All’s Fair in Love & Sin (Queens & Heathens #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

RHYS

“Guess assuming shit was going to calm down now that fuckface is dead was wishful thinking,” I grunt to my club’s sergeant at arms, Malice, as we look over the digital folder we were sent, our eyes scanning bank statements, flight logs, and a bunch of other shit that is way above me.

“Think we should pull Saige in on this?”

“She is a lawyer, or was one at one point, needs to go to Chaos first, though.”

“You’re just sayin’ that cause she scares you.”

“Who scares you?” a raspy female voice interrupts as the devil herself walks into the room. Malice and I aren’t exactly sitting in private, hunched over the bar in the open-concept common area of our clubhouse; club members or patch bunnies could walk in at any moment.

Malice sits up straighter, turning to look at Saige head-on.

“You do,” he says, shaking his body in a mock chill.

I roll my eyes at him and look back at the documents on the computer, trying to decipher them, looking for anything that stands out.

It’s fucking foreign as hell, the numbers all bleeding together, making my eyes cross.

Saige leans into Malice’s space, and I watch them out of the corner of my eye, waiting for whatever’s about to happen, not that I would get involved. They can both handle themselves.

Saige is the president’s woman. She’s not his old lady, ’cause Saige would probably kill Chaos before she agreed to that; she’s more like his equal.

Even though we don’t have to listen to her, we still respect the shit out of her for what she’s been through and how she handles herself.

She’s tougher than some of the men in our club, almost tougher than Chaos.

They do everything hand in hand, and while she’s not our president, we all treat her with the same respect we give Chaos.

There are a few old-timers who have their reservations about this new change to the club since she’s arrived, but as the vice president, I’m indifferent.

I’m happy that Chaos has found someone to make him smile again.

We’ve known each other since our former president, Queenie, brought him and his late brother Ace into the clubhouse as teenagers.

I took him and his brother under my wing, and we finished growing up together.

Did I expect to have his woman some day lead next to us?

Nah. But it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

“Good. You should be scared,” she whispers, and Malice yelps like a puppy, making Saige laugh, the noise echoing around us.

Mr. Bun-Buns startles in the crook of my arm, so I stroke the soft fur at the top of his head with two fingers, hushing him.

Am I bigger than most of the men here? That would be correct.

Do I have a pet bunny? Also correct. What the fuck does size or profession have to do with our pets of choice?

Mr. Bun-Buns is all the companionship I need.

At least, that’s what I try to convince myself.

“Mmm, that’s a sound I like to hear,” Chaos says as he enters the room, wrapping his arms around her waist, nuzzling his face into her neck. It’s a side of him none of us has seen before. Our ruthless, quiet, foreboding president melts for this woman. It’s a sight to behold.

“Don’t start that lovey-dovey shit, makes you both look weak,” I tell them without looking up from the computer, with no bite in my tone.

“You say that now, just wait until your queen is tossed into your life unexpectedly. You’ll be singing a different tune, Mr. Softy.”

“Fuck off with that shit, Chaos,” I push, even though I would love to find a woman of my own someday.

Wife her up. Have a family. Add in some more pets.

Maybe some kids, if she wanted. But heavy on the pets, she has to like animals.

Kind of a weird desire for the vice president of the strongest motorcycle club in the Pacific Northwest. But it’s not like we’re a bunch of hardened criminals, even if we do skirt the law and commit murder from time to time—only those who deserve it.

“What are you two working on?” Chaos asks, dropping onto the barstool on the other side of me.

“Shit. An ass-ton of shit, actually. Remember how we couldn’t figure out how the hell the Widowmakers had so much dough?

Well, I’ve got it right here; it just needs someone who’s good at money to unfuck it all so we can start to trace it.

They were in with someone, or in the business of selling a bunch of someones. ”

We just ended a feud with a large club that was vying to eat up more territory and wanted ours.

Not only did they attack us in Amberwood, but they hit the clubhouse.

We’re still trying to pick up the pieces of the damage we took.

Their organization turned out to be much larger and much more tightly formed than we had anticipated.

We’re fairly certain they’re in the business of human trafficking, but we haven’t been able to find proof of it yet.

Chaos takes a moment to look over the mess generated on my laptop. “I know a guy who can unfuck this. Just a little dicey ’cause he’s young.”

“For fuck’s sake, you aren’t thinking Otto, are you?

He just turned eighteen! He’s still in high school!

” I berate. Otto is the grandson of our favorite non-club person in our town of Amberwood—Mrs. Odette.

She owns Daily Rise, the bakery and coffee shop, and a few years ago, got custody of her grandson, Otto, who was rebelling after his parents died.

She looked to Camden for help, and he set him straight, the same way Queenie dealt with all of us Heathens .

. . hard work and not letting the mind stay idle.

“Yeah, but no one knows money like he does. He’s a math and finance prodigy.”

I sit back on the barstool, letting my hands fall to my thighs. “You don’t trust anyone, I should add, then.” Doing my best to discourage him.

“Nope. But we need to get this traced and figured out. I want to know where their money was funneling in from and out to, and as soon as possible.”

“You gonna call Mrs. Odette? ’Cause if you piss her off and we get banned from Daily Rise again, I’ll kill you before she can,” I threaten, knowing Chaos understands how serious I am. I live for the pastries and coffee from Daily Rise, and most of the men here feel the same.

“I’ll get it done, don’t worry your soft little heart, Sin,” my president jests. “If this doesn’t work, we can always call in another favor to Wes Draven over in Aspen Ridge.”

I scoff. That fucker is a wizard when it comes to the deep, dark web and tracking down information with barely anything to go on. Hell, he’s the reason we figured out Saige’s identity before it was too late and someone else got to her first.

