Read The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1) for Free Online Page B

mid-twenties, was tall, towering above most, yet he still seemed to have a wide build. He was clean-shaven down to his shaped sideburns, but he wore his cropped hair in wild spikes in all directions, longer at the top to form a messy fauxhawk, dark brown with blond highlights. Gaston wore several earrings; they were liberally hung on both ears and ran up the side cartilage. His broad forehead and eyebrows cast his eyes in shadow, but Diego knew what they were hiding.
    Gaston aggressively strutted towards him. "I owe you a little something for Steve."
    Diego presumed that was the name of the man he had killed. "You know the rules, Gaston. If a dog bites, you have to put it down."
    Melody stepped back away from the bar and watched the two intensely. The sound of chair legs abruptly sliding on wood pierced the air as an older couple near the opposite wall stood up to leave. Gaston looked back and forth at the crowd as if to decide what he could get away with. It didn't matter. In this bar, the presence of witnesses was not going to protect Diego. That was for sure.
    "Listen," Diego said, putting his hand up as a sign of peace, "I'm not here to fight, just to talk. Just like last time."
    "Last time you got a little stabby."
    "Granted, but you weren't being very helpful either."
    Gaston's eyes glanced at the bartender and then back to Diego. The tall man turned his head and spit on the floor in a show of contempt.
    Diego couldn't resist rubbing his fur the wrong way. "Not unless my sister was in hell and you were directing me to her." What was it about the cocksure, tough guy image that so easily baited him?
    The bartender giggled, fascinated more by the tension than the words. Gaston roared at her. "You could go to hell too, Melody!"
    "Oh, real tough guy," she responded, toying with him. "Just because I have a collar doesn't mean I'm wearing a leash, you know."
    Interesting, Diego thought. There's some history between these two.
    "Gaston," he restarted, determined not to escalate things further, "if you had just told me where Angelica was instead of going to the back with that party girl, then I would've been out of your hair." Indeed, the biker gang seemed more interested in toying with him than telling him what he wanted to know. Diego had to make it clear that he was serious as many times as it took for them to listen.
    "You think 'cause we hung out a few times with your sister back in Detroit that I owe you anything?" Gaston clapped dirt off his gloves dismissively. "I don't care what that bitch is up to. She was just along for the ride."
    "That's bullshit! She fell in love with you. You practically kidnapped her."
    Now it was Melody's turn to laugh at Diego. "Gaston?" she spat. "Ha! The only girls he can impress are the ones who use more hairspray than he does."
    The man shoved strong fingers at the bartender. "Melody, one day you're gonna learn your place in this MC."
    Diego turned to look at the girl in shock. So she was one of them, another Seventh Son. Melody just gave him a sideways wink as she addressed Gaston. "Yeah, yeah. You're all talk."
    "Well maybe it's time to change that, huh?" Gaston took a step towards and turned his attention to Diego. "You wanna talk? Let's talk outside back."
    Diego was still sitting on the stool with his back to the bar, facing Gaston. Again, just like last time, the man was being unreasonable. Diego watched as three truckers shuffled out of the lodge. The witnesses were fast disappearing.
    Mind your own business, bro.
    Diego shook his head. It didn't have to be this difficult. He looked at the red lights, the metalwork on the shelves, the animal heads on the walls, and sighed. "You know, Gaston, over the years I've discovered that there are really only two types of werewolves."
    The tall man stood his ground and stared on. Diego heard Gaston's leather glove stretching as he balled his hand into a fist, eyes still in shadow.
    "The first type," Diego continued, "are the loners. Some poor