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Vicious Heart (Desert Kings MC #2) 20. Cam 57%
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20. Cam

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I had the pleasure of being seated at the table as the guys piled in…including Preacher. Riley couldn’t have planned things better if she’d known where my head was. That she’d went so far as to tattoo my name on her skin, that her feelings ran that deep, made me a happy man.

That she’d decided to show me in a room full of Kings, especially Preacher? Well, that made a sort of pride curl and lick at my insides. It was the biggest middle finger I could have given the bastard.

I smiled at each of them as they walked in, even Preacher. My newfound attitude was confusing. This was the first time I’d sat at this table since Archer died and wasn’t preparing for a fight.

At least, not here.

The burly old guy rolled with it, grinning as he took his seat. “Got a few things to say before Jester kicks some ass.”

The table erupted into shouts and table thumping. Fight nights were where we cut loose, let the Ukrainians deal with the important shit.

“Bring cash boys! Bet big win big!” Jester shouted over the ruckus, then howled like a coyote.

“I got a couple on little brother to smoke your ass.” Drop Top tossed bills onto the table, and the shit talking was on. Back and forth, they bet with each other, called each other names, but all in good fun. They needed this. We needed this.

Watching them reminded me why I’d joined the Desert Kings to begin with. Riley’s surprise tattoo was like a glimpse of what life could be. If I could get shit sorted. These guys were my brothers, men I’d die for. Before Riley, the only family I knew.

I wouldn’t let Preacher destroy them. Destroy Us .

“Alright. Settle down.” Preacher rapped the gavel on the table a few times and the room quieted. “Listen, play nice tonight. No fighting outside the ring. I talked to the peckerwoods and Wanda wants to keep the peace, and make a good impression on the Ukrainians.”

“Val and Ky don’t give a shit about the peckerwoods.” Merc’s lip curled with obvious dislike. “They only invited them to put them in their place.”

Preacher glowered at him. “It’s in our best interest, monetarily, to make sure they get the chance. Wanda’s promised that if we facilitate…”

“We voted on this before Archer died and shot it down. Then Ky did the same. We aren’t hurting for cash, no reason to push for it,” AP said simply, not intimidated at all.

“It’s cool, Preach.” I waved off Merc and AP’s protest. “We can behave for one night. Doesn’t hurt shit.”

Across the table, Merc caught my gaze and gave a wolfish grin. We’d been friends for too long. He saw where this was going.

Time to stir the pot.

***

Riley rode behind me, sporting my leather, with my name permanently etched down her ribcage. She’d made a place for herself here with me. I’d love her forever for that alone. And despite all the Preacher shit; screaming down the highway with my brothers beside me and Riley behind me, I was fucking whole—happy.

The first time she’d ridden with me, I’d wished I could reach behind me and run my hand up her leg. I did now, down her shin and back up her calf. Then she covered my hand with hers. When I tugged her arm around me, she moved closer and ran her lips across the back of my neck.

It didn’t matter that I rode with twenty other guys. We were the only two people who existed.

The warehouse was a huge, unmarked, metal monstrosity off the interstate. It dominated that part of the desert. The only other things around were a couple of truck stops. A cop sat near the entrance of one as we turned off.

He was paid well for his disinterest. Earning that money, he didn’t even look up from his phone as we blew through the stop sign and into the parking lot. Other Kings were already there, along with a hell of a lot of people. The parking lot that wrapped around the building was packed.

“Strippers and whores must be good for business.” Drop Top smirked after we parked on the sidewalk and shut off the motors.

“Nah, it’s the drugs and guns,” I whispered to Riley, half kidding.

From the open doors, the hum of excited conversation drifted out into the night.

“Check it out,” I said to Riley as I climbed off my bike and held my hand for her to step off. She ditched the helmet, ran her hands through her hair, and looked around, eyes bright. I gestured to where Jester climbed off his bike and shouldered the backpack he’d had hooked to his seat. A line of scantily clad young women formed on the sidewalk, waiting to greet him.

His little brother walked out the open doors, grinning.

“Jester here is a local celebrity.”

Riley snorted her disbelief and threaded her fingers through mine as I lit a cigarette with the other. “He’s a regular Mike Tyson.”

When Jester, blowing kisses to his fans, stepped through the door, the entire building erupted. The uproar shook the metal sides. I was rewarded with watching Riley’s face change into one of absolute shock as she gaped. I brought our joined hands to her face and, asserting gentle pressure, pushed her chin up to close her mouth.

“Told you.” I took another drag, waiting on the rest of the guys to roll off their bikes.

“This is insane.”

“Yeah, he’s been doing this awhile. Doesn’t lose much. I think he was going to be a serious MMA fighter at one point but bailed.” I finished my smoke and scuffed it out on the sidewalk before leading her into the fight.

The back side of the building was a row of closed doors bisected in the middle by a hallway—makeshift locker rooms and offices. Above them, several open-air viewing boxes that reminded me of the fairground horse races when I was a kid.

People filled every inch of available space. All different races and ethnicities. From peckerwoods to old school street thugs, college bitches to suits. I recognized a few cops, too.

And in the middle of it all was a giant octagon shaped cage with a mic hanging from the roof. That fighting ring was broadcast on giant flat screens at the top of each side of the building except above the viewing boxes.

I caught Ky Soletsky’s gaze as he lounged against the cage, hands shoved in the pockets of his light-colored hoodie, grinning like the crazy European he was.

“Ky’s fighting too, right?” Riley followed my gaze and half shouted her question.

The crowd had quieted, but not enough for me to hear her unless she spoke up.

“Yeah. Him, Jester, Crash, another Ukrainian guy, two guys from Vegas, and the two peckerwoods.”

“Who are we putting money on?”

“That’s a good question.” Val Soletsky slapped a hand on my shoulder and one on Riley’s.

For a split second, there was a glint of something terrible in his eyes. There wasn’t a man alive that scared me, but Val came close.

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