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

by Chiah Wilder

  “That Hawk guy. I thought you and your friends were badass, he takes it to a whole other level. Is he always that hard edged?”

  “He doesn’t wax too easily to strangers.”

  “Do any of you? I mean, except to fellow bikers, none of you would win any congeniality contest.”

  “We’re good with that. It’s just that club business is kept among members. Even old ladies aren’t privy to it. Hawk would’ve asked his old lady to leave too, but Cara would’ve beat him to it. She knows the outlaw score.”

  “He actually has a woman? She must be a doormat.”

  “No. She’s pretty feisty and stubborn as hell as I hear it. I’m sure she doesn’t take too much shit from him. Kind of like you with me.” He nudged her with his elbow.

  “I’ve never given you a hard time … yet.”

  He gave her ass a light swat. “Bring it on, baby.”

  They went into a rustic restaurant a few blocks away from Main Street. Rock music played through the speakers as waitresses in low-cut blouses and Daisy Dukes balanced trays of drinks and food on circular platters.

  “Just grab a table,” a waitress said to them as she rushed by.

  “Let’s take that one by the window,” Isla said, pointing to a small square table squeezed between larger ones.

  Soon two beers were in front of Sangre, and Isla brought a glass of white wine to her lips. The scent of cigarettes mingled with the aroma of charcoal-grilled meats.

  “Steak sandwich—medium rare?” Isla pointed to Sangre. The waitress set it down. “Smoked Turkey Cobb,” she said, putting the bowl down. “Anything else?”

  “Just another bottle of water and glass of wine,” Isla replied. The server nodded and dashed away.

  “Is a salad gonna be enough food?” Sangre asked as he brought his sandwich to his mouth.

  “It’s loaded. It has so much stuff in here. I usually don’t eat anything super heavy on performance day.”

  After she finished half of her salad, she opened her purse and took out a prescription bottle. He watched her take out a small white pill and swallow it with a swig of water.

  “What’re you taking?”

  “Just something to take the edge off. I’m nervous about the show tonight and the label.”

  “How often do you take them?”

  Isla popped the bottle back into her purse and took a sip of wine. “Not that much. I used to take them a lot more.”

  Sangre pushed away his empty plate then took a long pull from his beer. “Are you supposed to be taking those if you’re trying to stay clean?”

  She jerked her head back. “How did you know about my stint in rehab?”

  “I read about it in an article. When your manager called me about the security job, I googled you to see who you were and all these articles came up about your drug problem.”

  Isla looked out the window. “Oh. I hoped you didn’t know about that. You never said anything.”

  “It isn’t my business to question a client about personal shit, but things are different between us now. How’re you doing?”

  “Sometimes the urge to do some lines is so overpowering that I think I’m going to cave in, but then I remember how hard it was to quit.” She took a sip of wine. “That memory keeps me from doing anything stupid. I never want to go back to using coke.”

  “It must be hard to stay clean in the music industry. I imagine it’s all around you.”

  “It is. The worst is when I’m super stressed or overwhelmed. I didn’t use for that long, so I guess that’s a plus. Most of the people I know back home have been snorting or smoking the stuff since high school. A few of my friends have been going in and out of rehab for years. I definitely don’t want to be like them.” She clasped her hands together. “One day at a time, as they say.”

  Sangre reached over and placed his hand over hers. “I’m here to help you if things get tough. I do think you need to throw away the pills you have in your purse. Addiction is addiction. I don’t think you want to replace one for another.”

  “I know. I guess I just feel like they’re my security blanket when things get too hectic and out of control.”

  “Yeah, sometimes shit hits the fan or life just sucks. I can’t say too much because I usually smoke weed when I want to chill. I don’t know. I just want you to know I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks. Are you tense about the Satan’s something?”

  He chuckled. “That asshole MC? No fuckin’ way.”

  “It sounded pretty intense. Are you in danger?”

  “Being in an outlaw club, a brother’s always in danger. It’s the way our world is. I’m used to it.”

  “Doesn’t it scare you?”

  “Only if my family is threatened.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Or you.”

  “I’d die if anything ever happened to you. Please be safe.”

