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

became more prominent as it caught the morning sun.  “ Her ?”
     
    “Personal business.”  Bishop smiled tightly.  He pocketed his phone with force.  He didn't enjoy the spark of interest the Spike had in his eyes.  “I try not to mix business and pleasure.”
     
    A crooked grin curled over Buck-Fifty's lips, and Bishop's irritation prickled further.  “Not from what I've heard.”
     
    “And what have you heard?” Bishop inquired, his lips tight and expression pinched.  The young Spike had been rallying for a beating from the first moment he set foot in Grand River.  Bishop refrained from clenching his hands into fists, keeping every inch of his body language under control.  Buck-Fifty didn't deserve to know how much he agitated the Tribesmen president.
     
    “The Tribesmen and the FBI are in bed…in more ways than one.” Buck-Fifty shrugged his scrawny shoulders.  That cocky grin still twisted at his lips and the spark in his eyes never faltered.
     
    Irritation flared in Bishop's gut.  He narrowed his eyes at the Devil Spike member, inclining his head just slightly.  “Why you bringing this up now?”
     
    “I ain't a high-ranking member,” Buck-Fifty said, as he shrugged, shifted his footing, and flicked his gaze to Bishop's face, his eyes burning with determination and pride, “but I got as much right as anyone else to know this isn't going to blow up in the Spikes' faces.”
     
    Bishop considered the young man for a breath.  His body language stood tense, his scrawny arms taut and ready to swing.  There was a slight tremble to his body, a mix of adrenaline and anxiety.  Buck-Fifty wanted answers but knew he was outmatched when it came to both power and skill…and still the lad demanded answers.  
     
    “I mighta laid with a fed,” Bishop took a step forward, looming over the man, “but the Tribesmen ain't rats.”
     
    Buck-Fifty didn't shirk back, even with Bishop towering over him.  Bishop had to hand it to the lad, he had balls made of steel.  He'd known bigger, more muscular men who cringed in fear if Bishop so much as blinked.  But, even with outstanding confidence, a Chihuahua was still no match for a Doberman pincher.  If the boy survived the next few hours, he might be a decent recruit for the Tribesmen. 
     
    “Now, excuse me, I got mighty hungry.”  Bishop flashed Buck-Fifty a tight smile.  He added extra sway to his swagger, as he waltzed past the young man.  He could feel the irritation scatter off Buck-Fifty, and smug amusement tugged at his lips.
     
    Despite the inkling of enjoyment Bishop got from haranguing Buck-Fifty, something oily and sick settled in his stomach.  A heaviness weighed in his gut, and it got worse every time he thought of the truck.  Bishop shoved the uncertainty down, trying to ignore it.  He chalked it up to worry, especially with the newly regained Bulletproof in his ranks.
     
    Fleetingly, his thoughts touched on Stella.  The heaviness tugged insistently at Bishop, as his heart shuddered.  Vague premonition hung eerily in his head.  As Bishop crossed the threshold into the diner, he tried to bat away the concerns.  The mission was already underway, and apprehension would only distract him.
     
    As Bishop's eyes fell on his table, watching his brothers snicker and antagonize, his stomach churned and refused to be quieted.  He wasn't sure what he would do if anyone he cared about got hurt.  With sheer mental force, Bishop coerced his legs to walk toward the Seven Tribesmen.
     

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
    Cold sickness clawed at Stella's throat.  She stared out the window toward the bakery where the shipment was due to arrive.  And arrive it did.  The white delivery truck trundled happily into the parking lot, backing up to the door to unload its goods.
     
    Followed by a herd of bikers. 
     
    Through her binoculars, Stella caught the sight of the all-too-familiar tattoo-etched skull accompanied by a flaming seven.  Her