Fight(8)

Shit.

I side stepped and waited for Tripp to walk at my side. I pointed to the garage.

“That’s my palace.”

“Bigger than mine,” he said. “You don’t feel more protected at the clubhouse?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said. “I just don’t want to be there. All they do is talk. Trying to think of every person that ever did anything wrong to them. Trying to drag my past into it all.”

“What’s wrong with your past?”

I slipped a key into the door and unlocked it. “Doesn’t matter.”

I turned the doorknob and Trip put his hand to mine and squeezed. I looked up at him. His eyes were a dark, wild brown color. His face had a little scruff on it. He was a complete and total bad ass looking man.

“It does matter,” he said. “I’ve never done this before, darling. I’m a fighter, okay? My job is to beat the shit out of someone and earn money. I’m not meant to do this protection stuff. It’s not just your life on the line here. Got it?”

I slowly nodded. “Fair enough. Then I guess I’ll have to be an open book.”

Tripp took his hand away. I opened the door and we went inside.

I flicked on the light and screamed.

At first all I saw was a guy sitting on the arm of the couch, a gun on his lap.

Then I felt someone push me.

I went flying to the left, hitting a wall, a wild pain jolting through my shoulder and arm. My eyes filled with tears.

I saw Tripp lunge forward, fist ready.

Before I could do anything, Tripp attacked.

The guy on the couch was Harlan. But Tripp didn’t know that. He tackled Harlan over the back of the couch. Harlan’s gun fell to the floor, which was probably a good thing. I heard the sound of punches being exchanged and then the men were both standing.

“Stop!” I yelled.

Harlan and Tripp faced each other. Harlan was in his leather cut, fists balled tight. But he didn’t protect himself. I thought about what Tripp had said.

I’m a fighter…

Tripp had his fists up and moved in. The punches were fast, hard, and effective. A punch to the face sent Harlan’s head snapping back. Then punch, punch to the ribs and Harlan let out a groan. He leaned forward and Tripp cocked back another fist.

It was kind of sexy to see Tripp moving like that. He was absolutely gorgeous.

But I couldn’t let him kill Harlan.

I jumped up on the couch and grabbed for Tripp’s arm. I locked mine around his and said, “He’s not a bad guy! He’s part of the MC!”

“Fuck, bro,” Harlan groaned, his nose bleeding and stuffy. “What the f*ck?”

Tripp looked at me. He looked at Harlan. He then shook me away and backed up from Harlan. But he didn’t stand down. He kept his guard up.

“Harlan, what the hell are you doing?” I asked. I climbed over the couch.

He stood and wiped his nose. Then he grabbed his side. “What the f*ck are you, man? A boxer?”

“Protector,” Tripp said.

Ohmyf*ckinggod, how sexy.

“He’s here to protect me,” I said. “Stoney said he was coming. Didn’t you know?”

“Yeah, we heard,” Harlan said. “I was here just in case, Winter. That’s all.”

“You had a gun.”

“For you,” Harlan said. “So you could protect yourself.”

I felt Tripp creep up next to me. “She doesn't need to protect herself right now. I’m here.”

Harlan stared Tripp down. “I don’t know who you think you are, man. But my leather cut…”

“Want to go again?” Tripp asked.

“Jesus Christ,” Harlan said. “I’m not the bad guy here. She was left stranded. I was just helping out.”

“Being in her place with the lights off and scaring her is not helping,” Tripp said.

“I was just bringing her a gun.”

“I have a gun,” Tripp said.

“What?” I asked.

Tripp reached back and pulled a gun from… nowhere. “I can take it all from here. Go back to your MC and find out who is after Winter.”

“We’re working on it,” Harlan said. He sucked in a breath and wiped his nose again. Then he looked at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Who is your President?” Tripp asked. “I’d like to meet him. Find out all I can.”

“Really?” Harlan asked. “You’re just going to walk in here and demand things from us?”

“You obviously can’t do your job,” Tripp said.

Harlan’s eyes went wide. He then reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. He lifted it.

“Harlan!” I yelled.

“It’s fine,” Tripp said. He put his gun down on my dining room table. Then he stepped forward. Reaching for Harlan’s gun, he lifted it to his own chest, right to his heart. “Make it count, buddy.”

I could see Harlan’s cheeks turning red. He was big, he acted tough, but I wasn’t sure he could fight his way out of a paper bag.

Harlan lowered the gun. “Fuck.”

“Harlan, go,” I said. “Go back to the clubhouse. Tell Stoney that Tripp is here, okay?”