild Desire, Her Secret Pleasure, Their Private Need by Ella Goode Page B

Otherwise it’s easy to get fucked up.
    It used to be regular folks shied away from the leather vests with our profane patches. Recent television shows have made us a curiosity and that increased interest makes everyday life a little more dangerous…and I’ll admit, at times, a little more interesting. But the new attention means the club has to be more intuitive or they’ll find themselves ass up on someone’s social media feed or in a bar fight with civilians trying to show off for their girlfriends.
    These days, I’m looking for members that have something to offer other than blind loyalty.
    The Death Lords don’t need to be bigger, but we’ve got room in our family if there’s a worthwhile civilian who needs a place to rest his boots.
    “Red hair, huh?”
    This attribute appears to interest Drake but not for the reason Handfield thinks. Drake eyes Chuck’s dark red hair, raises an eyebrow in my direction and gives his head a tiny shake.
    The little encouragement is all Handfield needs to keep going. “Creamiest skin. Tons of freckles. Kind of makes you wonder what she looks like downstairs.”
    “You gonna take care of the loudmouth or am I?” Chuck growls.
    With a jerk of my chin, Drake gathers up the cards over Handfield’s protests and hustles the kid out of there before Chuck decides to defend his daughter’s honor.
    “This is why I’m asking you to keep an eye out for her.” He points a hard finger at Handfield’s retreating back.
    “Because a smartass kid thinks Pippa is good looking?” I’m incredulous because Handfield is exactly right. Pippa Lang, Chuck’s daughter, is a babe and it’s not only the red hair and freckles that makes my dick stand up. It’s her husky laugh and the confident way she moves. At forty-two, I’ve little interest in the baby pussy that keeps showing up to club parties. I want a woman and I got a sense about Pippa Lang. Her red hair would look real fine spread across my pillow.
    “No,” he scowls. “It’s that she couldn’t wait to hook up with your fucking chief of police. He’s the bastard that got your son sent away and I don’t want him anywhere near Pips.”
    “How old is your daughter, Chuck?”
    “Twenty-seven.”
    “She’s a little old for you to be telling her what to do and a helluva lot too old for some friend of her father’s to be interfering with who she dates.”
    “Shit, Judge, she’s my only kid and I’m trying to do right by her. Doing right by her means keeping the scum away.” He’s disgruntled and I’m not in a pacifying mood.
    “Not to be a shithead, Chuck, but about a year ago you were sitting at this very bar telling me your kid didn’t speak to you because you’d spent so much time on the road, moving around.”
    The red of his face indicates he doesn’t like this reminder. He clenches his fist and then releases his breath in a forcible rush, deflating like a popped balloon. His anger is spent as quickly as it was roused. “Yeah, fuck, you’re right. But that’s even more of a reason I don’t want her with Schmidthead. She’s dating him to spite me because he’s got the badge and I’m the fucking outlaw.”
    Lang did a stint down in an Arizona federal penitentiary fifteen or so years ago for something he’s never shared. I could’ve looked it up but he’s due his privacy.
    “Guess she doesn’t realize she’s scraping the bottom of the ganger barrel with Schmidt.”
    My lame quip eases the tension and Lang laughs. “Got that right.” He pushes to his feet. “I need to get going. Have some plans over in Rapid City and I’m not going to make it if I don’t get going.”
    I walk him out of the old converted granary that serves as our clubhouse.
    “I’ll keep an eye out for her but if your girl has any sense at all, she’ll show Schmidt the curb. He isn’t single because he wants to be but because he reeks of asshole. Doesn’t take long for a smart girl to pick up on that. Give your daughter some