Page 2 of Under Kid’s Protection

“Your dad’s getting older,” he began. “Your brother’s going with you. Someone has to keep an eye on Remi.”

Baby Boy scoffed. “She can take care of herself.” If there was one thing his half sister could do, it was beat some ass.

“I’m aware, but having someone looking out for you when the men meant to protect you aren’t around is never a bad idea. Just consider me an extra set of eyes.”

Still chuckling, Baby Boy shook his head. This wasn’t about keeping his sister safe. “You got the memo that she’s a lesbian, right?”

Hitman snorted.

“No matter what you do, she isn’t into dick.”

His friend rolled his tongue along his teeth and leaned over the table. “I’m aware of that, but not everyone cares.”

Baby Boy’s face dropped. Now, what was he insinuating? Those words were loaded. He clenched his jaw. Going after the daughter of the club president, no matter how mouthy and a pain in the ass she was, would be a death sentence. Who would risk that?

What did Hitman know?

“We go way back. Before all this,” Hitman said before Baby Boy could ask and tapped his one-percent patch on his cut. “Maybe nothing will happen, but if shit goes down. I’ll make sure she’s good.”

Baby Boy nodded, relief settling in his chest. The dynamics of the Roughneck Riders weren’t great. There were definitely rumblings of discontent, but his father seemed to have a handle on it. Especially with the promotion of Diesel to VP. But as with any criminal organization, they needed to have eyes everywhere. If a threat wasn’t in-house, a thousand were outside. They were in the business of making money, not friends. Which meant they had a lot of enemies.

“I’ll do the same for Carrie,” Baby Boy offered, speaking of Hitman’s sister.

His friend’s shoulders relaxed as though a giant weight had been lifted from them. He blew out a breath and grinned. “She ain’t got a good head on her shoulders, and it’s all I can do to keep her out of the damn clubhouse.”

Baby Boy snickered. “What? You don’t want her on a brother’s bike?”

Kid would be lying if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind a dozen times through the years. He’d always had a crush on his buddy’s older sister.

Ice chilled Hitman’s eyes.

And that was the reason he’d never acted on his attraction. His friendship with Hitman meant more to him than shooting his shot.

“None of those assholes,” he snarled, gesturing behind him toward the door to the party. “They wouldn’t know loyalty if it sat on their face.”

Something Baby Boy wouldn’t mind Carrie doing, but that would never happen. He respected Hitman far too much, but a guy could fantasize. There were no laws against that. The spank bank was private.

“I’ll watch over her,” Baby Boy affirmed. “You can count on me.”

2

Colt “Kid” Oberlin

Present Day

Painting the walls neon green was a choice. One that Kid made confidently. He wanted his tattoo shop to be colorful, like the 1990s had thrown up. He’d splattered pink, yellow, and orange everywhere for accents. For decor, he added a few pieces of his own artwork, several skateboard decks, and T-shirts he had designed to finish the look. For some reason, his sister Harper gave him this giant, leafy tree-plant monstrosity. Not to be ungrateful, he shoved it in the front corner so that it would get some sun in the window. Though he doubted he could keep it alive.

If he did one thing well, it was killing stuff. Foliage, goldfish, a hamster when he was seven, and a few people along the way. As a one-percent biker, this was the norm. He didn’t mean to, but shit happened. He wasn’t a serial killer or anything. There were reasons. Usually money. Sometimes betrayal. So, the deaths were justified.

Except for the small critters and shrubbery that crossed his path. Those were accidental. He wasn’t a completely coldhearted bastard. Just mildly chilly.

Thankfully, with the Bloody Scorpions out of their territory over the last eight months, he didn’t have to worry about dropping bodies. Setting up his studio could have his entire focus, interviewing tattooers to work with him, and finding guest artists to pop in during opening week.

The night before the big day, he could actually say he was ready. Every one of the renovations were complete and only six weeks behind schedule. They’d passed the inspections and got all the licenses. Appointments were in the books.

For the first time, Kid would own something that was all his. Not his dad’s. Not his brother’s, his sister’s, or his president’s. His bikes had been hand-me-downs or pre-owned, but not Inkjection Studio. In all its glory, the shop belonged to him and him alone.

At twenty-four, he’d obtained his dream. Life could only go downhill from there. That was a problem for another day. Tonight, he basked in the anticipation of this new adventure he was about to begin.