SANGRE: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 6)

by Chiah Wilder

  Sangre pushed back and held her at arm’s length, his gaze fixed on hers. “Better now?”

  She nodded sheepishly. “Sorry for making you come out here for nothing.”

  He placed his fingers on her lips. “Don’t ever apologize for calling me or needing me.” He looked at her clenched hand. “Is that the note?” She nodded and gave it to him, and his eyes scanned the crumpled piece of paper. “This shit is scary. This wacko’s playing some serious mind games with you. I’m gonna have Mark come up to the porch so you can see that he’s all right.”

  When she was convinced that all was good and her fears had simply gotten the best of her, she looked over at Sangre, who was at the door speaking with Mark. She overheard him tell the guard to go home, and she opened her mouth to protest but decided against it and settled back into the sofa’s soft cushion. The truth was she didn’t want him to leave, and the fact that he rushed over to her, concern etched on his face when she saw him, made butterflies flutter inside her.

  After closing the door, he came over and sat on the other end of the couch. “I told Mark to head out. I’m taking over.”

  “I hope I didn’t screw up a hot date for you.” She laughed, but her stomach muscles tensed as she waited for his response.

  “No date. Where did you come from? Mark said that you went out with a friend.”

  “Madison and I went to Vesta Grill for dinner. It was very good. Oh, by the way, she’s scared of you since you joined your outlaw club.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “She should be.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause you’re a badass.” She poked him in the side, chuckling.

  “Is that the way you want to play it?” he teased, snagging her around the waist. Then he started tickling her and she howled. Eyes watering, face red, words sputtering out of her mouth, she tried to push him away. One autumn afternoon when she was eleven, he’d found out that she was ticklish and had used it as a weapon whenever he wanted his way. That day, she’d help him rake the leaves in his backyard, and they’d both jumped in the big pile after they were done. He tried to stuff leaves around her, and she’d started laughing, telling him to stop. His eyes had sparkled with mischief when he’d found her weakness.

  “Sangre! Stop!” Panting hard, she pushed her hands against his hard chest. He had her on her back and he hovered over her, his warm breath ghosting her face. Her hands dropped from his chest and she locked her gaze with the intensity of his own. Desire burned in them, and she held her breath as he lowered his head.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, breaking eye contact to stare at her mouth. “So beautiful.” She had to strain to hear him.

  Closing her eyes, her lips tingled in anticipation of his kiss. Nothing. Her lids flew open just as he straightened out and slid down to the far end of the couch. What the hell? I thought for sure he was going to kiss me. Her body tightened in anger.

  Smiling weakly, he wiped his hand on his jeans. “You’re still ticklish. That’s good to know.”

  “Yeah.” Disappointment laced her response. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go to bed. Are you staying inside?”

  “If that’s cool with you.” He avoided looking at her.

  “Sure. Are you going to stay down here?”

  Nodding, he stood up. “I don’t plan on sleeping. I’m doing a job.”

  I’m only a job. Just forget about it. I should be working on my relationship with Benz instead of lusting after my friend. I’m pathetic. “Okay, then. I’ll see you in the morning. Help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge and cupboards. Night.”

  “Night.”

  Isla trudged up the stairs wishing like hell that Sangre was with her, but she knew he’d never cross that line. He’d always liked her just as a friend, so why was she surprised?

  With a heavy heart, she pulled down the covers and crawled between the sheets.

  Chapter Eight

  The sun set over the mountaintops as the blue sky merged with streaks of pink, orange, and gold. The MC members entered the main room, glancing around for their drinks and their club women. Both were waiting for them: glasses and bottles on the counter and scantily clad women smiling at them. Sangre went over to the counter, grabbed his shot, and threw it back. Church had been a bitch. Some of the members didn’t think the club should get involved with buying real estate. They thought they may be spreading the club’s money too thin, and the other half was all for it, thinking it was a great investment. In addition to the bickering about the club’s financial goals, Diablo had given them the disconcerting information that the Deadly Demons MC had formed an alliance with the Satan’s Pistons MC.

