Quinn- Wolves MC

29

Gunner

I walk up the steps into the club bar in town. I hadn't planned on leaving the compound while Quinn was healing, but her mother seemed to have everything under control. The only way I could explain Penny Blythe was that she is a fierce woman. It made me wonder just what type of man she was willing to let marry her. She didn't seem like the type of woman to be able to stand a soft man, which made me want to meet Quinn's father. The mean bastard comment really intrigues me.

"Can we make this quick?" I ask sitting down at the newly wiped off bar table.

Sheriff Deacon sits across the table from me a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth, a glass of whiskey from my bar sitting in front of him. He gave me a long look. Deacon didn't give a fuck what my club did. He got his fair share of the cut for keeping his mouth shut. But I got a call from him earlier today asking to meet. Normally he kept his nose to himself and let us do us. So, asking for a meeting had caught my attention. Enough to get my ass out of the club.

"You know anything about a shit ton of feds coming to my town?" Deacon asks, leaning his elbows against the table. 

I raise an eyebrow at him. "First I'm hearing about it." I lie. 

He didn't need to know that I was the one who tipped them off about the cultist assholes in his backyard. The fact that he had no idea just tells me how good of a cop he is. Deacon is old and didn't give a shit about a lot anymore. Back in the day he was a ball breaker, but I had fixed that little problem. Now he was coming into my bar asking me about feds in his town.

"They got people talking at the station. The guys they arrested out west of here are saying that they were just following the order of their boss. Who no one seems to be able to find." 

They wouldn't find him. That was the fucking point. 

"And you think I know shit about that?" 

"I think you do. There isn't anything that happens in this town without me knowing about it." Deacon was being a dick. Trying to pull his power card that he didn't have. 

I lean towards him, my eyes boring in to his and making his squirm. He's grasping at fucking straws. We both know it, but he wanted me to admit to something. I may pay him off enough to line his wallet, but there was no loyalty between us. He'd throw me in jail the first chance I gave him. 

"I don't know shit. Enjoy your drink." I tap my knuckles against the table and stand. 

"I'll find out if this shit leads back to you and your little club." 

I can't help the smirk that finds my lips. "What then Deacon? You going to put me in cuffs?" 

Deacon crosses his eyes puffing on his dart as he watches me. He'd need to apply a shit ton of torture to get me to tell him shit. I've gone through a lot more than anyone to the likes of him knows. If the fucker thinks that I'll break over an eyeing he needs to get his head checked. 

"I'll be a happy man when I get to lock cuffs on you." 

Chuckling I pipe off. "You're a kinky bastard Deacon." I shake my head at him and leave him to gape at me. 

I didn't have time for his shit. For his little questions. I had other matters to attend to. Quinn being one of them. 

As I'm walking out to my bike, keys in hand there is a scrape of a shoe before something I didn't calculate for happens. I'm not sure just where the fucker came from, but I'd give him props for getting the drop on me. A heavy force hits me from the side taking me by surprise as I shift my weight to shove the guy off. It's a struggle as he begins trying to punch me, reaching for anything to hit me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this guy never fought before. I grab his neck sliding out from him and slamming his skull against the pavement. His face is covered in a mask to the point that I can only discern his eyes.