  “I’ll be fine, babe. When you get back to LA, you watch yourself, okay? If you have a crisis or you’re having a real shitty day, call me.”

  She blinked rapidly. “I will,” her voice hitched.

  For a long pause, they held each other’s gaze then Sangre leaned over and kissed her soft lips. He caught a glimpse of her breasts below the deep scoop neck of her top. Arousal swept through him in a wild rush. “Let’s try out the bed in your hotel room,” he murmured.

  She sat back and placed her purse on the table, a slow smile spreading over her face. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  The crowd went crazy for Iris Blue, and pride swelled in Sangre’s chest. I’m gonna miss you, babe. A smack on his back tore his focus away from Isla as she bowed on the stage.

  “Damn good show, bro. She had the crowd eatin’ outta her hand,” Army said as he gazed at Sangre with glassy eyes. “Just damn fuckin’ good. We need to celebrate.” He swayed a bit and grabbed onto Sangre’s arm.

  “We’re all going to The Rifleman’s Lounge. You wanna come with Isla?” Eagle said.

  “Yeah. I’m sure she’ll be down for it.”

  After Iris Blue finished moving their equipment off the stage, Isla came over to him. She’d given him a VIP pass so he could go behind stage. Her cheeks were red, her face had a sheen, and her hair was wild and tangled from head-banging. He yanked her to him and kissed her, feeling the rapid beat of her heart as his tongue claimed the wine-sweet darkness of her mouth.

  “You fuckin’ rocked up there, babe. There’s no way the record company isn’t gonna sign your band,” he said against her lips.

  “I hope so. The guys really want it.”

  “So do you,” Benz said, coming up behind her.

  Sangre watched her eyes dart around until they rested on the ground. “Of course I do. I think we have a good chance.”

  “We fuckin’ killed it out there. Damn! Doing this all the time is what I want. It’s gonna be awesome touring with national bands all the time. The label said that if they sign us we can get on shows with Megadeth, Suicidal Tendencies, and a whole shit load of other big bands. That would be the life.” Benz took out a cigarette and lit it.

  For a split second, Sangre saw panic skate across Isla’s face but then it was gone. “The brothers are going to party at a bar and asked us to join them.”

  “We got our own party goin’,” Benz said.

  Sangre took a step toward the rocker, but Isla tugged him back. “I’m going with Sangre tonight. Arsen’s already hooked up with a woman, and Melody and Gage are going to a concert at one of the clubs. I don’t know what Jac’s doing.”

  “He’s probably got his tongue halfway down a chick’s throat.” Benz laughed. “Go enjoy yourself. We got a lot of time to party when we’re on tour.” He flashed a smug look at Sangre then hurried away.

  “That sonofabitch is just aching for a beatdown.” The muscles in his jaw tightened.

  “Don’t let him spoil our night,” Isla said, running her hand up and down his arm. Her touch was so soft, so soothing, that the tension began to
seep out of him.

  Soon they were at The Rifleman Lounge drinking beer, eating hot wings, and talking. For the first couple of hours, he talked bikes with his fellow brothers while Isla hung out with Raven, Hailey, Chelsea, and some of the old ladies from the Insurgents—Cara, Kimber, Belle, and Kylie.

  As the group got drunker, Sangre led Isla to a booth and slipped in next to her. He snaked his arm around her waist and crushed his mouth on hers while his free hand cupped and squeezed her tits.

  Suddenly, Crow’s voice, hard and full of hate, cut through Sangre’s desire. He jumped away from Isla at the same time a loud crash rose above the din of voices. He slid out of the booth and saw a Satan’s Piston punch Crow in the face. It was like a lit match dropped into a box of fireworks: chaos broke out.

  “What’s happening?” Isla said, climbing out of the booth.

  Sangre pushed her under the table. “Stay there. Don’t fuckin’ move until I get back. Go as close as you can to the wall.” He grabbed a couple of bucket chairs and put them in front of the table, locking her in.

  “Sangre,” her voice quivered.

  He bent down low and reached for her hand then kissed it. “Just don’t get out. I’ll be back. Promise.”

  “Sangre, don’t go. What if you get killed? Please don’t go.”