  “You look bummed out,” Kelly said as she brushed against him. Of all the club girls, Sangre felt the closest to her. When her younger brother had been beaten to death, Sangre asked the club to pay for his funeral. He’d also driven her to Minnesota for his services, and when she’d broken down at the gravesite, he’d held her tight. After that, a bond formed between them, and he’d tell her shit he’d never tell a dude. In a way, he was trying to replace the friendship he’d lost when Isla had left. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but now that she was back in his life, he could see it clearly.

  He shrugged. “Not much going on. I’ve just been pulling some long nights with this new job I have.”

  She pressed her tits against him. “I heard that your new gig involves a singer from a rock band.”

  Smiling, he nodded.

  “And”—she ran her fingernail up his bare arm—“she’s your long lost friend. True?” She pressed her lips on his cheek.

  “Don’t need the fuckin’ tabloids around here with the way news travels. Yeah, Isla is my friend from years ago. I didn’t know it when I took the job, but now that I do, it’s cool to be back together again.”

  “So, she’s just your friend?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because I wanted to have a bit of time with you before you do something stupid and get involved with another girl you’re gonna break up with. You’re good for a few months before you do that.”

  “You sound like Army, and that’s not a fuckin’ compliment.”

  She laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She took a sip of her drink. “Do you wanna go to your room and relax a bit? I can give you one of my massages that you love.”

  He ran his eyes over her full breasts, rounded hips, and toned legs, that made his dick twitch. Since breaking up with Skylar, he hadn’t screwed anyone, but he had too much on his mind at the moment and knew all that shit would get in the way. “Another time. I’ve got too much going on.”

  “Okay. Just remember, I’m here when you need me, even if you just wanna talk.” She walked away, and his gaze zeroed in on her swaying hips and firm ass as a thread of regret wound around his dick.

  He spun around when a hand clapped him on the back. “Hey,” he said to Paco. “It didn’t go so well in there. I thought the membership would be down for a strip mall. Some of these bros don’t know shit about business and making money.”

  Paco clutched his beer bottle. “It took me and Steel off guard too. Your job is showing the numbers and how they add up.”

  “I’m doing that. The reason I brought it up was just to get a feeling of where we stood as a club. I’ll make sure to show them just how wrong we’d be not to invest.”

  “You guys talking about the fuckin’ news Diablo shared with us about those damn Satan’s Pistons?” Shotgun asked, joining in on the conversation.

  “I was just getting ready to bring that up,” Sangre said.

  “We gotta be ready for some trouble at Sturgis if the Pistons go, which I’m sure they will.”

  “I say we need to crush those bastards once and for all,” Muerto said, standing next to Sangre. “I talked with Jerry, and he said the Insurgents don’t like it any more than we do. They don’t think the fuckin’ Demons will risk breaking the truce with the Insurgents, but h
e said they’re concerned that some shit may go down at Sturgis between the damn Pistons and us. The word is they’re vowing justice for what we did to their clubhouse. Fuck them. We’ll be ready.”

  “Damn straight,” Diablo said, his jaw jutted out.

  “Hawk and Banger are worried that with the Demons watching their damn backs, they’re gonna try to set up shop selling drugs in our neck of the woods.” Muerto took a swig of beer.

  “They better not try anything. After the shit we went through with the West Avenue assholes in Silverado, there’s no fucking way anyone is getting near our county or the surrounding counties with any kind of dope. If we have to have an all-out war, we’ll do it. I know the Insurgents are on board to help, and they’d bring in a lot of their chapters as backup,” Paco said.

  “Fuckin’ right about that.” Goldie raised his fist in the air. “Night Rebels forever, forever Night Rebels,” he said, his voice loud and clear. Soon the whole room was on their feet, chanting, fists held in the air.

