by Aiden Bates
I didn’t have time to deal with this right now. Getting distracted right before an operation was a rookie move. My crew expected me to lead them—not to be arguing with my sergeant over shit that wasn’t immediately pertinent. Whatever feelings I had for Logan—protectiveness, desire, affection—it wasn’t love. I couldn’t be in love with a citizen. Not while the club needed me to figure out all the shit going down in our territory.
The back door opened.
Siren stumbled into the alleyway, passionately kissing a scrawny man with stringy brown hair: an effective distraction. After she pushed him up against the brick wall, she kicked the back door shut, then released him with an aggressive shove to step into the half-circle of surrounding Hell’s Ankhor members.
“Nice job,” I said.
Siren tossed her long blonde wig girlishly over her shoulder and threw me a wolfish smile.
The target cowered against the wall, his dark clothes damp with sweat and his pupils widely dilated under the dim street lights.
I stepped forward, closer to the guy, and the other club members tightened the circle around me. “Your date here says you’re selling some product inside. You wanna tell me about that?”
His mouth twisted into a terrified grimace. “I—I—”
“Use your words, asshole.”
“It’s just molly, I swear it’s just molly—”
Siren tossed a plastic bag to Gunnar, filled with smaller baggies of the drug. “Pulled this off him,” she said.
“Looks like the same shit to me,” Gunnar said.
“Who’s your source?” I asked.
The dealer wrapped his arms around himself like he could shrink himself out of my sight. “I dunno,” he said.
“I’m gonna ask nicely once more,” I said. “Who’s your source?”
“I don’t know!” the guy shouted. He spit a dense yellow wad of mucus at my feet.
“Gross,” Coop said.
I threw one sharp, quick punch to the dealer’s abdomen, striking him beneath where his arms were crossed over his chest, right on the liver where it’d be most painful.
He howled in pain and his legs went out like a puppet with its strings cut. I grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet.
“Your source.”
“They’ll kill me,” the guy moaned.
I backhanded him across the face. His nose wrenched to the side. Blood ran freely from his nostrils and dribbled from the gash on his mouth where his teeth had sliced into his lips.
“Give me a name.”
“Fuck,” the dealer gasped. “Fuck. Fuck. I don’t know, I really don’t know—I don’t ask names, they just call me, and I meet where they tell me to, get the drugs and get paid. I don’t know who it is!”
“Call your source. Now.”
“I can’t,” the dealer whined, and tears began to spill down his face. “If I call them, they’ll know something is up. They’ll kill me, man, they’ll kill me.”
I grabbed the guy roughly by his sweat-soaked hair and wrenched his head back. His Adam’s apple bobbed and twitched with each gasping breath. I flipped open my knife and pressed the blade against his throat, drawing a long, thin line of blood from his skin. “Who do you want to kill you, then? Them? Or me?”
Shakily the dealer reached into his pocket.
All of the club members surrounding me tensed and stepped forward.
The dealer pulled out his phone.
I grabbed it from his hand and tossed it to Gunnar. “Take that to Raven and see what he can get off it. As for this guy.” I put my knife away, then turned the dealer around and pressed him face-first into the wall. I wrenched both hands behind his back. Tex fastened the dealer’s wrists together with a zip tie. “Keep him in holding,” I said. “We’ll have some more questions soon.”
18
Logan
Sleep was an impossibility.
I paced back toward the kitchen for the hundredth time. The house itself was now shining spotless. I’d put a piano record on the stereo, low and soothing, hoping to calm my nerves, but I wouldn’t be able to settle down until Blade was back and—I hoped with a level of intensity that scared me—uninjured. Vipers didn’t fuck around.
Blade would know that about Vipers. He wasn’t an idiot.
Still, though. Anxiety gnawed at me. In the kitchen I removed everything from the fridge: pork chops, vegetables, coffee creamer, a box of blackberries, leftovers of last night’s dinner. I couldn’t just stand around and pace, I’d go crazy. I needed to do something with my hands to try and distract myself.
