Blow Me Away (Seven Tribesmen Motorcycle Club Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

well.
     
    Work helped to keep her off his thoughts though.  The heavy scent of oil coupled with the loud, jarring sounds kept any unwanted musings at bay.  For the most part.  The shriek of the drill completely masked Coyote's steps as he approached the crouched Bishop.
     
    A nudge of the boot brought Bishop out of his intense concentration.  He switched the power tool off and pushed his protective goggles upward into his hair.
     
    “The boys got back this morning.”
     
    Bishop gave a terse nod and waved over one of his employees to take over his job.  Climbing to his feet, he and Coyote strolled toward the office. 
     
    Over the cacophony of the garage, Bishop managed to bite out a question “They in one piece?”
     
    “Yeah,” grunted his companion without even looking. 
     
    Bishop pondered Coyote's minimalist answer.  He could be tired, bu t— more likel y— he was frustrated at the newest revelations.  From the corner of his eye, Bishop noted the bags under Coyote's eyes and the strain along his jaw.  The vice president wasn't one to fret over club business.  Bishop's stomach lurched with despair.
     
    As the two crossed the threshold into the office, Bishop closed the garage door and Coyote took the front entrance.  Both drew the blinds before facing one another.
     
    Despite the relative security of the room, Bishop couldn't help but drop his voice. “What did they find out?”
     
    Coyote glared at a spot on the wall to his right.  Agitation strained at his body language, tightening his shoulders and making his hands clench into fists. “The Devil Spikes are getting their orders and cocaine from our old friends.”
     
    A queasiness gripped at Bishop's heart.  Between his gut instinct and Coyote's reaction, Bishop already knew where this was going.  “Grave Demons?”
     
    Coyote gave a curt nod, his brows furrowing.  Then, he dragged his eyes to Bishop's face.  A storm of rage and fury roiled in his eyes, darkening the vibrant green to something murky. 
     
    “Fuck, so that's two gangs we gotta take care of,” Bishop said, taking a step back.  He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching knots in his tangled hair.  The feeling of slight grease, from two days of no showers, coated his fingers.  Stella's warning echoed through his head.  Half-turning away from Coyote, Bishop muttered to himself, “That must've been what Stella meant.”
     
    “What?”
     
    Bishop cursed Coyote's sharp ears and turned back to his vice president.  He idly waved a hand. “Nothing, don't worry about it.”
     
    “What did Stella say?”  Coyote's brows furrowed further, and his expression threatened to take on the barbed edge of betrayal.  He took a step forward, lips twisted into a scowl.  His leather cut creaked over his shoulders as he unconsciously strained against it.  “She hasn't been around here, and you've been miserable.”
     
    A cold rush iced over Bishop's thoughts.  It had been a long time since he and Coyote squared off.  Gathering up all the aloofness he could, Bishop leaned back against the wall.  Crossing his arms, he shrugged and said, “The animal magnetism wore off.”
     
    “Any intel she has would be worthwhile, Arthur.”  Coyote took another step forward.  The floor creaked under his boot.  Outside the office, the garage seemed deathly quiet.  If it wasn't for his last few days of busting ass, Bishop would have guessed his employees had their ears pressed to his door.  They knew better though.
     
    For a long moment, Bishop and Coyote stared each other down, tension spiking between them.  Bishop ground his teeth together, hard enough for his jaw to ache.  Part of him knew Coyote was right.  He needed Stella's resources and, possibly, she needed his.  But that wasn't going to happen.  At some point, he'd put her in danger, or she'd have to do her job when it came to the Seven Tribesmen and their lawless activities.  Undoubtedly, Coyote was