  As Sangre looked around, a small lump formed in his throat. He was so damn proud to be part of the brotherhood. No matter what went down, business or personal, each member knew they could count on the club to come through. They were united through love, respect, and loyalty.

  After several minutes, the din of voices died down, and Paco picked up the shot one of the prospects had put in from him and downed it. “I heard you’re friends with the singer in Iris Blue,” he said to Sangre.

  “Everyone’s heard that. Why’re you asking?” He took out a joint and lit it, hoping it would calm the urge to go over to Army and punch him in the face. Many of the brothers gossiped way more than the club women, but Army was a million light years ahead of the pack. He was the club’s version of Entertainment Tonight.

  “Chelsea’s really the one asking. I guess she’s been following the band on social media for the past six months and loves their music.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s cool. Maybe she’d like to meet Isla. We can go out to dinner sometime this week.”

  Paco’s face broke into a full smile. “She’d love that. We were in Denver the night they had a show. She was so damn bummed.”

  “Isla told me they’re having another one next week. I can get tickets for it.”

  “Awesome. I’ll tell her.”

  “That should get you a long night of lovin’,” Sangre said, nudging his elbow against Paco’s arm. Nodding, the vice president laughed.

  “I’ll let you know what night works with Isla.”

  “Sounds good. I’m gonna head out. Later.”

  “Paco’s not staying for the party?” Army asked, swinging his leg over the barstool before sitting on it.

  “Doesn’t look like it since he’s walking out the door,” Sangre replied, picking up his shot glass.

  “You staying?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Sangre shook his head and turned toward Chains. “Can you find out some information about property values in East Alina in the last five years? I want to know how much rent, land, and business values have increased.”

  “Just shoot me an email telling me what you want, and I can have it all compiled on spreadsheets. Hell, I can even put it together in pie charts with different colors and shit. When do you need it by?”

  “In a couple of weeks. I’ll send you all the details.”

  “So, you’re gonna hang out with your friend tonight?” Army asked.

  Sangre glanced at him. “Are you still on what the hell I’m gonna do?”

  “What’s the problem here?” Skull asked as he and Brutus came over.

  Sangre’s jaw tightened. “There’s no problem. Army just isn’t getting the answers he wants from me.”

  Army glared at him. “I just asked if you were staying for the party, and you’re getting all butt hurt.”

  “I’m not getting anything except fed up with your stupid, fuckin’ questions. I told you maybe. What the hell don’t you understand about that?”

  Skull laughed. “He’s got a point, dude. Maybe is pretty easy to get.”

  Army turned his back to them, facing the bar. “You just wanna hang out with your friend who really isn’t your friend. Just come clean, dude.”

  “Are you guys talking about that singer chick?” Brutus asked.

  “I’m not, but Army seems to be,” Sangre answered.

  Army swiveled back around facing him. “What I can’t figure out is how you can be just friends with a chick. I’ve never been friends with a woman, especially one built like Isla Rose. There’s no way you aren’t looking at her and wanting to get inside her pussy.” He took a swig of beer.

  Sangre finished his drink, leaned over and put the bottle on the bar, and then locked his gaze on Army’s. “What I can’t figure out is why anything I do is any of your fuckin’ business, and why the hell you’re obsessed with me and Isla.”

  “I’m not obsessed.” Army scowled at him.

  “Then quit talkin’ about it.”

  “I’m with Army on this. I think it would be hard to be friends with a chick. I couldn’t do it,” Brutus said.

  “Me neither,” Shotgun added.

  “Same here,” Skull said, motioning Ruby to come over.

  “I mean, how could you not think about her tits and pussy?” Chains replied.

  “We’ve been friends since we were kids. We climbed trees together and caught daddy long-legs. You guys just don’t get it.”

  “But didn’t you ever think of her as a girl when she started growing tits? Or in high school?” Shotgun asked.