Why would Blade put any weight on what I thought about the Viper’s Nest, anyway? For all he knew, I was just a kid on the run from family troubles. If I had disclosed my history with the gang—earlier, when we were still getting to know each other—maybe he’d take my opinion into consideration. But as it stood now, I was just being mouthy.
And if he found out my history from the dealer, instead of from me, that was the worst outcome I could imagine. God, I should’ve just told him up front. I shouldn’t have waited so long, and now it was too late. A ticking time bomb.
I grabbed the rag and the bottle of cleaning spray from under the sink and began to scrub the inside of the fridge, working methodically, top to bottom, until the gleaming plastic shelves reflected my face.
In the hierarchy of the club, I had no right to question Blade’s decisions. I was still technically a citizen. Even though I was hanging out at the clubhouse, interacting with the members, and spending my nights in Blade’s bed, I wasn’t a member. A random patching-up of an injured member didn’t change that. I could only question Blade’s decisions as president if I was his Old Man. And that was a terrifying level of commitment—I wouldn’t just belong to the club, I’d belong to Blade. We’d be tied together. It was a marriage, but in some ways, more than a marriage. It didn’t come with any of the convenient tax benefits of a civilian marriage; instead, it came with unparalleled devotion. A commitment not just to live together, but to fight together, back-to-back in service of the club.
Putting the food back in the sparkling clean fridge, I lingered on an open tube of cookie dough. A spoonful had been obviously scooped from the top. I huffed a small laugh to myself.
Would it be so bad? Being his Old Man?
Before I met Blade, the thought of wearing a property patch had repulsed me. In the Viper’s Nest, being patched meant losing your agency—cowing to another like a dog. But Priest had been Ankh’s Old Man, and their relationship was different. Equal.
I pictured Blade coming home late one night, maybe tipsy, opening the fridge and eating raw cookie dough with a spoon. His eyes closing with pleasure when the sweetness hit his tongue.
After Mom had died, I was on my own. The only person who would prioritize me, take care of me, was me. That was all I had to depend on, and the driving force that led me to go to nursing school, and eventually flee for a new life.
Blade was throwing a wrench in all that. I wanted to keep waking up in his arms. I’d tasted a sip of water and now I was dying of thirst. I wanted to let him in, to let him know me, all parts of me—including my past. But it was too late for that. Now that the Vipers were at his door, I’d ruined any chance I may have had for honesty. My only option was to keep hiding for now. Just let this all blow over. Maybe I could start to work up the nerve to leave.
Imagining being alone in the world—again—after experiencing the possibility of a life with Blade hurt like a physical ache. I used to think the only way I could be happy was alone. Now I wasn’t so sure.
I finished refilling the fridge and surveyed my work with a sigh. I’d deep cleaned the kitchen, the bathroom, and vacuumed the carpets, and yet I was still antsy.
Outside an engine rumbled as it approached, then cut off.
My breath caught in my throat.
The door opened slowly. Terror, suddenly. In what condition was he? And not just physically. Violence could leave a lingering aura lik
e a headache. He might want to avoid me—or hurt me. No, not hurt me. That was the behavior of Vipers, not of Hell’s Ankhor. Not Blade. I twisted the cleaning rag anxiously in my hands as he stepped across the threshold.
Blade was bloodied. The scent of sweat and coppery drying blood flooded my senses. He shucked off his jacket. Sweat gleamed on his skin but there were no visible injuries. Just his hands were wounded, the knuckles swollen red and bruised.
He lowered his gaze at me, his eyes dark and burning.
Power emanated from him. Power and anger, miraculously directed not at me, but at the world. This was what Priest saw in him. His protective instinct imbued him with a single-mindedness like a wolf ready to protect his pack.
I wanted that protection. I wanted to burrow against his chest and feel his beating heart and know he could defend me from the world. Thank God, I still had time.
“You’re not hurt?”
“No.” Blade stood by the door, almost vibrating, like he was waiting for something.
