Chapter Five

Memphis

I t's nearly noon when I roll up on the Devil Outriders clubhouse on the outskirts on Nashville, looking for Phantom. The motherfucker was long gone by the time I got outside last night. He's fuckin' lucky he didn't stick around. The way I was feeling after Kylie ran out on me, I may have killed him and left his fucking body in the streets.

Kylie saved Rick's sorry ass when she told me what happened. The fact that he stuck around to handle his shit like a man earned my respect.

But Phantom won't be as lucky. He insulted her and put his fucking hands on her. I'm handling that shit today.

I park my bike in front of his clubhouse and kill the throttle, eyeing the place. There is a line of bikes parked in front of the dusty warehouse they converted into their headquarters. Looks like most of his brothers are here.

Oh fuckin' well.

I climb from my bike, striding toward the doors anyway.

Halfway there, a scrawny biker in jeans and not much else strolls out to greet me, still scrubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Slim Jones, their president.

"Memphis Hughes," he drawls, a slow, curious smile overtaking his acne-scarred face. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"Came to see Phantom." I lean against a post, my eyes trained on him. "He and I got a problem. He disrespected my old lady and put his fuckin' hands on her in my bar last night, Slim."

Slim's eyes widen. He didn't know.

"I wouldn't have brought it to your doorstep, but he decided to run off instead of sticking around to handle his shit like a man." I nod at the clubhouse. "Is he here?"

"Yep," Slim says. "He's here."

"You going to bring his sorry ass out here for me to handle this shit?" I ask.

"Depends." Slim eyes me sideways. "You plannin' on leaving him alive?"

"Depends on how much he pisses me off."

"Well, shit." Slim laughs, a sharp bark of sound that echoes around us. "At least you're fucking honest, Memphis. Is your old lady okay?"

"Hand got cut up," I mutter, still fucking furious about that fact. It's been a long goddamn time since I felt the way I did last night. But seeing Phantom with his hands on her? Seeing the fear in her eyes and knowing I couldn't get to her fast enough? I've never wanted to kill anyone the way I wanted to kill him last night.

Slim's eyes narrow, irritation flowing through them. He may be a fuckin' criminal, but he's not a bad guy. He has an old lady himself. He'd tear the goddamn world apart if someone came into his place and put their hands on her. So he can appreciate my position now.

He rips the door to the clubhouse open, poking his head inside. "Reaper!" he roars. "Drag Phantom's miserable ass out here now. I don't fucking care if he's dressed or not. You've got two fucking minutes or you're both coming out with my boot in your asses."

I exhale a tiny breath, allowing myself to relax an increment. This could have gone either way. Loyalty to the club and the brotherhood is inviolable to most of these guys. But Slim isn't most guys. He's a motherfucker with his head on straight.

"This going to cause problems for us, Memphis?" he asks, cocking his head to the side to eye me. "Because I'd prefer not to have the whole goddamn club banished from your bar over this."

"So long as I'm allowed to handle this shit without interference, we're good," I say. "But he and Reaper aren't to step foot inside my bar again. If they do, they won't like the consequences."

Slim strokes his scraggly beard, nodding. "Fair enough."

Just as the second minute ticks by, Reaper and Phantom stumble out onto the porch, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Reaper's still trying to button his jeans, and Phantom looks like he's gone a few rounds in a boxing ring. He's obviously hung over, a grimace on his face and pain dulling his eyes.

"What the fuck is this about?" he grumbles, wincing as he tugs his shirt on over his head.

Slim points at me, and I see the realization flicker in Phantom's eyes before he quickly slaps a mask of indifference in place.

"Memphis has a bone to pick with you," Slim tells him, stepping away to emphasize that this isn't his fight, and he isn't going to stop it.

Phantom looks at me, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you want?"

"You want to explain why the fuck you put your hands on my girl in my goddamn bar?" I ask, my voice lethally soft.

Resignation flickers in his gaze for a moment before he shrugs dismissively. "You need to teach her some fucking manners. She was askin' for it."

A flash of white-hot anger surges through me. "Watch what the fuck you say about her," I warn him.

Reaper, standing just behind Phantom, sighs heavily. "She didn't ask for nothing, Memphis," he mutters. "Phantom was drunk and being a dick. She rejected him, and he acted like an ass. He never should have started that fight or put his hands on her. For what it's worth, I'm sorry, man. She didn't deserve what happened."

Well, at least one of them is man enough to fuckin' admit it.

"Man, fuck this," Phantom growls, turning toward the door of the clubhouse, the scar on his face sinister as he sneers.

Without another word or warning, I strike, my fist plowing into his jaw. He stumbles back onto the wooden deck with a loud thud as blood splatters from his busted lip. In the time it takes him to scramble back to his feet, I'm on him, landing punishing blows to his face and ribcage.

I don't let up until he's a groaning heap on the porch beneath me. My knuckles are bloody and raw, but the satisfaction is fuckin' worth it.

I kneel down beside him, getting on his level as I wrap my hand around his throat, forcing him to meet my gaze. "If you ever put your fucking hands on her again, it'll be the last goddamn thing you do," I growl, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You don't touch what belongs to me. Understood?"

"Understood," he wheezes.

As I step back, Slim clears his throat. "Guess we're square now," he says, his gaze lingering on Phantom's prone figure.

"Not quite. That was for Kylie. He still owes me for the damage he did to my bar." I look out at the row of bikes. "Which one is his?"

Phantom actually whimpers this time, a pitiful, broken sound.

"You goin' to take his bike, Memphis?" Slim asks, dry amusement in his voice. "That's stone fucking cold."

"Nah, he can keep it. I don't need his shit. But I am going to leave it in the same goddamn condition he left my bar in," I growl, stomping down the porch. "So which is his?"

"Second from the end."

"Slim, please," Phantom groans like I just threatened his balls. "Not the fuckin' bike."

"Shut the fuck up, Phantom. Your ass is lucky he's leaving it at all. If it were me, I'd set the goddamn thing on fire and make you watch it burn," Slim snarls, spinning on Phantom with narrowed eyes. "You went in his house and touched his woman. You're lucky he left you breathing, you dumb son of a bitch. If it were me, they wouldn't even know where to start looking for your body."

Phantom's bloody face pales, but he shuts the fuck up.

Slim is right, though. He is getting off easy. In another life, I would have killed him. It's what I want to do now. But I'm not that man anymore. I have Kylie to think about now. And I can't fucking kill him when it means I risk being dragged from her side. That, I won't do.

She may think there is no us, but she's wrong about that. There is nothing but us, no future except for us.

One goddamn way or another, I intend to prove it to her.