  “I gotta go. My club’s under fire. I’ll be back.” There was nothing he wanted to do more than take her away from the violence that had erupted, but he couldn’t—his brothers needed him.

  Sangre rushed into the brawl with fists punching and legs kicking. Citizens screamed and scurried under tables and behind the bar as the Satan’s Piston’s, Night Rebels, and Insurgents duked it out. One of the Pistons knocked Sangre down then kicked him hard. He rolled over to avoid another blow and managed to get to his feet in time to deflect the Piston’s fist. An animal snarl clawed its way up Sangre’s throat. “You fuckin’ asshole!” The Piston lunged, swinging and missing and Sangre slammed him into the wall. Then he was burying punches, over and over again.

  When a shot rang out, Sangre whipped his head in the direction of it and saw Jigger on the floor bleeding. Before he could react, Crow jumped on the back of the shooter, slamming a bottle over his head. Blood poured down the side of his face, and Sangre saw another Satan’s Piston pull out a gun and aim it at Crow’s back.

  “Fuck!” Sangre screamed out as he rushed over, grabbed a chair, and threw it at the man. He kicked the gun out of the downed man’s hand and was ready to stomp him with his boots when a swarm of police officers came into the restaurant.

  Isla! I gotta get to her. He tried to make his way back to the booth, but three officers had his arms pulled behind his back as they cuffed him. Outside, a large group of people watched as law enforcement escorted dozens of cuffed men into a large van, carefully separating the rival MCs. As the van pulled away, his heart clenched. I promised her I’d be back.

  “This fuckin’ sucks. The goddamn Pistons started this shit and we’re in the back of the fuckin’ badges’ van.” Army’s face was red.

  “Cara will figure this out for us,” Hawk said.

  “That’s right. Your ol’ lady’s a defense attorney,” Shotgun said.

  “Do you think she can get us outta here fast?” Sangre asked.

  “She’ll do her best, but most probably we’re in until morning.”

  Sangre leaned his head back against the window. Isla’s probably freakin’ out. Dammit! I have to talk to her.

  “Anyone know how Jigger is?” Eagle said.

  “Paramedics came for him. Fuck. I hope he’s okay,” Sangre said, staring straight ahead.

  Silence descended over them. They stopped talking. As far as they were concerned, the badges probably had the van bugged. None of them would say a word to the cops. Several of them read the name of the Piston who’d shot Jigger. They’d deal with him in their own way; he was a doomed man. Sangre’s head bounced lightly against the window as the van headed to the police station.

  * * *

  By the time Sangre and his fellow bikers were released the following day, Isla’s early evening show was over. He glanced at his phone and saw numerous missed calls and unanswered texts from her. He dialed her number as he walked toward his bike.

  “Sangre. What happened to you? I was so afraid. I was ….” She broke down.

  Each sob was a knife wound to his heart. “Honey, I’m fine. The fuckin’ badges arrested me and the others. I tried to get to you, but they nabbed me. I’m sorry I didn’t come back like I said I would.” Isla’s staccato breaths and sniffles filled his ears. “Shh … it’s all right. I’m good. I’m on my way over to the hotel. Please don’t cry.”

  “I was just so scared. I thought you were dead.”

  “I know, babe. I’m coming over now.” I wanted to share the Black Hills with her. Fuck!

  When he got off the elevator, Isla was standing in the hallway. Their eyes locked and she ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. He picked her up and carried her back to the room, and lowered her to the bed.

  “I love you, babe,” he said as he hovered over her.

  “I love you so much I think I’m going to burst. I want tonight to be special. I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

  “Let’s not think about anything but us.” He took her mouth in a deep, wet, claiming kiss. “I’m gonna fuck you good and hard, baby, and then I’m gonna make some sweet love to you.”

  No matter what happened or where they were, Isla would always be his. She captured his heart; she was part of him and always had been.

  Sangre pressed his mouth against hers and breathed in each of her tiny moans and whimpers as he slowly slid his hand under her skirt.

