Tank and Rio closed in behind the other two. Dixon didn’t take his gaze off the pair.
“Tell us you weren’t selling those kids drugs.” His command came out as an order on a battlefield, one that none of the men he led in his Marine days would have questioned.
These guys weren’t accustomed to backing down—to anyone.
The taller of the pair gave an evil chuckle. “What fucking business is it of yours? If a kid wants to get high, he’ll find a way.”
Dixon moved so fast that he didn’t even think first. He shot out a fist and closed his fingers around the man’s neck, half lifting him as he did. He slammed him against a tree, fingers digging in around his windpipe.
“I only need to flex my fingers to cut off your air. Now you and your buddy are going to hand over the drugs and then you’re going back up that trail and keep on walkin’ until Mersey isn’t even a dot behind you. Got it?” His words rolled with deadly demand.
“Fuck off.” He squeaked out the last when Dixon tightened his hold around his neck.
As the second guy whirled, Dixon saw the flash of steel.
“Knife!”
Tank jumped away as the lethal point slashed through the air. “Come on, you fucker!”
The guy took a swing at Rio, and he ducked the blow, but not before the Mayhem member drove his fist into Rio’s gut. He doubled over with a wheeze, and Tank cocked his fist.
Dixon didn’t dare release the guy he had pinned to the tree. With a hand around his neck, Dixon patted his sides and then his pockets for the packets of drugs. He reached into the guy’s inside pocket of his vest and came out with plastic baggies of pills.
“If you wanted to score, all you had to do was ask, man. I would have happily supplied to you as well as those kids.” He barked an ugly laugh. In the recesses of his hearing, Dixon realized the third guy was giving Tank and Rio a run for their money. He heard a rough grunt from his friend and knew the Mayhem member had gotten a lucky punch in.
“Stop dancin’ with him and take the fucker down,” Rio told Tank.
“What fun is there in that?” Tank laughed.
Dixon cleaned out every single one of the man’s pockets. When a nice-sized pile of various drugs from pills to weed to what looked to be a street drug covered the ground at his feet, he glared into the man’s eyes.
“You need to get your fucking friends and leave Mersey. Got it?”
“Who died and made you mayor?”
“You don’t want to fuck with us, man.” Dixon’s jaw ached from clenching it so hard.
“You the leader of that new gang, aren’t ya? We heard some rumors about y’all. Bunch of weenies who call themselves a club because you got wheels. Well, here’s some news for you, son, we ain’t leavin’ Mersey.” He spat the syllables with a dark glare of his own.
Dixon slammed his head off the tree as he simultaneously jerked his knee upward into his stomach. Tank and Rio had the second guy on the ground. His head turned Dixon’s way enough to see the swelling in his eye that would be a hell of a shiner by nightfall. Blood ran in a thin rivulet from Rio’s brow, but he was grinning. Tank knelt with all his weight on the guy’s spine, bowing it.
The guy Dixon had kneed came at him with fists flying. He picked up a thick fallen branch and swung it at Dixon. He dodged it and threw out his leg, tripping him. He stumbled, his fist glancing off Dixon’s cheek. He felt the guy’s knuckle ring dig into his flesh, and anger gripped him in an iron fist.
He let loose. The floodgates once opened, he’d found in his time spent fighting for a living, were difficult to close. In the recesses of his mind, he grew aware of the guy going slack on the ground and Tank grabbing him by the shoulders to haul him off him.
Dixon returned to himself in a flash. Breathing hard, he stared down at the unconscious man. He sent him a final glare before twisting away. He shouldered his way past Tank. “Call the sheriff. Get him down here to pick these two assholes up.”
By the time he reached his bike at the top of the hill again, much of his fury had melted away. He no longer felt he might lose complete control and bash the fucker’s brains in. No man was worth his freedom.
Seconds later, Rio reached the top. As he approached, Dixon met his stare. “Don’t fucking say it, man. I know. I shouldn’t have unloaded on him like that,” Dixon said.
“It was a fair fight. Any of us would have done the same. Stop apologizin’.” Rio pulled out his phone and placed a call to the sheriff. Then he grabbed a handful of zip-ties from his saddlebag and carried them down the trail. Dixon didn’t follow to see that the two men were bound hand and foot for the sheriff to collect. He had faith his men would handle it.
Instead, he hopped on his bike. As he took the turns to town and the Painted Pig, he touched his cheekbone. He didn’t find it cut, thank God. Showing up to see Fiona sporting a cut from a guy’s ring wasn’t the impression he wanted to give and only prove she knew guys like him.
He tried the door and found it open. Surprise flitted through him, followed with a wallop of irritation that she’d take such risks with her safety. The Mayhem might have left her bar alone for a few days, but rumors claimed they were making rounds outside the city limits, hitting up every joint from here to the Smokies. In a matter of time, they’d return and when they did, he didn’t want her cornered.
He walked in and caught the scent of flowers.
He let the door close behind him and wandered through the darkened bar, following his nose to the kitchen. Fiona stood at the stove facing away from him.
Christ, just looking at the woman had his blood burning to take her in his arms and show her how good he could make her feel. That hard squeeze of his heart told him there was more to it than lust.
She stirred something in a big pot…and hummed.
“You really ought to lock your door.”
She whirled, long-handled wooden spoon in hand like a weapon. She saw him and the glare in her eyes deepened.
“I wouldn’t need to lock my doors if guys like you didn’t think you own the damn town and can barge in.”
He held her stare. God, the woman gripped his guts and twisted. Did she have any fucking clue? No, she didn’t—not yet.
Slowly, he stepped up to her. “What are you cooking?”
“I’m not cooking anything. I’m making soap.”
His eyes widened. A glance into the pot revealed a clear liquid with small purple bits floating in it—the source of the flowery smell.
Standing so close to her, all those feelings that lingered in the depths of his mind from that kiss flooded in. Dammit, he wanted to know more about this woman. Wanted to put smiles on her face and see her skin glowing when the dawn’s rays crept over her…and all that honey-blonde hair rumpled from his loving.
His chest burned and his cock was already hard and aching, only from one look at her.
“What the hell happened to your cheek?”
He hadn’t looked into a mirror, but he figured a bruise rose on his flesh. “Got hit by a branch while ridin’.”
She narrowed her green eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know if I’m lying.” He hovered over her, drinking in everything about the sultry woman. He liked her tough exterior, but seeing that soft vulnerable look in her eyes when she looked at his cheek lifted something entirely different to the surface, as far as emotions went.