“Man, I’ve been running this engine and I’m almost out of gas. You owe me for that. Where the fuck have you been?” Jude’s anger did nothing to fix Vince’s mood, and Pound sense the explosion waiting to happen.
As Vince grunted and climbed into the back, Pound punched Jude in the ear. “Shut up, dumbass. If you don’t start thinking before you run your mouth, you ain’t gonna live much longer.” Jude gave him a defiant look but said nothing else, and Vince was glad. He probably would have smashed the guy into the asphalt outside without thinking, and when he went to apologize later, all he’d find were some brains and a pile of broken bones and bloody mess.
Saved again, he thought sarcastically. “Just get me home,” he grunted, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he thought about how incredibly stupid he’d been. If he wanted to get laid, there were plenty of women at the clubhouse who would jump at the opportunity. Had he really needed the satisfaction of this conquest, breaking a woman who thought she was better than him?
He punched the roof of the truck in frustration. “Hey!” Jude complained, but before Vince could stare him down, he heard the oof noise that meant Pound had given him a good fist in the gut. Jude needed to watch his attitude, or Vince was going to have a fine time getting him stripped of his patch. The guy didn’t know his place anymore and had a bad habit of pissing people off.
Thank Christ his house wasn’t far from the hospital; ten minutes later, they pulled into his driveway. Vince jumped out practically before the truck came to a stop, instantly regretting it as he landed on the sore leg. He gritted his teeth and headed for the front door. He just wanted to be alone, and he cursed as Pound followed him inside.
“Can’t you just get that retard out of here before he comes in and offends me again?” Vince called, not turning to look at Pound. “I have every right to shoot him for trespassing on my own property, you know.” Vince hobbled to the kitchen and reached into the fridge for a beer, but found none. He popped the top on a can of Coke, pretending that the nonalcoholic beverage could wash away the memories of Ariana’s luscious curves as well as a few shots of tequila could.
Pound didn’t follow him into the kitchen—probably trying to stay out of the line of fire. “I reminded him of that in no uncertain terms, bud. If he steps one toe outside that rank truck, I’ll break it. Don’t worry.”
“Whatever. What the hell do you want?” Vince had a feeling he’d much prefer to hear what Pound had to say in the morning. But it looked like he didn’t have a choice: Pound leaned his ass against the dinner table and made himself comfortable.
“You fucked the medic, didn’t you?”
Vince laughed. “Yes, I did, but I’m not giving details, so go home.”
Pound laughed shortly, staring at the toe of his boot. “Not healthy, man. I’m telling you, I think you should have just stayed at the party. Look at all the bullshit you could have avoided. Destroying your bike, tearing up your leg, hitting your head, and bumping uglies with some chick who thinks better of chopped liver than she does any of us.”
Vince made a face. “Get off your soapbox, bud. I can handle myself. It’s not like I meant to run off the road. I hit a slick spot and now I need some damn new tires.” He sipped his Coke. “Actually, the damn thing is totaled, which just gives me the green light to buy a whole new ride.”
“Don’t feed me that crap, Larson. You seriously think I don’t know what today is?” Pound stood his full height and crossed his arms. Vince knew his intimidation tactic; it worked on pretty much all of their associates.
“Really? So do I. It’s Thursday. No, wait, it’s after midnight now, so it’s Friday. Pardon my mistake. What’s the point, bro?” Vince played stupid. He didn’t want to have this discussion. He should have known his partner would raise a stink about all this.
Pound crossed his arms, looking ferocious as he stared down at Vince.
“You think you can intimidate me, Pound?” Vince laughed. “I’ve known you since you were the kid on the playground everyone else bullied. I’m not afraid of you, so you might as well stand down, my man.”
“Admit it, Larson,” Pound smirked. "All of this is about Kristi.”