  Epilogue

  One month later

  The beaches went on for miles as the mini-bus rolled along the highway. Isla stared out at the blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean, wishing she were in it, floating on her back and looking up at the psychedelic sunset. In the front of the bus, Jac listened to rock tunes as his hands gripped the steering wheel, Benz sat behind him, playing a game and cursing under his breath, Gage lay on the seats, sleeping, and Arsen held onto the back of the seats as he walked toward her.

  She pretended not to notice him when he plopped down on the seat across from her.

  “What the fuck’s going on with you?” he said softly.

  “What do you mean?” She kept her gaze on the white tips of the waves as they caressed the shore.

  “You’re not having a good time. You’re not feeling the music. We’ve all noticed it. It’s not really fair to the fans.”

  Ouch. Isla inhaled sharply. “You’re right. It’s not fair to the fans. I’ll sort it out.”

  “Black Creek expects us to kick ass. You’re not doing your part. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

  Sangre’s going on with me. I miss him so much it hurts. “I don’t know. I guess I thought this is what I really wanted, but I don’t think it is.”

  “It’s that dude back in Alina, isn’t it?”

  “Yes and no. I was having doubts after we came back from our tour last year. That’s why I left for a while. I needed the break to think about what I want as a musician.”

  “What’re you guys talking about?” Benz said as he came over.

  “We’re just shooting the shit, dude. Go back to your game.”

  “Isla doesn’t look like it’s nothing. What the fuck’s up with you?”

  “I don’t really like touring.” There. I said it.

  Benz jerked his head back and sank into one of the seats. “What the fuck does that mean? That’s what we do. We’re a band that’s now on a label. We fuckin’ record, do shows, and tour.”

  “I know. I like the recording and doing shows, but not the constant touring, or the stress, or the scrutiny. I guess I’m not cut out to be a mega rockstar. I just like to write songs, sing, and perform in small places.”

  “Are you fuckin’ serious?”
Benz glared at her.

  “Dude, chill. If this isn’t for her then it’s not,” Arsen said. “It’s better we find out now rather than later.”

  Benz’s eyes bulged. “Are you saying you want to quit?” She nodded slowly. “Un-fucking-believable. So where does that leave the band?”

  “I’ll stay until you get another singer. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to blow your chances with Black Creek.”

  “I appreciate that,” Arsen said as he took out a joint and lit it. “Now that we’re on a label, we shouldn’t have a problem finding a chick who wants to join.”

  Benz pounded the seat cushion. “It’s because of that damn biker, isn’t it? Are you really thinking this through? I know you. Music runs through your veins. You’re not going to be able to give it up.”

  “You’re right, Benz—music is a part of my life. I can start a band.”

  “In that shithole town? If you want to blow your life, go ahead and do it. I’m done with you.” He slid out of the seat and headed back to the front of the bus. He looked over his shoulder. “I give you four months or less, but don’t even think of wanting back in. You’re officially out of Iris Blue as soon as we get back to LA.” He sat down and went back to his game.

  “I know I’ve really hurt him,” Isla said softly. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “He’ll live. None of us were in tune to the way you were feeling. We kept thinking you’d get used to the life.”

  “I tried to, but it’s just not me. I like roots. I love to write songs, and I’m pretty damn good at it. I’ve thought about selling some of the ones I’ve written that aren’t in the style of Iris Blue.”

  “And you miss the biker dude.”

  She closed her eyes. “Terribly.”

  “I’ll miss you, but the show must go on. I’ll put out feelers when we get back to LA.” Arsen stood up.

  “I’ll be with the band until you find someone. I’d never abandon you guys.”

  Arsen lifted his chin and walked away.

  * * *

  Three weeks later

  Warmth spread through Isla when she saw Sangre’s Harley in the parking lot of Precision Security. I’m home. She’d arrived in Alina the night before, and wanted to surprise him. She was happy and astounded on how fast Iris Blue found another female singer, but a tinge of sadness wove through her at the same time. The band had been her life for the past seven years, and she suspected it would take time for her to get used to not being in it. Jac, Gage, and Arsen had been great when she’d left, but Benz was so angry at her he didn’t even tell her goodbye. That hurt. She wished they could be friends, but she didn’t hold out much hope of that happening.