Page 8 of Gunner

“Are you fucking deaf? I said your garage door is open.”

Did I mention she had a mouth on her too?

Because she did.

Looking down at my jeans, I smiled. Zipping them up, I winked, “Saw my Harley, did ya, sweetheart?”

“Nope. I saw a minibike with two flat tires, though.”

The brothers sitting at the bar spit out their beers and started bellowing like hyenas.

Fucking dicks.

Did I also mention she was mean?

Like really mean.

“Why are you here, woman? Don’t you have someone to torture?”

“Why? Are you volunteering?” she asked, tipping back her beer before turning to face me. “Besides, I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“BAILEY!”

We all jumped when a loud, ear-splitting scream came from upstairs as the devious woman giggled before smiling brightly. “That.”

Thunderous footfalls stormed above our heads as Bailey quickly got to her feet and drank the last of her beer. “Well, boys, that’s my cue to leave. You can all thank me later.”

With that, my brother’s woman sauntered out of the clubhouse with her head held high, just as Scribe damn near stumbled down the stairs shouting, “Where the fuck is she?!”

“What the fuck are you bitching about now?” my older brother shouted, walking out of his office. Upon seeing me, King narrowed his eyes. “And what the fuck are you still doing here, Gunner? You are supposed to be with Frankenstein today.”

“Heading there now, bro. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Scribe, what the fuck is on your head?” Priest asked as Scribe growled before ripping some kind of fluffy wrap off his head, allowing his hair to fall around him. As the club’s native hippie, we were all used to seeing Scribe’s long blonde hair on display. It was nothing new. Scribe’s hair was the centerpiece of his existence. The man worshiped his hair as if the Gods gifted him the long, luscious locks personally. He nurtured, pampered and babied his hair as if it was his most precious possession on the planet.

Only this time, his precious hair it wasn’t blonde.

It was hot pink.

“Fuck me,” King groaned, then asked, “What the hell did you do this time?”

“Nothing!” he roared indignantly.

King narrowed his eyes. “You had to do something, Scribe. Think?”

“I said I was sorry about the gay thing. Even apologized for seeing her naked. I even forgave her for maiming me with pussy lips. But this?” our brother shouted, pointing to his hair. “I have no fucking clue!”

I chuckled, remembering the pussy lips fiasco.

For weeks, Scribe had no choice but to wear a mask to hide the semi-permanent tattoo Bailey had given him as a punishment for lying to her about being gay and seeing her naked. It was hands down one of the funniest things any of us had ever seen. Also made me realize that I never wanted to get on the woman’s bad side.

Like ever!

“She has been on the warpath the last few days over something,” Pyro said, walking over, popping bubbles with the gum in his mouth.

“No, she hasn’t,” King said.