PROLOGUE #2
I wince on his behalf. Cleanup duty sucks after a rager. “Damn, man. I feel for you. I hear the vote is soon, though, so keep doin’ what you’re doin’. You’ll be patched soon enough, and all the shit duty will be in the past and for some new prospect to deal with.”
“You think?”
I give him a nonchalant shrug, but my face is all smiles as I sip on the cool liquid he set in front of me. He’s a good guy, and I have a feeling the vote will go in his favor. The noise is thunderous all around me, and I know I need to head to the back to get set up before I get pulled into it.
I stand up and adjust my cut before walking through the main part of the house, trying to avoid any patch bunnies who will be giving it their best shot to convince me to claim them as mine for the night.
Most of them are fun, sexy things that satisfy a completely primal urge, but tonight I’m working and need to focus; the last thing I need is the distraction of pussy.
Just as I’m about to step into the hallway off the main area, my path is blocked by a blonde bombshell in a red dress and heels.
“Hey, Rogue,” Callie purrs as she drags her manicured nails down my chest. Nails I know all too well, having felt them rake down my back in the past. Maybe my focus can wait.
I bend my knees so I can wrap my arm around her back, my free hand grabbing her jaw as I move us to the closest wall.
She hitches her leg around my hip as I grip her ass hard with my palm, squeezing just enough around her throat with my other to get her attention.
I’ve hooked up with Callie on more than a few occasions, and I know she’s hoping I’ll make her my old lady someday, but it’s not going to happen.
She’s hooked up with me enough to know that I have two rules: no kissing on the mouth, and I won’t be making you my old lady.
After a few failed attempts, she no longer tries. Which makes things easier on me.
A hard hand slaps the back of my shoulder, pulling Callie’s mouth from my neck, where she’s sucking on me like a fuckin’ vampire.
“Rogue. I’m ready, let’s get going.”
I drop Callie’s leg to the ground, her face pinching into a pout as she whines.
“Sorry, babe, duty calls. Maybe next time,” I say with a wink, taking a step back and putting space between us.
“Don’t worry, sweet thing, I’ll keep you warm,” Noose chuckles as he wraps an arm around Callie’s shoulder. She perks right up, her glassy eyes shining bright and looking at him like he hung the moon.
When I was brought into Hell’s Heathens, I learned real quick that sharing the patch bunnies was common.
All of them are here of their own free will and can come and go as they please.
Most of them sleep with patch members, and none of us have ever given it much thought.
We’re all clean and test regularly, and there’s no jealousy.
It’s not a bad setup when you don’t have the time or energy to date.
But that’s a huge reason why—those of us who care—won’t make one of them our old lady.
It’s the same reason I don’t kiss any of them on the mouth.
I reserve that right for the person I’m in a relationship with, whenever that time comes.
There’s something more intimate about kissing than fucking.
I’ll fuck someone one of my brother’s has been inside before me, but I’m not going to kiss her or make her mine permanently.
Sin and I head to the backroom where Ink and I have set up a makeshift studio for the club. While he works the majority of his time at Heathen Ink, one of the club’s legitimate businesses, I tattoo here. I’d love to own my own shop one day and am saving every extra penny to make that dream happen.
“You ready to get this sleeve finished?” I ask him.
We’ve been working on a long-term project of fine line work that covers every inch of his arm, fingers to pec, and the next several hours should finish him up.
The guy is about my size—six-four and 260 pounds—and is one of the toughest assholes here, but he hates needles.
We should have had this work done in two eight-to-ten-hour sessions, but here we are, session six.
Sin shrugs, looking slightly green as he takes off his cut and hangs it on one of the hooks on the wall.
“Let’s get this shit over with.”
I laugh at him. “Why even do it if you hate it so much?”
“Love the ink, you know what it means to me. Just hate the process. Any chance Stitch got his hands on some Propofol?”
“Believe it or not, he couldn’t. You’re gonna have to stay awake for this.
” I continue to shake my head and laugh at him.
I move through my routine, opening new tools and setting up my ink, getting the green soap ready, and opening a new roll of towels.
The room is painted deep black with my tattoo table in the center, and overhead lights pour directly over us, giving me the lighting I need.
I lay out all my supplies on the black rolling table and grab my pens and markers to get started.
