by Addison Jane
How did he…
My skin tingled. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the question or whether it was the sound of his voice that had parts of my body burning. And to be honest, it had been a long time since I’d felt that sensation without having to work for it. I looked down at his hand. It was clenched tightly around his glass, his veins protruding and his muscles twitching.
His eyes moved, traveling down my arm and stopped just above my elbow. They were intense and hard. I followed his gaze, my nose crinkling when I found three perfect finger-shaped bruises on my bicep.
I instantly rolled away from his intimidating and fierce gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Where is my fucking beer?” Crow called from outside.
My back instantly straightened, and I looked over toward the rear doors. I was out of their view, and that alone would make Crow fucking feral. Quickly, I spun around and snatched up the change the bartender had left, dropping some back on the counter for a tip, before shoving the rest in my back pocket.
“You need to get out of here,” I warned him as I hurried to get the money into my tight fucking jeans pocket.
Maybe I was taking pity on him because I didn’t want to see his pretty face get damaged. Or maybe I was trying to save my own ass because if I got caught talking to a guy who wasn’t a member of Red Riot, I was going to be eating through a straw for weeks. Or maybe it was because I knew at that stage he needed to be the one to walk away.
Because I was definitely struggling to.
“Do I? And why is that?” I could hear the slight tone of amusement in his voice.
He found my sudden panic funny.
I spun back to him, narrowing my eyes so he would know I wasn’t fucking around. He was one man, there were fucking twenty of them outside. The odds weren’t in his favor. “These guys, they’re not a joke. So you can laugh all you like, but blood stains are real hard to get out of white shirts.” I closed the space between us, leaning over the barstool which separated us and reached out to grab a hold of his white shirt, but before I could touch his, his hand wrapped around my wrist holding it captive. I held my breath for a second wondering if this time I’d gone too far. Waiting for the pain to come.
But there was none.
The only sensation I felt, was his thumb brushing softly across the inside of my wrist. The gentle gesture stealing my breath for a second.
I looked up, just in time to see him shake his head, his hand releasing my wrist as he took a step back, putting some distance between us—he was obviously the smart one because the only thing I wanted at that stage was to get closer.
Steadying my shaking legs, I quickly turned back to the bar ready for that to be the end and to make my escape, the fear of what Crow would do to the both of us if he walked in winning out over the ridiculous magnetic pull that seemed to be pulling me back.
Just as I wrapped my hands around the two cold glasses off beer, the sound of the stool behind me scraping on the wooden floor, had my feet suddenly feeling like they were concreted down.
I couldn’t move.
Or maybe I didn’t want to move.
“If you need help getting the hell out,” he whispered, his voice closer than I anticipated. My skin prickled and a cold shudder ran the length of my spine. “You call me.” I couldn’t look or fucking move. All I could do was feel his fingertips gently skim over my hip, lighting every nerve on fire before dipping low to the pocket in the front of my jeans. A piece of paper crinkled, and I held my breath as he tucked it inside.
When he pulled away, I finally managed to take a breath and brave a look over my shoulder, just in time to see him walking away. His broad shoulders and the way he sauntered toward the front door of the bar without a single ounce of fear that was fucking sexy as hell. It wasn’t cockiness, it wasn’t overconfidence. It was just a man who knew himself.
And I desperately wanted to follow him.
Whoever the hell he was.
“Kennedy!” Crow roared again.
But that wasn’t my life.
This was.
Just a few more months.
REPO
My hand was still tingling as I stared at the image of the girl on the screen. Her entire demeanor was sweet with just a kick of sass, and her look matched it to a tee. She wore very little makeup, and her plump lips formed a smile which was beautiful and genuine, not forced. But she wore clothes that showed off her sexy, more edgy side. It worked well with the subtle curves she had to her figure—the ones I couldn’t help but touch even though I should have kept my hands to my fucking self. I didn’t know what to think. I expected to just walk in and see what the assholes were up to, but I never expected to walk in and find not only club members but a couple of club girls too.
That alone instantly told me everything I needed to know about the guys who were running this place.
They were pussies.
And they were scared as fucking hell.
You didn’t take your club girls to a place when you were planning a fucking attack. They just got in the way. They became something which could be used against them as a weapon—well, that was assuming they actually gave a fuck about their girls.
The only reason for the club to bring girls with them was if they wanted to save their own fucking asses by hiding behind them. Which I was almost completely sure these assholes were doing, given the way that the girl was at the bar, asking questions, looking for info.
This was a fucking dick move.
They were weak.
“Keep an eye on the girl,” I ordered, leaning against the doorway to Dean’s office.
He didn’t even bother to look up at me, his eyes glued to the four television monitors on the wall, and his fingers continuously tapping on the desk in front of him. He still had his cloth tossed across his shoulder from his dramatic exit from the bar. “Who the fuck are these assholes? I’ve never even heard of them before.”
“They’re a bunch of wannabe jackasses who think that owning women and running drugs make them men,” I replied, practically spitting the words out in disgust. They had sent one of their club whores into the bar to ask their questions and get the info they needed on us.
