Second Chance Beauty

1. Xander

Xander

The lingering reverberation of almost fifty motorcycles fading into the distance made the room seem beyond quiet.

“Well, thank fuck they’re finally gone,” Wyck, a big man who looked like a half-giant, said.

I was a large guy, but he could barely fit through a door without turning sideways; he was so tall and wide.

Despite his appearance, including the tattoos that ran around both biceps and down one forearm, something about him put off vibes that he was a friendly giant—at least, compared to those around him.

Anyone in the club was certainly not a choir boy.

“I told you, just because you’re hoping for some peace and quiet around here, doesn’t mean you’re going to get it,” a man sitting in a booth in the shadows shot back.

His features were obscured by the lack of light above him, and the only identifiers I saw were his lanky but muscular build and muddy brown eyes.

“Yeah,” Another one of the bikers—the few left, anyway—pointed at me. “I’m sure he alone is going to cause shit to go down. He has that look.” My back tensed, but while his words weren’t complementary, his tone was friendly, if not damn full of anticipation.

“At least we won’t have to worry so much about someone in the bedroom next to us slitting our throat while we’re sleeping,” Wyck grumbled, but he eyed me with suspicion, as if he wasn’t so sure about me.

I didn’t blame him. Not only was I an unknown, but he wasn’t wrong in thinking one of his own MC members could do something like that.

The Iron Wraiths motorcycle club was world-renowned for their blood-thirstiness, complete disregard for the law, and cold-blooded capability.

They didn’t claim to be one percenters—the MC clubs that boasted about being the one percent of clubs that weren’t law-abiding citizens—but anyone who knew anything about them knew they were at the top of the list, whether they made claim to the title or not.

I raised a hand, not about to back down or appear weak, but realizing I needed to make an effort to bond with the group.

These men had not only protected Vik’s back when I couldn’t, but some of them had even saved my Alex.

“Should I recite an oath or something,” I asked, putting humor into my gravelly voice.

It’d been almost three months, and I still didn’t recognize the sound of my own voice.

I wouldn’t even think about the face in the mirror that went along with it.

I was surprised, and more than a little pleased, that my practiced Texas drawl was at least on point.

I’d taught myself the twang by watching old western and other classic American movies over the years in preparation, but I wasn’t confident at how natural it would sound.

After all, Russian’s always sounded like thugs in all the American movies I’d ever seen.

Though, when it came to myself, at least, the accusation was fairly accurate.

“I guess we could demand a blood sacrifice,” the teasing one said with a grin, extending his hand. “Shade, I know Grimm had to throw you to the fire with those introductions, and I imagine most of the ones that stuck belonged to the men who left … numbers and all.”

I exchanged pleasantries, looking around at the remaining men with interest. I’d arrived scarcely an hour before the bulk of the men had cleared out, and while I knew better than to try to draw attention to myself, I was anxious to see Vik.

I knew the remaining men around me were his brothers-in-arms, but I hadn’t seen him in the throng of people, and I didn’t see him now.

“He’s not here,” Grimm, the chapter president and leader of the group, said, knowing who I was searching for.

“Everything right now was about putting on a show and doing absolutely nothing to draw suspicion to the two of y’alls connection to the branch of the MC that just left.

” He motioned toward the door. “Vik is well known as a surly, anti-social SOB who’s always behind his bar.

And if he’s not behind his bar, he’s behind ours.

” Pointing to the other side of the empty bar top in emphasis, I understood his point.

“An emotional—and crowded—sendoff isn’t Vik’s thing, so him being here would’ve been weird.

And you showing up, well, it would make some even more suspicious, seeing as Vik never mentions his past, and we sure as shit don’t need them to see y’alls Hallmark moment.

” A man I recognized as Savage added helpfully.

He’d been one of the men to pick me up from the last transit point, and his looks were so close to that of Matteo—the man running the entire operation—that I assumed he was a relative.

“While you’re still going to have to play a role in public, you won’t have to worry about being yourself with us now that the brothers have left.

Don’t worry, though, we’re not going to leave you hanging.

We’ll give you a few minutes, run you through the players and what you need to know, and then head out.

I’m sure your anxious to see him, and the fucker’s been even more hormonal than normal—another reason Grimm made him stay away until the main membership left.

Lessia’s sending a text when the moment’s right for us to leave. You do know how to ride a motorcycle?”

I raised an eyebrow, wondering if that was even a legitimate question. The entire room broke out in chuckles, breaking up the lingering tension.

“All right, so reintroductions.” Grimm took over.

“You’ve got Whisp over there in the shadows, Shade is the bloodthirsty one, Savage, Wyck, and Charge.

Jasper is an ER doctor and works the night shift, and Raptor and Judge are out on assignment right now.

Not everyone here is an operative—and there’s even more support staff who aren’t connected to us outright.

Some work for Matteo in the field, others provide cover right here, and a few don’t have anything to do with the bloodier side of things.

But all of us are brothers, and we support each other the way family is supposed to.

We might not always get along, but when it matters, we’re there, no questions asked.

Now, our original purpose within the club was to ensure the right people could get through the Iron Wraiths MC smuggling operation undetected, even from the rest of the MC members.

That’s something we’re all involved in—and part of what you agreed to assist with once you’re settled.

Anything else is optional, but you mess with what we do—or fuck up—you’re going to wish you’d stayed in Russia. ”

I nodded, believing the threat but not nearly as phased by it as I was sure he’d wanted. When you had a mother whose favorite pastime was torture and contemplated turning the tables on you pretty much your whole life, it was hard to be impressed with anyone else’s attempt at intimidation.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I clarified, “According to what I was told, the smuggling operation I’m joining is only to save victims of human trafficking or other victims who need to be moved through underground channels to ensure their safety.”

