Fallon (Henchmen MC Next Generation #3) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,14
finest," one of Reign's other men said, jerking his chin toward the red and blue lights flashing up the sides of the buildings around the next corner.
"Here," I said, handing my gun off to Pops. "Get lost with that."
"Yeah, here," another of Reign and Fallon's men said, holding a hand out for Fallon's gun, then taking off back toward Chaz's as Pops headed off in the direction of our clubhouse.
They were both just out of sight when the cop cars finally pulled up.
"Beast," Reign greeted one of the officers as he slid out of his cruiser.
Officer Beaston was his actual name. But it seemed like everyone called him Beast. He looked like one, too. He was a brick wall of a man that the police department barely made a size large enough to clothe, judging by the way his biceps bulged against the material of his sleeves. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and towered over his partner as she climbed out of the cruiser to move forward with him.
"Reign. What's it been? Five whole minutes since you started shit in this town?" Beast asked, shooting Reign a look of resigned annoyance.
"We haven't started anything," Fallon said, drawing the cop's attention. "I was trying to figure out what was wrong with my bike when someone started shooting at us."
"Us?" Beast asked, looking toward the Henchmen.
"That'd be me," I said, raising a hand. "I was walking home from Chaz's."
"And let me guess," Beast said. "You two have never done anything to deserve it. You're saints and all that shit."
"I'm sure I've done many things to deserve it," I said, shrugging.
"I'm assuming your people have been all over my crime scene," Greys, Beast's partner—a short, slight, dark-skinned woman with golden-brown eyes—said, looking between us.
"They came when they heard we were in duress," I explained.
"Yeah, just to comfort you, I'm sure," Beast said, tone dry. "Alright, you two," he went on, pointing to Fallon and me. "I need to talk to you. How about you tell the rest of your crews to head out?"
"That's not happening," Reign said.
"Someone tried to kill them," Grandpa chimed in.
"Are we supposed to expect you all to protect Danny if the shooters come back?" Dutch piled on.
"This fucking town," Beast grumbled under his breath. "Fine. But back up, so we can work," he said. "Greys, tape," he demanded, waving around the general area where the shooting had taken place.
From there, Fallon and I were pulled apart to be questioned.
He went first, and my stomach was in knots at the idea of him telling them what had happened in that basement. But, no. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't want anyone else to know he was fucking the enemy either.
No.
Not fucking.
Fucked.
Once.
Singular.
It was never going to happen again.
Chapter Four
Fallon
I'd fucked Danny.
Christ.
How had that happened?
One minute, we were bitching at each other. The next, I was buried inside her.
Maybe I would have been able to brush it aside, call it a moment of insanity, figure it had more to do with the adrenaline and fear than anything based in reality, if the sex had been shitty.
But it hadn't been.
It had been top-tier.
Especially considering the situation, the environment, the fact that we knew our men were closing in.
"Wanna talk about it?" Dezi asked, sitting off the edge of the fighting ring in my aunts' gym, swinging his legs, and blowing blueberry smoke around as I pounded the punching bag.
"What?" I asked, arm raising to wipe the sweat from my forehead that was dripping into my eyes.
"My arms are hurting just watching you, Boss Man. Figure no one gives themselves muscle failure over nothing. So, you wanna talk about it?"
"Talk about it," I repeated.
"Toxic masculinity is bad for you, yo. Didn't you hear? We can talk and feel about shit now. I mean, that's the rumor anyway."
"There's nothing to talk or feel about," I insisted.
"Nothing?" Dezi asked, brows furrowing. "I hear that when they do an autopsy, they take all your shit out—brain, kidney, liver, all that shit—and weigh it. Then they put it all back in the chest cavity. They sew your fucking brain up in your chest. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about that."
"The fuck?"
"I know, right?" he said, nodding, taking another puff off his pen.
"Hey, I told you about that fucking thing three times," Janie, my aunt, Malc's mom, said as she moved into the gym.
"And where the hell is your shirt?" Lo, my other aunt, asked, following behind Janie.