ducked as a beer bottle flew past his head.
“Don’t you get tired of this crap?”
Dominic chuckled and took a swig of his beer before jumping up to avoid the body that landed in the middle of their table.
“Naw. It’s good entertainment on a Friday night.” He leaned back against the wall and watched as his guys and the local riffraff got it on. “What I do get tired of is paying for the mess afterwards.”
“Ah, hell. The law’s on its way.” The sound of sirens could be heard even above the noise in the bar.
“Let’s get them out of here.” Dominic whistled and grabbed Butch. “Law’s here. Let’s grab everyone and go.”
Reece located the bartender and peeled off some bills to cover the damages then waded into the ruckus to separate his guys from the others. They poured out of the bar outside of Clarkston, Texas, and jumped on their bikes to hightail it out of there. Reece could already see the dust from the local law billowing up down the road. They would be going in the opposite direction and hopefully toward home. It had been a long trip.
He pulled up beside Dominic, the president of The Ghost Riders, and nodded his head that everyone was accounted for. Butch, their sergeant at arms, dropped back into line as Reece took his place. As the club’s vice president, he helped Dominic run the business. That meant keeping everyone in line and accounted for.
They had another three hours of hard riding to get back home, and it looked like they were going to be riding all night instead of finding a hotel. The only one he worried about was Irish. The man could put away some alcohol. They didn’t need to get pulled over for damn sure. They all smelled like a distillery after the fight.
Reece tapped his mic. “Dominic. Do you think we should pull over for the night? If the HP pulls us over, they’re going to slap us all in jail just by our smell alone. I know we’re all sober, but I think most of us ended up getting a beer bath.”
“Only three hours to go. We’ll keep it legal and under the limit.”
Reece just shrugged and tapped his mic again to change the channel so he could talk to the rest of the crew.
“Hey, guys, flying low and under the radar since we all smell like a brewery. No screwing up.”
He heard the general yeahs and fucks over the speakers. He grinned. They were a good crew despite their rowdy ways. The Ghost Riders motorcycle club had been around for nearly twenty-five years now. They had a legitimate mechanic’s garage and did odd jobs along the way. They were on their way back from one of those odd jobs—bounty hunting. They picked up a jumper in New Mexico and transported him back to Houston. Now they were on their way back to Reo, Texas, outside of San Antonio. Damn, he’d be glad to get home.
Reece stood up on the bike and stretched. He couldn’t get comfortable. In fact, he’d been downright antsy for the last few months. Nothing satisfied him. Not the booze, the women, nothing. Since he didn’t do drugs, there wasn’t much left but the ride and the chase. That had helped for a while, but now they were closing in on home and the ants were back in his pants.
“You okay over there?” Dominic’s voice sounded over the speakers.
“Got something going on you want to talk about?”
“Naw. I’m cool.” Reece was thankful that Dominic didn’t push him by asking more questions. He needed to think it out himself.
They pulled into Reo at about two thirty and headed straight for their place just outside the city limits. The garage was a four-bay cinderblock building with a larger bike bay around the side. They all pulled in and parked their bikes, grunting and groaning like old men. Turk closed the doors behind them and locked them down.
“Fuck, I’m glad to be home.” Irish stretched then headed toward the house.
Gill walked in, scratching his chest as they began to file out. “How was the ride?”
“One hundred thousand and my ass is numb.” Reece punched him in the arm and kept walking.
“Anything going on here?” Dominic asked over his shoulder.
“Nope. But I’m not going to say that it’s been quiet.”
Reece chuckled and waved as he passed through the door into the house. It was actually a double-wide with a house built around it. There were five bedrooms, three baths, a kitchen, the sanctuary, and a den of sorts. The club had a total of sixteen members with two prospects and a half-dozen babes. Reece followed Dominic down the hall to the sanctuary. They closed and locked the door behind them.
Dominic pulled open the bottom of the massive table where they did club business and opened the safe to deposit the check from the hunt. They would deposit it on Monday. It would help cover the club’s expenses. Every member of the club worked either in the shop or at the slaughterhouse on the other side of town. The club helped with unexpected expenses and provided meals and booze on the weekends. When someone ended up hurt and couldn’t work, the club took care of them. It was how things worked.
“Gus has an eye on two more possible jumpers due in next week. I think we should consider them, build up our finances while we can.” Dominic sat back in his chair.
“Sounds good to me. If you need to stick around here for business, me and the guys can handle it.”
“Might do that. Have to see what’s going on.” He let out a breath and frowned. “You’re restless, Reece. What’s going on?”
“I’m fine. Getting out helped.”
“That shit in Afghanistan is still working on you. You’ve got to put it behind you, man. It will eat you alive.”
“I’m fine. I haven’t had a dream in months.” Reece stood up and rested his hands on the table before leaning in. “Let me know if those guys rabbit. We’ll take care of them.”
“Get some sleep, Reece.” He nodded and unlocked the door. His room was at the end of the hall across from Dominic’s. It was a fair-size room, especially for one person, and held a king-size bed.
He was a big man and liked the room. Came in handy when he had a mind to entertain a couple of ladies or if he and Dominic shared one. Lately, if they didn’t share, he wasn’t interested. That was bothering him some, too. Why the need to share?