EDWARD’S POV
“What the f**k is Strout doing here?” The words echo from inside Vixe’s clubhouse as I cut the engine and swing off my bike.
Footsteps scrape fast inside. A second later, the door swings open and two of their biggest enforcers move out.
I exhale and lean against my bike, watching Vixe step out slowly, a toothpick shifting lazily between his teeth.
He’s shirtless, new ink across his ribs and collarbone, still healing by the look of it. He steps off the porch like he’s got all the time in the world and stops a few feet out.
We lock eyes for a few seconds.
“You lost, Strout?” he asks.
“Do I look lost?”
“The hell are you doing on my property, then?”
I glance at my watch. “You’ve got ten minutes before I walk in there and get Baze myself.”
Vixe pulls the toothpick out
