Free Blow Me Away (Seven Tribesmen Motorcycle Club Book 3) by Evelyn Glass Page A

mistreatment from both the Demons and the Spikes.  Then again, the White Knights had done worse, and they were allegedly aligning with the Demons.  Networking with another club was in the Tribesmen's best interest.
     
    At the thought of the White Knights, Bishop's eyes slide over to Newb…well, Bulletproof, now…who seemed all smiles.  He had returned to the Tribesmen just yesterday and wanted in on the mission.  The young man wasn't taking no for an answer.  A chilly dread clenched at Bishop's gut, as residual fear puttered to life in his head.  His gaze flicked around the booth, staring at each and every one of his brothers.  The dread increased and preemptive woe tickled at his synapses.  If he lost any of them, their blood was on his hands.
     
    “Yo, boss, you alright?”  Ruse roused Bishop from his imagination's hold.
     
    Bishop swallowed, suddenly realizing how taut his muscles were.  His gaze focused on Ruse, forcing a cocky grin to his lips.  He nodded toward the perky blonde with the ruby red lips.  “Yeah, just checking out the legs that lures these drivers in every time.”
     
    Crow and Howler exchanged looks and the conversation at the table stuttered.  To Bishop's right, Coyote coughed, hiding a laugh.  Bishop narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping up and down the table.  “What's got you guys by the balls?”
     
    “She ain't really your type, bos s— now, is she?”
     
    Bishop cocked an eyebrow, his unimpressed expression not quivering a bit.  His gaze flicked to the blonde again.  Most men seemed to be staring at her, as she giggled and trounced.  Deep in Bishop's head though, he knew what Howler meant.  However, he got the feeling that his brothers were laughing at him, rather than pointing out a clash of interest.  His gaze flicked back to his men, forcing boredom and aloofness. “She's got perky tits and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.  What's not my type?”
     
    “Well, for one, she's not brunette.”
     
    “And her tits are nowhere big enough.”
     
    “Plus, she doesn't give you a challenge.”
     
    “Alright, alright, enough,” grunted Bishop, waving his hand as if to push away the insinuations.  Everyone at the table knew what the guys were getting at, and he did not appreciated it at all.
     
    In the snickering silence at Bishop's table, the chime above the door tinkled.  Bishop glanced over, catching sight of a man in a brown uniform.  Embroidered across his back in pink thread were the words: Crystal Sugar.  This was their guy.
     
    “I'm going to go get some air.”  Bishop growled, while his brothers continued to chuckle amongst themselves.  At the sound of his curt tone, they glanced up.  They all found the delivery man within a second.  Bishop slid himself out of the booth and sauntered to the door, slipping his phone from his pocket along the way.  He could feel his brothers leering at his back as he exited the diner.
     
    With his phone to his ear, Bishop grunted conversationally into the phone.  He strolled to his hog and rifled through the bedroll, continuing his farce of a conversation.  His gaze flicked over the parking lot, catching sight of the boxy white delivery truck instantly.  Like the delivery man's uniform, Crystal Sugar was plastered across the side of the va n— along with a by-line about 'sweet delivery.'
     
    Bishop jerked suddenly and glared at his phone.  He made a show of clicking and attempting to revive his conversation, acting irritated when nothing happened.  In reality, he was snapping shots of the delivery truck, license plate and all. 
     
    “Phone problems?”  Gravel shifted behind Bishop as one of the Spikes members came up behind him.
     
    “Yeah, I think her phone dropped signal suddenly.”  Bishop turned and nodded as Buck-Fifty advanced further.  He waved the phone, as if to illustrate his frustration. “Can't get through.”
     
    Buck-Fifty raised his eyebrows.  A scar on his forehead