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “I shouldn’t have doubted your decisions. I had no right to try to control you like that, especially with club business—”
Blade crossed the room in barely two strides and cut me off with a rough kiss. He held me tight against him and I was helpless in his arms. My anxiety melted away as he took control with his callused hand on the back of my neck.
Blade pulled away just far enough to tear off his bloodied shirt. He wrenched my t-shirt up and over my head, then ripped my shorts down. Heat raced through me and I was so hard so fast my head spun. His belt buckle was cool on my skin as he pulled me into him, grinding our hips together. The roughness of denim against my sensitive cock made me gasp with the mix of pleasure and pain.
He kicked the coffee table hard and sent it sliding across the carpet. I had never seen him like this—rough, hungry, nearly animalistic. I’d seen guys in the Viper’s Nest come back like this after a fight, pulling a random club bunny into their rooms and having their way. I hated seeing it—the way they used people. But this wasn’t about control. It was about protection. Blade didn’t wield his power carelessly. This was about trust. He needed to come down from the fight, and I was the one who could soothe him.
I went pliant under his hands, letting him take whatever he wanted from me. His hands were bruised, his clothes bloodied, and his voice was reduced to groans and growls. Animalistic in his need, in his search for release.
A strange thrill of power ran through me knowing I was part of this transformation.
Blade pinned me to the carpet, then ran his tongue wet and hot up my throat. With a hint of teeth, he kissed my ear. I shivered beneath him and tried to reach up, grab him, pull him closer, but he simply caught my hand in his and pushed it back down.
I squirmed, deliciously vulnerable and trapped. Blade rutted against me and panted with desire. I threw my head back, exposing my neck further to his mouth, wordlessly asking for more rough kisses and bites. He didn’t waste any time obliging.
One-handed, Blade unfastened his belt and ripped it from the belt loops, then tossed it aside thoughtlessly. He shoved his jeans and briefs down only enough to expose his huge, hard cock, then he wrapped his arm around my waist and rutted against me again. The hot length of his cock and the soft skin contrasted intensely with the rough denim.
Finally, he spoke, his voice smoky and low. “That feel good?”
“Yes.” I sighed. “God, Blade, yes.” His club name rolled off my tongue easily. It felt right, with the energy of the altercation—or whatever it was—still fresh in his veins.
He still kissed the same, though. Hot and passionate and claiming. I was putty in his hands.
Blade braced one hand on the floor, lifting himself enough to loom over me, encompassing my vision like an eclipse.
He traced his fingers over my lips. “Get these wet.”
I opened my mouth. His fingers were slightly bruised and swollen but tasted only of sweat. I sucked hard. He licked his lips. His cock jerked against my hip.
He pulled his fingers out of my mouth and then flipped us so suddenly I gasped in surprise as I landed on his chest. His spit-slick fingers slid across my lower back and then dipped between my ass cheeks. He pressed his fingers hard and firm against my hole and a rush of heat flooded me. I shoved my hips forward so our cocks aligned and buried my face in the crook of his neck.
His hand disappeared and I whined at its loss, until he touched me again, fingers now slick with lube. He slid two fingers inside me. I gasped. Slowly he moved his fingers in and out. He only let me adjust for a minute or two before he was fingering me so hard my hips rutted against his with each thrust. I kissed and nipped at his neck and collarbones as I raked my fingers mindlessly across the carpet near his head.
“I wanna fuck you,” he growled in my ear. “Like this. Right here.”
“Yes, Blade,” I said, my mind reeling from pleasure. “Anything. I’m yours.”
He pulled out his fingers then flipped me again so my back hit the carpet. He fished a condom from his jeans pocket and rolled it on deftly, not taking his possessive gaze off me. Then he grabbed me and slid me closer, dragging my skin across the carpet in a burn that only heightened my anticipation.
He paused and took a slow, deep breath.