“Maybe instead of pulling in a kid, we go straight to him?”

“Nah, want to give Otto a chance. It’ll make him feel useful. Plus, Wes is eating into our pockets faster than we can keep up. Bastard is expensive.”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t even need the money, just likes to fuck with us.”

“Whatever the reason, we’re going to let Otto give this a shot and go from there. I’ve got a feeling he’ll be able to understand this fuckery better than anyone else can. Then we’ll deal with the shitstorm that will inevitably come after it,” Chaos says.

“I miss the decade of peace we had,” I tell him honestly, rubbing my hand across my full beard. Chaos looks over at Saige, who’s in a deep conversation with Malice, with remorse, his eyes full of love and longing. But the one most prominent? Guilt.

“Yeah, but she didn’t. And that’s my fault.”

“You can’t blame yourself anymore. Let it all go and live in the moment. You both are alive, she’s yours, just move on.”

“Easier said than done, brother, but I’ll get there. Let’s get through this shit and make sure the people who were financing the Widowmakers are gone for good. I want to cut off any other heads before they can get a stronghold again with other clubs.”

“We’ll get it done, and it starts with this bullshit right here, finding out where the money was coming from.

Money always talks.” Shifting around with Mr. Bun-Buns in my arm, Chaos and I look out at the large room sprawled out in front of us.

Members and patch bunnies have started to filter in, the sun starting to slowly dip behind the mountains, signaling it’s time to party.

The room smells of cigarette smoke and the earthy scent of marijuana.

A prospect slips behind the bar to hand out beers and pour drinks.

“Queenie would be proud,” I tell him honestly.

“Yeah? I bet your mom is, too.”

“She tells me every chance she gets.”

A beat of silence passes between us before he speaks again. “Have you been to see him lately?” he asks, a spike of annoyance stabbing at the base of my neck.

“Nope. Been a bit busy with all the shit that keeps falling in our lap. Saige know?”

“That instead of dying like everyone thinks he did, we’ve got your dad—the former Vice President of Hell’s Heathens MC—locked up in the basement of one of our houses on the property?

” Chaos shakes his head slightly, his palm rubbing over his chin.

“Nah. She doesn’t know . . . yet. It’s not relevant until it is. ”

“Didn’t peg you for one to keep secrets from your woman, brother.”

“She’s my woman, Rhys, but you’re my brother.

And that shit isn’t club business, it’s personal.

I’m going to protect you and your shit for as long as I can.

” The use of my legal name gives me pause, letting his words really sink in.

Camden loves Saige more than anything in the world, but he’s openly admitting to keeping my secrets for me.

Secrets that could change the way the members view me.

At the end of the day, we all have to live with our choices, and I’m living with mine just fine.

“Speaking of, I should probably go see him, check on things.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“You got it. We’ll get this shit sorted.

Let me know what Otto finds, if he finds it,” I say with a smirk.

Standing, I pet Mr. Bun-Buns and head upstairs to my bedroom to put him in his enclosure for a bit.

It’s huge, about a quarter of the size of my room, but I wanted to make sure there was enough room to stretch a bit if he feels like it.

“Be back, sweet boy,” I coo, giving him a kiss to the top of his head before plopping him inside.

After locking up in my room, I take the stairs and sneak out the side door of the kitchen.

The sun has almost completely set, with red, orange, and yellow hues stretching across the horizon.

Starting up my bike, I take the short drive up the winding dirt road to the few private houses Chaos and I keep on the property.

The hard exterior I put up when I have to see this man slams into place, all the anger and resentment I still hold toward the man who created me, so I don’t accidentally kill him.

The house sits off in the distance, an inconspicuous cookie-cutter two-story with a front porch and sprawling yard.

It backs up to a gorgeous tree line, the club property going on for acres and acres.

It’s sad that a house is sitting vacant because of the shitty-ass memories inside.

I’d love to burn it to the ground, if only the basement wasn’t currently occupied with the filth of the earth.

Parking my bike out front, I steady myself and flip down the kickstand before stepping off. I take a moment to look up at the sky and steady my breathing. I always have to mentally prepare myself for meetings with him. I try to avoid them at all costs, but I can’t keep banking on Chaos doing it.

As I walk through the house, I keep my eyes averted, not wanting to see the reminders of all the shit that happened here.

When I reach the basement, I take the steps one at a time, the smell of shit and decay permeating the air. I’ve smelled worse, but this is still potent, my stomach rebelling against the inhalation, rolling with nausea.

A low light illuminates his aging body from where he sits inside his cell. His back is facing me, his grey hair hanging long and stringy around his shoulders, which are hunched over and rounded.

It should make me sad to see my own flesh and blood so frail, but I feel nothing but bitter contempt and anger for what he did. He’s shirtless, his skin dusted with age spots, probably from his liver going out, every ridge of his spine visible.

“Been a while, Rhys.” My dad’s voice is hoarse, probably from not using it often since he’s in isolation and has been here for a long-ass time.

“Needed to make sure your corpse wasn’t rotting away down here. Scents travel, and no one needs to be breathing in your decaying, evil flesh.”

Victor Hudson was once a man people respected, looked up to. He was the vice president of our notorious motorcycle club and Queenie’s right hand; they led together for years. But behind closed doors, he was a fucking monster.

“You’re going to die down here. Slowly. Painfully. Your body will give out long before your mind will. Or perhaps it’ll be the other way around, the isolation and lack of human connection will rot your mind before your body is ready for it to. We both know how much you enjoy human connection.”

He hums in response.

“Even after you leave this plane, there is no god that will forgive you, nowhere you’ll go that you’ll feel free. You’ll never be absolved of your crimes, Victor.”

“If that’s the case, son, neither will you.”