  “Nope.” Sangre lied. “I gotta make a few phone calls.” He walked away, ignoring the kissy sounds the guys were making behind him. If he were to bet who they were, he’d say Army for sure, and Brutus and Skull a close second and third. They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. They knew nothing of the friendship he’d shared with Isla ever since he was the new kid on the block and she befriended him.

  Stepping out back, he took out a joint and lit it, inhaling deeply. The last remnants of the sun descended over the craggy peaks, turning the western sky a smoky purple as a few stars glimmered above. Leaning against a concrete column on the back porch, he smoked his joint and stared at a raccoon scampering across the yard. He smiled, the sight of the masked mammal brought back a memory of when he and Isla had snuck out of their houses one summer night to find a raccoon that she thought had been injured. She’d seen some blood by the trashcans one morning and was convinced a raccoon had been cut on the glass bottles inside the trash. Isla had been enamored with raccoons ever since she’d seen them, the first summer they went on a night walk through the brush and woods near their neighborhood.

  The night they’d gone in search for the supposedly injured “raccoon,” they’d ended up finding a skunk instead who was not happy about it. He’d told her it was a skunk and that she should stay back, but she’d been convinced it was the raccoon. When she’d gone after it, the frightened animal sprayed her and she cried out, stumbling backward. For almost a month, he had to pretend she didn’t stink like hell. He laughed, remembering how many tomato juice and vinegar baths her mother made her take until old Mr. Haskell down the street told her mother about a concoction of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dishwashing liquid. That had seemed to work the best out of all the others.

  Too funny. I wonder if she remembers that.

  “Hey,” Goldie said as he stepped out on the porch. “Need some down time from the craziness that’s starting inside?”

  Nodding, he pulled out a joint and handed it to him. “Have any of the Fallen Slayers come yet?”

  “Brick, Tats, Knuckles, Tequila, and Skeet just got here about fifteen minutes ago. Roughneck, Patriot, and the others couldn’t make it. Steel’s glad about that because Breanna wanted to go to the festival in town tonight. Hailey does too.”

  In the outlaw world, a president and vice president of the MC that’s hosting a clu
b party have to be in attendance if other MC officers come. Since the Fallen Slayers’ president and vice president couldn’t make it, Steel and Paco weren’t obligated to be in attendance.

  “I forgot that was going on. So you heading out?”

  “Yeah. We’re gonna meet up with Steel and Breanna. I’m pretty sure Muerto and Raven are gonna be there.”

  “Probably Paco and Chelsea. He took off a while ago. Do you miss the freedom of going to club parties whenever you want?”

  Goldie stubbed out his joint. “Not really. I loved going to the parties and getting shit-faced and fucking different chicks all the time, but it started to get old and boring. I didn’t enjoy it as much.”

  I know what you mean.

  They stood in silence, listening to the sounds of the night: crickets’ high-pitched melodic chirps, the low rumble of distant thunder, the clink of bottles in the clubhouse, the echo of the freight train’s whistle, the hum of traffic.

  “I better get going.” Goldie took out his keys and walked toward the parking lot.

  Without thinking, Sangre took out his phone.

  Sangre: Hey. Do u wanna check out the festival?

  He waited several minutes before his phone buzzed.

  Isla: Glad u texted. Feeling bored. Let’s do it!

  Sangre: B there in 1 hr.

  Isla: Sounds good. See u then.

  Smiling, he put his phone back in his pocket then went back inside.

  * * *

  Each weekend during the summer, blinking white lights, a conglomeration of music, scents of buttery caramel corn and grilled onions, and the electric energy in the air transformed Main Square. Reminiscent of a Norman Rockwell painting, the tree-lined square and wooden bandstand beckoned locals and tourists alike. Rides and a small carousel that glimmered under the day’s sunlight came to electrifying life at night.

  Everywhere Sangre looked, the painted faces of children grinned at him while clutching neon green, red, yellow, and blue glow sticks in their hands. That night the place was packed, and people crowded before the bandstand, their faces shimmering in anticipation as the band set up their equipment.