Grimm smiled as if I’d just gotten a gold star in his book.

“Fucking right. Not that the MC doesn’t smuggle other shit in addition to money—the Iron Wraiths primary bread and butter—weapons, and other black market goods, but our purpose is to ensure that those who need it have a second chance at a normal life.

We work with others all over the world in a …

global underground pipeline … I guess you could call it.

Paper trails can be tracked, no matter how deep they’re buried, if someone’s good enough and determined enough to find one. ”

“Unless,” Savage said with a wink, “there isn’t one to find.”

“Nonetheless,” Grimm continued, “I know there are certain risks returning to anything remotely similar to your last profession. But that doesn’t mean you have to start out your new life as a law-abiding citizen if you don’t want to.

Though that’s available if you want it.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at Wyck.

“This guy owns his own construction company—one of the best in the state. He’s always looking for good, capable help. ”

“I see you never offer up me good labor,” Shade grumbled.

Savage laughed. “As if anyone wants to assist your employees on crime scene cleanup duty, asshole. It’s our job to make the mess, not clean it up.”

“You clean up crime scenes?” I asked, half-fascinated, half-disgusted, thinking of some of the ways I’d killed others.

Taking in what he explained, I had to readjust my understanding of expected roles within the group.

I thought I’d have a similar life to the one I’d left—one with very little choice and all of it bloody.

Apparently, my chance at a fresh start provided more freedom than I’d ever had.

“Own it, I don’t do the work anymore,” he said with a shrug as if the details didn’t matter.

“He’s being modest,” Charge piped in. Something about his stance screamed military to me, and I wondered how long he’d been out. “He owns the company most of the law enforcement in Texas recommends for major disaster cleanup. You’re up to, what, twenty branches?”

Shade still looked bored with the conversation. “Something like that. Grimm’s making me expand out to Louisiana so I have an excuse to go out to talk with Hazzard without raising suspicion.”

“I’m willing to float around to whomever needs assistance until I get more settled.

I’d like to spend some time with Viktor—Vik,” I corrected.

“And see what kind of life Xander Hawkings will have.” The name still sounded foreign—almost as foreign as the body attached to it.

I’d had countless surgeries on my appearance and vocal cords, along with months of coaching to change my mannerisms and teach me what living and growing up in America would have been like.

Now it was time to see what my present and future would shape up to be.

“Yeah,” Savage said, a wicked smile on his face. “Who knows, maybe after all this time ‘incarcerated’ you’ll fall in love at first sight and live happily ever after as a soccer dad.”

My mouth kicked up into a semblance of a smile.

As far as the locals were concerned, I’d spent the last twelve years doing time for murder before being exonerated on a technicality last week.

Aside from a few others, only the people in this room, and Andrie, once I told her, would know I was a Russian asset, but that was it.

Only Matteo, Lessia, Vik, and possibly Grimm knew my true previous identity.

“Do I look like a soccer dad to you?” I was covered with ink before I’d left Russia—pretty par for the course being raised in the Bratva.

Gangs, no matter how large or their country of origin, had a reputation for such things, Russian’s more than most. But my ink had been altered along with my face, fingerprints, and damned DNA.

Overkill? Probably, but when there was a remote chance of getting on the radar of people who had the power—and desire—to kill you, the extra effort was appreciated, even if the rehab had been a bitch.

The blocky black tattoos, some of which had run down to my fingers, were gone.

In their place, swirls of tribal-looking ink were placed over bright blues, reds, and green sleeves that went down to my wrist on one side, with a joker tattoo and snake running down my other arm.

My hands and neck no longer held any indication they’d ever been tattooed, and my scalp was shaved bald, hiding what had been pale yellow hair.

I’d grown out my beard, which, thankfully, was a much darker shade.

But even if I’d shaved and thrown on a suit instead of the simple t-shirt, leather vest, jeans, and boots, there was no way I’d look like I was anything other than someone kids ran away from screaming. Some adults, too.

The guys broke out into laughter, getting another round of ribbing in, before Charge—another biker brother—showed me the room I’d have upstairs.

It was larger than I expected, with a private bathroom.

The bed was a king, with clean sheets, two pillows, and a nightstand.

A dresser was against one wall, with a small closet.

“It’s not much, but it’s yours. Whether you crash here or not, this room is earmarked for you.

It’s a good idea to keep some supplies here regardless.

You know, clothes, weapons, go-bag, that sort of thing.

If Grimm calls us all in as a safety precaution, you’ll want enough here to last a while. ”

Charge tapped on the door, and I noticed the word “Revenant” on the door. Tilting my head in silent question, Charged looked up at where I was staring. “Your road name. As you already know, none of us actually go by our given names much.”

“Revenant?” I asked, and Charge grinned.

“Revived from death to haunt the living? Seemed appropriate.” He slapped me on the shoulder in a friendly manner. “Now, drop your shit off. Vik’s waiting, and Lessia arranged another surprise for you.”

Anticipation surged inside me, all my senses coming to full alertness.

Alex. It had to be. Only, she no longer went by Alex.

It was Andrie now. My heart warmed at that.

I’d damn near cried when I’d first heard the name she’d chosen.

Andrie Demming. Doctor Andrie Demming. Only she and Vik had called me Demi instead of DM.

And Andrie referenced my middle name, Andrei.

She’s literally taken my name the only way she could. Just like I’d done with hers.

All of these years apart, and now, it would be mere minutes until I could lay eyes on her, touch her. The only catch … she couldn’t know I was me.