Are you fucking kidding?
We don’t play those little games here. So if they thought they were going to rock up, hideout, and then hit us when we least expected it, they were actually dumber than I first fucking thought.
“You like the girl?” Dean asked, leaning in closer to one of the monitors watching with curiosity. “She’s cute.”
“She’s not club whore material,” I argued, my right hand quickly forming a fist.
“How do you know?” Dean scoffed. “Club whores are a breed.”
“Yeah, and she don’t have those genes.” I turned around and headed for the door, Dean’s laughter tinkling behind me. I could hear him talking, but I knew if I actually listened to what the fuck he had to say, I’d probably want to kill him, and once I started, I was going all the way which meant one big mess, no backup, and probably twenty-five to life.
I got out onto the sidewalk and followed it for a couple blocks until I found Tyler waiting where I’d left him to watch our rides. He quickly jumped up and held my colors out, and I took them gratefully. I hated not fucking having them on. It made me feel naked like I was a different person.
What a lot of people didn’t understand was how much they were a part of us, not just representing the club but part of us as individuals.
Every man who joins the Brothers by Blood MC had a reason to do so. For some of them, it’s family because they’ve grown up with the club, and the club was already a part of their lives. For others, it’s because they were running from a past and needed somewhere to start fresh.
But for me, and a lot of young guys who prospect, it’s about who had your back when you thought you were standing on your own.
“Shotgun’s been calling,” Tyler noted, holding up his cell that showed three
missed calls from our club president.
“Call him, tell him we’ll meet him at Empire,” I ordered before walking over to my ride and grabbing my helmet off the handlebars. I strapped it to my head and threw my leg over my ride, my body instantly relaxing as I felt the heavy machine beneath me. Reaching for the key, I turned her over, the loud blast of noise and vibrations like music. They filled the air around me shaking the ground and electrifying my senses.
The ride to Empire wasn’t that long.
I had to wonder whether these bastards had come to this part of the city by accident, or if they were really that stupid to think they could have ten guys show up in our backyard and that we either wouldn’t notice, or we wouldn’t come down on them like a book on a fucking bug.
They didn’t take me as smart. But I’d learned a long time ago never to underestimate anyone.
We pulled down the alley behind Empire. The rear lot that we kept for ourselves was full of bikes, probably at least half belonging to the Exiled Eight MC. We co-owned Empire together. It was Phoenix’s most popular nightclub.
Shake’s old lady, Meyah, just happened to be Huntsman’s daughter—the President of the Exiled Eight, so the clubs had become extremely close over the past few years since we’d set up here.
Tyler and I made our way inside heading straight for Shake’s office. We stepped inside, finding Shake and Shotgun waiting for us, but also Drake and Ripley, Meyah’s older brothers. I took a seat opposite Shake’s desk.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Shotgun asked, not one to beat around the bush.
“Eight guys including the club president. Two women. Probably about six inches of penis between all the stupid bastards,” I explained shortly, folding my arms across my chest.
Ripley chuckled lightly from his seat on the sofa across the room. “They look like they’re gonna be a problem?”
“They’re gonna be fucking annoying, but I don’t know if that can be classed as a problem.”
Shotgun looked over at Drake who was leaning against the wall to my left. “These bastards rode into town, set up camp a couple miles away, drink at a bar that we’re known to spend time at occasionally,” I rattled on. “Stupid or arrogant?”
It didn’t make any sense.
Drake frowned. “This the Red Riot guys Dad was talking about?”
“The one and the same.”
“Sounds like they’re scared, but they don’t want to fucking admit it,” Drake mused. “Or their president is scared that if he doesn’t try and show some kind of power, after the way you basically shoved your middle finger right up his ass, his men might decide he isn’t worthy of his colors.”
He wasn’t worthy of his colors as far as I was concerned. And I was quite happy to be the man who stripped him of them.
The men in the room all nodded.
Motorcycle clubs thrived on the fact that there was one man in charge. The president needed to be strong, fair, diplomatic, and to be honest, kind of a fucking asshole because he had to make all the major decisions. And while things were often voted on within church, it was a president who made a final ruling or who had the ability to change the rules. It demanded a lot of fucking respect, and a man who wouldn’t let the power go to his head and begin to rule him.
“So what’s the game plan?” Ripley asked, holding his hands in front of him and cracking his knuckles.
Shotgun leaned forward in his chair tapping a pen on the desk in front of him. “We leave them alone, pretend like they aren’t here.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I felt a little bit of disappointment settle in my stomach. Shake looked at our president the same waiting for some kind of explanation to this strange plan. Drake, on the other hand, just sat back and smirked, nodding his head as if he immediately understood.
Shotgun grinned, letting out a small laugh. “Look, this guy is acting like a fucking toddler. He did something bad, he got caught out and spanked for it.”
“In front of his friends,” Drake added with a gentle chuckle.