The edges of the anchor tattoo peeked around his shoulders. His aggression was blended with something tender and covetous. He gripped my thighs tightly and positioned us so the head of his cock nudged my waiting hole. I didn’t beg or squirm or cry out, though the need burned in me. I waited, matching his breaths. His strength and power kept me locked in place.
The stillness nearly drove me wild.
“Beautiful,” Blade breathed.
He fucked into me fast and hard, sinking all the way inside me in one rough thrust. Pleasure shot through me like a spike. My back arched. He leaned over and tightened the grip on my thighs, his mouth barely touching mine. It wasn’t a kiss, just an open-mouthed exchange of hot breath. I threw my arms around his neck and dissolved into him, letting him set the deep, punishing pace.
Blade grunted with each thrust. He dropped his head onto the carpet next to me, tightening his hands hard enough to bruise as he pounded me.
He shuddered hard and came with my name in his mouth.
Only after Blade came did my own need for release slam into me. “Please,” I gasped.
With a lazy smile and without pulling out, Blade reached between us and gripped my cock hard. It only took a few strokes before my orgasm surprised me with its power, crashing over me like a wave.
After we cleaned up, Blade hauled me onto the couch and tugged me into his lap. He brushed a sweaty strand of hair out of my eyes. “I’m sorry, too,” he said.
“Huh?” For all our conversation had haunted me while he was out of the house, now I could hardly remember my name.
“For overreacting. And snapping at you. I know you were just worried. Especially with what you’ve been through.” He ran his hand tenderly across the scars on my abdomen.
Guilt shot through me again.
“I was keyed-up about the operation.” He pressed his lips together in frustrated thought. “I can’t—I can’t tell you everything. Not until you’re patched—I mean, in general, for the safety of the club, I can’t talk about the details. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear what you have to say. About what I can tell you. I’m still getting used to this, you know. I’m new to this whole relationship thing.”
My mouth dropped open slightly.
Blade grinned and tapped my kiss-swollen lower lip with his thumb. “You’re catching flies there, babe.”
My cheeks flushed. “Is that what this is? A relationship?”
“Yeah,” Blade said without hesitation. “You said it yourself.”
“I’m yours,” I whispered again. I hadn’t thought about it when I said it. It just spilled out.
Truth was a dangerous thing. But I couldn’t deny the bright spa
rk of joy in my chest.
“You are,” Blade said. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yes—yes, God, of course it is.”
Against my halfhearted protests, he carried me up the stairs to his bedroom and insisted on smoothing lotion over the pink rug burn on my back.
I wanted this. I wanted it to be real. But… Not until you’re patched, he’d said. He’d tried to walk it back. But what if he really wanted me to be patched in?
We were in a relationship, but I knew Blade wouldn’t stay long-term with anyone who wasn’t a member of the club. And I could never be patched in. Not while my past was a secret. And when I left San Francisco, I’d told myself I’d never be involved in a club again. As much as I wanted this, I wasn’t sure if I could commit to that lifestyle again, no matter how different this club seemed. Not after all my father had put me through.
We were together for now, but I couldn’t help feeling like we were doomed. Eventually I’d have to leave, before this could blow up in both our faces—otherwise it would be too late one day, and I’d be forced to leave anyway, carrying the pain of Blade’s rejection.
Soon, I told myself. I’d keep my secret buried deep until Blade asked me to join the club. Then I’d turn him down, pretending he’d pushed me too far, and I’d leave. No one would ever have to know what I’d been holding back, and I’d get a little more time with Blade. I’d make this work as long as I possibly could, squeeze out every last bit of happiness to keep me going on the road. It was a good plan.
So why did I feel so awful?
19
Blade
“Cheers!” Gunnar’s voice echoed through the clubhouse, at the end of yet another rhyming toast. That particular cheers only came out after a certain number of drinks had been imbibed; Gunnar was well on his way to a good time. He had two shots of whiskey on the island. Logan regarded them dubiously, but then met Gunnar’s challenge with a little smirk. They linked arms and each took a shot.
