Free Jack & Coke (The Uncertain Saints Book 2) by Lani Lynn Vale

snapped when he continued to stay hunched forward.
    I knew from experience that getting hit in the kidneys hurt like hell, but that was the least of my worries right then.
    Wolf was leading his man, cuffed, to the cruiser as well.
    It would be a tight fit, but all three men fit like a couple of sardines in a can.
    “Alright,” I said, walking back to my bike. “Let’s go get Annie.”
    Ridley got into his car and followed me as I hauled ass out of the parking lot to Hail House.
    Hail House was a bar and grill owned by Hail Auto Recovery.
    It was something they picked up in exchange for a job they’d done for the bank.
    They’d done really good for themselves, and as usual, business was booming.
    I pulled into the back of the lot, backed my bike into a spot, and started for the front door.
    I knew the moment Atticus saw me.
    He was working the front door, lazily leaning against the wood beam of the porch.
    When he saw me, though, he put the cigarette he was smoking out on the bottom of his shoe and straightened.
    “What are you doing here?” He asked casually.
    It was anything but casual, though.
    It was calculating.
    “My girl’s here,” I told him.
    His eyebrows rose.
    “You didn’t tell her she wasn’t supposed to come here?” He shot back.
    My hands gripped into tight fists.
    There wasn’t bad blood between the ‘Hail Raisers’, as they referred to themselves, and us.
    There was, however, a certain rivalry.
    A rivalry that sometimes got taken too far.
    This time, however, I wouldn’t be leaving without Annie.
    And Atticus knew it.
    Which was why, reluctantly, he let me in.
    “She’s in the back with your boy,” Atticus said.
    I raised a brow at him.
    “How’d you know he was one of ours?” I asked.
    I truly wanted to know.
    There are only two places in all of the area that we would ask our members to take their cuts off out of respect.
    At the Hail House and at the police stations.
    Not because we were ashamed or anything, but because we were respectful.
    You didn’t bring attitude into someone else’s house; which was, essentially, what we were doing.
    Although Apple hadn’t worn his. I knew it even without Atticus’ affirmation.
    “Boy has a Saint written all over him,” Atticus drawled as I passed.
    I nodded at him and went in search of my girl and Drew.
    I had high hopes for Apple.
    He had a good head on his shoulder, and at the age of thirty-five and some change, I knew he’d seen more than most men his age should have to.
    He’d been in the military since he was seventeen and had only gotten out two and a half years ago when an IED took off a good chunk of his right upper arm and a portion of his shoulder muscle.
    Although, as I walked towards Apple’s broad back, I couldn’t find a single thing that indicated that he was handicapped in any way.
    I knew he trained his body hard to make up for what he saw as his shortcomings.
    He was a good man, but he didn’t seem to have a grasp on how to deal with women.
    Something I realized moments after walking across the entire damn bar to get to them.
    Annie had a cup of something clear in her hand that resembled Vodka.
    “What kind of name is Apple?” Annie asked as I walked up to where they were sitting.
    Drew’s back went up.
    “It’s the kind of name that my momma gave me, and I never questioned it,” Drew semi-snapped. “She taught me that it was what was at the core of a man that counted. Not a name.”
    That’d been somewhat of a sore subject with our newest prospect. The boys teased him relentlessly about his name, and coming from men, it wasn’t anywhere near the same as it was coming from a woman.
    A drunk woman, at that.
    I hid a smile as I looked down, studying what Annie was wearing.
    She had on low riding black jeans that barely covered her curvaceous ass.
    A white and black striped shirt
    “They should call you Core when you become a member. That sounds a lot more masculine,” Annie continued, unaware of the pot she