“And now he’s sulking and looking for some fucking attention. He probably has a plan to make himself look like a big man. He wants us to storm in down there and make a scene. But we ain’t gonna.” Shotgun looked across at me with a wide grin. I was beginning to understand his plan, but I still hated that I couldn’t head back there and take him down right now.
“You’re gonna force him to chase us,” Shake finally clicked on.
“Yeah. Which will piss him off even more. It’ll make him so fucking angry that he’s showed up, and we don’t give a flying fuck.” All of us chuckled softly like school girls who were planning to embarrass the mean girl at school.
“So we just wait,” Ripley noted, rolling his eyes. I wasn’t the only one who would rather go beat the shit out of them. Drake nodded at his little brother, and Rip growled in annoyance.
“Had a nice chat with one of their club girls,” I explained when we were finally done, the corner of my mouth twitching.
Shotgun raised an eyebrow. “And how did that go?”
“She was kind enough to warn me that I should leave.” I snorted before letting out an amused chuckle. “Made sure to tell me about how hard it was to get blood out of a white t-shirt. I just assumed she meant their blood, not my own.”
Shake started to laugh. “Well, you know, she’s not wrong. Blood is one of those heavy-duty stains.”
“That’s why I don’t usually try and wash them out,” I noted, rolling my eyes. “They usually burn out pretty good, though.”
KENNEDY
It was closing in on eleven o'clock, but the city streets of central Phoenix were just starting to come alive. People were flocking toward the bars and nightclubs that filled the blocks around the busy night hub. Groups of women laughed and giggled with their friends, their heels clip-clopping along the sidewalk, and the seductive sway of their hips caught the eye of every single man who passed by.
I bet that boosted their confidence.
I bet it made them feel like they were on top of the world to have men lick their lips in lust but know that they held all the power. To know that even though those guys wanted them, they were able to walk away. It had been a long time since I’d been able to say no. Or since I’d been able to walk away without there being any kind of consequences.
The car we were in pulled up to the curb outside a place called Empire. My mouth dropped open as my gaze ran the length of the line outside the front door. It ran almost the entire block.
“Kennedy,” Crow snapped, his fingers pinching my jaw and drawing my face to him. We sat in the back seat of the car. It felt strange, not being on the back of a bike. But the boys were trying to fly under the radar. “I need everything and anything you can find me on these assholes. Get me a key card, a door code, numbers of men, pictures of members, fucking anything you can that’s going to give me something to work with.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, but the words didn’t come out with confidence or even a shred of conviction.
Crow heard my nerves instantly, and his fingers pinched harder. My jaw began to ache, but I didn’t dare try and pull away. “Find me something,” he growled, leaning forward so his hot breath skimmed across my face. It smelled like stale cigarettes, probably because he’d been smoking like a train since we arrived in town. “You come out with nothing, you may as well walk right back inside and die with them.”
I stared straight into his dark eyes, the murky green color that I once felt was warm and welcoming, now just reminded me of a lake or a swimming pool which hadn’t been cleaned in years. They made me feel dirty.
He shoved me back, my head taking the brunt and smacking the window behind me with a loud thud, enough to draw attention from several people in the line outside Empire. I was dazed for a second but quickly reached for the door handle, needing to get out of there before he got more annoyed.
Ashley did the same, scampering out of the front seat and hurrying around to the curb on my side. She took m
y hand, helping to steady me as I slammed the door and the car sped away before we could even take a step back. My stomach was turning nervously as we walked to the end of the line outside the popular nightclub and joined the long queue.
Ashley’s whole body shook when a cool breeze whisked past us. She let go of my hand and began digging around in the small clutch that was wrapped across her body. She whipped out a small compact mirror and held it up to her face, using it to apply a layer of crimson red lipstick. Then she pulled back, scanning her face before smacking her lips together loudly and snapping the mirror shut, shoving both items into the tiny clutch.
She was shifting from one foot to the other.
We both knew this was a bad idea.
“I don’t like this,” she murmured quietly, slipping up beside me and hooking her arm through mine as the line moved forward. “I think Crow’s scared.”
I couldn’t argue with that point. I was thinking the exact same thing. He was using us, sending us into the nightclub owned by this other MC—the Brothers by Blood—wanting us to basically be their spies.
Crow was usually a shoot first, ask-no-questions kind of guy. He wasn’t a ‘send in your whores to scope out the place in case there are too many of them and not enough of us’ kind of asshole. This was a new experience, and it made me wonder just how fucking scary these guys must be to have Crow on his back foot and against the ropes of the ring.
“We do this, we get the hell out,” I told Ashley, grabbing her hand and looking her directly in the eye so she knew I was being serious. “If these guys are anything like Riot, they figure out we’re working for the enemy, we’re probably as good as dead.”
This wasn’t what I signed up for.
I signed that contract to protect my sister.
I said I’d fuck them.
I said I’d clean up after them.
I even agreed to being their fucking punching bag.
What I didn’t agree to was risking my life because they were too chicken-shit to come in here and do it themselves.
