Free Cole: A Bad Boy Romance by Michelle Hart Page B

was nowhere to be seen. Byron stood next to his bike all alone and with his helmet off.
     
    Cole stopped me from getting off the bike. “Stay here. We don't know what Byron is capable of. If guns are drawn, I want you to fly out of here like a bat out of hell.”
     
    I shook my head, kicked him away, and got off. “We're in this together now, Cole. I go where you go.” Cole looked a little shocked. Like he didn't know I had that much strength in me. There was a lot he didn't know about me.
     
    Byron and Cole shook his hands and Byron completely ignored me. Byron got the first word out. “The same thing that happened to you, Cole...happened to us. Mexicans hit us hard but we were able to take out a few. We had a fucking deal with those motherfucking wetbacks.”
     
    “Fuck,” Cole whispered. “How many you got left.”
     
    “More than enough,” Byron replied, scratching his leather cut. His knuckles were bloody and ripped apart. I was glad I wasn't on the receiving ends of those fists. “I know your MC took a heavy hit but we need to band together.”
     
    Cole nodded. “The Mexicans will try again to finish us both off. We need to strike them now.”
     
    Byron's mouth stretched into an evil grin. “I got some intel from a cop that owed us one. Mexicans are holed up in a wetback restaurant, celebrating today's accomplishments.”
     
    Cole slammed his fist into his open palm. “Thats it! We hit them while they're taking a breath. The streets will be flooded with Mexican blood.”
     
    Byron still paid no attention to me. I kind of liked the feel of being a ghost. Byron was finally done with me. I was out of his grasp and didn't have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, wondering when he was going to come and take me back.
     
    “That won't be easy.” Byron sighed. “The entire Death Merchants MC will be there and it's going to be hard to surprise them.”
     
    Cole paced back and forth, his boots kicking up dust. “We're going to need men.”
     
    “And guns,” Byron added.
     
    “I can supply the guns. We have warehouses full.”
     
    “The Fires of Hell took a big hit but we still have enough men to take on The Death Merchants.”
     
    Watching these two, you wouldn't know that they were hated enemies just a day ago. Byron used to speak about the day when Sacks County would finally be Fires of Hell owned. The Mexicans were a non-factor and the Black Widows were all that mattered. Cutting them to pieces is what Byron lived for.
     
    Now there was a new enemy.
     
    “Are we forming a truce?” Cole asked.
     
    Byron's mouth twitched. He hated the idea of working with the Black Widows. But there was no other way. “Black or White blood will no longer be spilled until the Mexicans are eradicated.”
     
    Cole produced his giant knife from his back pocket. He placed the sharp blade in his palm and sliced. I winced as I watched blood trickle from his hand. Byron produced an even bigger knife—almost a machete—and cut his own hand.
     
    The two men slapped their red-stained hands together, the blood dripping onto the ground between them. They grit their teeth, squeezing each other's hand as hard as they could. Even as allies, they were still hated enemies.
     
    Byron walked back towards his bike and snapped his helmet on. “Meet back here at eight. Bring all the guns you can muster. We'll ride out to the restaurant and hit em' when they're neck deep in alcohol.”
     
    Cole nodded and Byron rode off, leaving a cloud of dirt behind him. I was dead to my brother and it felt freeing. I could finally be my own person.
     
    Cole took my hand and led me back to his motorcycle. The red on the bike shined in the sunlight. I stopped in my tracks and dropped his hand. “Don't you think this attack might be too dangerous, Cole? Can you even trust, Byron?” I asked. “There's barely anyone left of the Rabid Dogs MC and you're going to throw them in front of a Mexican firing squad.”
     
    Cole