Page 110 of Sangre
“We’re all going to The Rifleman’s Lounge. You wanna come with Isla?” Eagle said.
“Yeah. I’m sure she’ll be down for it.”
After Iris Blue finished moving their equipment off the stage, Isla came over to him. She’d given him a VIP pass so he could go behind stage. Her cheeks were red, her face had a sheen, and her hair was wild and tangled from head-banging. He yanked her to him and kissed her, feeling the rapid beat of her heart as his tongue claimed the wine-sweet darkness of her mouth.
“You fuckin’ rocked up there, babe. There’s no way the record company isn’t gonna sign your band,” he said against her lips.
“I hope so. The guysreallywant it.”
“So do you,” Benz said, coming up behind her.
Sangre watched her eyes dart around until they rested on the ground. “Of course I do. I think we have a good chance.”
“We fuckin’ killed it out there. Damn! Doing this all the time is what I want. It’s gonna be awesome touring with national bands all the time. The label said that if they sign us we can get on shows with Megadeth, Suicidal Tendencies, and a whole shit load of other big bands. That would be the life.” Benz took out a cigarette and lit it.
For a split second, Sangre saw panic skate across Isla’s face but then it was gone. “The brothers are going to party at a bar and asked us to join them.”
“We got our own party goin’,” Benz said.
Sangre took a step toward the rocker, but Isla tugged him back. “I’m going with Sangre tonight. Arsen’s already hooked up with a woman, and Melody and Gage are going to a concert at one of the clubs. I don’t know what Jac’s doing.”
“He’s probably got his tongue halfway down a chick’s throat.” Benz laughed. “Go enjoy yourself. We got a lot of time to party when we’re on tour.” He flashed a smug look at Sangre then hurried away.
“That sonofabitch is just aching for a beatdown.” The muscles in his jaw tightened.
“Don’t let him spoil our night,” Isla said, running her hand up and down his arm. Her touch was so soft, so soothing, that the tension began to seep out of him.
Soon they were at The Rifleman Lounge drinking beer, eating hot wings, and talking. For the first couple of hours, he talked bikes with his fellow brothers while Isla hung out with Raven, Hailey, Chelsea, and some of the old ladies from the Insurgents—Cara, Kimber, Belle, and Kylie.
As the group got drunker, Sangre led Isla to a booth and slipped in next to her. He snaked his arm around her waist and crushed his mouth on hers while his free hand cupped and squeezed her tits.
Suddenly, Crow’s voice, hard and full of hate, cut through Sangre’s desire. He jumped away from Isla at the same time a loud crash rose above the din of voices. He slid out of the booth and saw a Satan’s Piston punch Crow in the face. It was like a lit match dropped into a box of fireworks: chaos broke out.
“What’s happening?” Isla said, climbing out of the booth.
Sangre pushed her under the table. “Stay there. Don’t fuckin’ move until I get back. Go as close as you can to the wall.” He grabbed a couple of bucket chairs and put them in front of the table, locking her in.
“Sangre,” her voice quivered.
He bent down low and reached for her hand then kissed it. “Just don’t get out. I’ll be back. Promise.”
“Sangre, don’t go. What if you get killed? Please don’t go.”
“I gotta go. My club’s under fire. I’ll be back.” There was nothing he wanted to do more than take her away from the violence that had erupted, but he couldn’t—his brothers needed him.
Sangre rushed into the brawl with fists punching and legs kicking. Citizens screamed and scurried under tables and behind the bar as the Satan’s Piston’s, Night Rebels, and Insurgents duked it out. One of the Pistons knocked Sangre down then kicked him hard. He rolled over to avoid another blow and managed to get to his feet in time to deflect the Piston’s fist. An animal snarl clawed its way up Sangre’s throat. “You fuckin’ asshole!” The Piston lunged, swinging and missing and Sangre slammed him into the wall. Then he was burying punches, over and over again.
When a shot rang out, Sangre whipped his head in the direction of it and saw Jigger on the floor bleeding. Before he could react, Crow jumped on the back of the shooter, slamming a bottle over his head. Blood poured down the side of his face, and Sangre saw another Satan’s Piston pull out a gun and aim it at Crow’s back.
“Fuck!” Sangre screamed out as he rushed over, grabbed a chair, and threw it at the man. He kicked the gun out of the downed man’s hand and was ready to stomp him with his boots when a swarm of police officers came into the restaurant.
Isla! I gotta get to her.He tried to make his way back to the booth, but three officers had his arms pulled behind his back as they cuffed him. Outside, a large group of people watched as law enforcement escorted dozens of cuffed men into a large van, carefully separating the rival MCs. As the van pulled away, his heart clenched.I promised her I’d be back.
“This fuckin’ sucks. The goddamn Pistons started this shit and we’re in the back of the fuckin’ badges’ van.” Army’s face was red.
“Cara will figure this out for us,” Hawk said.
“That’s right. Your ol’ lady’s a defense attorney,” Shotgun said.