“Ready?” I ask him after everything’s been drawn on and prepared for me to make permanent.
“Get it over with, Rogue.”
I swipe some Vaseline over the area and get started, focusing on my task and losing myself to the steady vibrations that hum through my hand, and the resistance as I press the needle into his skin.
I fall into a hypersensitive trance as I work my way through the project.
I’m attuned to his every movement and the quiet grinding of his molars as I work over the sensitive area on the inside of his wrist.
I lose track of time, progressing further and further, checking in with Sin periodically as he scrolls his phone and fights for his life.
Just as I’m about to wipe Sin down, the door to the room slams open, the force bouncing it off the wall. Sin and I both jerk up, wondering what the hell is going on. Chaos stands in the doorway, his face void of the stony features he typically wears, and I’m immediately on guard.
“Reid,” he gasps in a hurry. My body is on high alert at his use of my legal name. It’s rare and reserved for situations that call for it. “It’s Lena. I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t know.”
My blood turns to ice in my veins as I quickly stand, dropping my machine to the table, a feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that almost brings me down to my knees.
A whoosh of lightheadedness passes through me.
His tone is all wrong. His typical, stoic calmness is missing, and putting me on edge.
The anger and fear in his voice are palpable.
“What do you mean it’s Lena? Where is she?”
“Reid . . .” he says my name like he’s delivering a death announcement, but that’s impossible. My heart stops as the breath is stolen from my lungs, and Sin grips my bicep.
“No. No, you’re wrong. She’s at home. Camden, tell me you’re fucking wrong.”
“She was with Lucas. They’ve been sneaking around. I didn’t know.”
Was.
My thoughts race with explanations. Lena and I don’t hide things from each other, and she’s been seeing Lucas?
For how long? I knew I should never have brought her here to begin with.
What the fuck was I thinking? She’s twenty, for fuck’s sake; she doesn’t need to be around a motorcycle club with a bunch of testosterone-fueled men, no matter how well-behaved they are or how deep their loyalty runs.
“Where’s your brother then? Where the fuck are they?”
My president’s face falls further, and I know it’s worse than I could have imagined.
“The Iron Wolves have them. We need to go. Now.”
Fear like I’ve never felt before clutches me. There’s no love lost between Hell’s Heathens and the Iron Wolves, and hurting one of our females is a line none of us will allow to be crossed. The fact that they just did means war.
“I want wheels on the pavement in less than ten minutes!” Chaos yells into the open room, sobering everyone quickly.
Everything else happens in a blur. My gun is strapped in its holster behind my back, and we’re all on our bikes, a massive show of force as we head to the last place the Iron Wolves have been known to hide out.
We don’t have the element of surprise; we don’t have a plan or coordinated attack.
Just going in guns blazing on a hope and a prayer that we can get Lena and Lucas out of their clutches.
We ride in formation, only the loud rumble of our bikes to be heard.
Anxiety and fear roll through me in equal measure, my hands shaking as I grip my handlebars.
My brain wars with itself, unable to comprehend that my sister could be anywhere but home right now.
She has to be okay.
She’s okay.
What feels like hours later, but in reality was under thirty minutes, we roll up to a shitty neighborhood on the outskirts of a town I’ve never been to.
At the end of a long cul-de-sac sits a rundown, decrepit house with fire erupting from the first-floor windows.
I skid my bike to a hard stop at the front of the house as Camden is jumping off his and racing inside with other members hot on his tail.
I pull my gun and move to rush in when Malice and Wrath grab my shoulders, hauling me backward.
“Let me fucking go! I need to get to her!” I do my best to fight them off, but they hold strong.
“Nope, not happening, brother. Prez’ order. We’re to keep you back. We don’t know what awaits inside, and it looks like their crew is long gone.”
I know he’s not wrong; the lack of bikes out front was the biggest clue. Whatever happened inside, they’ve left it and tried to torch the evidence. But that doesn’t mean Lena is in there. She could have been taken by them as a hostage, or something worse.
Minutes go by but it feels like fucking hours as I stand by my bike and fucking wait. Wrath and Malice each hold me back by an arm, like they don’t trust that I won’t book it inside the moment they release me. They aren’t wrong.