13. 13
13
Raven
T he feeling of freedom I got from moving out of the MC stronghold was unbelievable. I'd never felt more claustrophobic or antsy in my life than I was constantly being watched by burly men all the time. Some may call it a dream come true to have those good-looking men surrounding them day and night. I'd call it fucking annoying.
Sure, they were all nice to look at for the most part, especially Jesse and Raptor. Yeah, those two are eye candy from miles away. Hell, even Bear, with his "I'm king asshole"attitude, and Reaper, with his "One wrong look and I'll gut you" thing he has going on, are attractive.
It wasn't the view I hated; it was the suffocating tension that never went away, the looming feeling of danger lurking around every corner. It only seemed to get worse the longer we stayed. By the time we finally moved out, it seemed to have reached an all-time high.
When Nix tripped over one of her boxes and fell, the reaction from Viper and Bear told me all I needed to know—they were expecting something to come crashing down on the MC. Something big. Something dangerous. I hoped whatever it was didn't follow us to our new place.
The feeling from that day never really went away. Not after Viper gave me that silent message as he left the room that day. Stay alert. Stay safe.
That message is the reason I haven't read more into the conditions surrounding our new living arrangement. I know it's no coincidence that the house we rented just happened to pop up when it did. It's too nice and too cheap to be some random gift from the universe; the MC had something to do with it. There's no way that place magically became available right next door to the club's treasurer overnight.
With Raptor right next door, the club could easily have eyes on us. Usually, that would piss me off, but knowing there's someone out there that shakes Viper to his core dulls that reflex. The idea that someone friendly is watching out for us—for Nix—gives me a small token of comfort.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I swipe the screen and read the text from Phoenix. Since she started school again, she's kept me updated between classes, telling me all about the campus and how excited she is to be back. It's one of the few things keeping me sane with everything that's been going on. Knowing she's safe and happy is my number one concern.
I send her a quick reply before getting back to work. This place is shockingly busy for a hole-in-the-wall bar. Each day, business is steady from about eleven o'clock on, and the tips are very generous. I never thought I'd find a little slice of joy in this place when Nix convinced me to stay, but here I am, enjoying the hell out of this bar and the guys I work with.
Jesse hip-checks me as I finish cleaning a round of glasses. I glare back at him playfully as the doors open, bringing in another group of customers. Jesse looks over to greet them, and his smile falls. Something's wrong. I turn to the group that walked in—five men wearing MC cuts, but not cuts of the Sons of Sorrow.
A rival gang? That can't be good.
The leader of the pack eyes Jesse before surveying the rest of the place. When he sees me, he stops. His beady orbs trickle slowly down my body as his lips curl into a disgusting smirk. "Didn't know you started recruiting females, J. Nice touch," the dickhead tells Jesse, his eyes still glued to me.
"Get outta here, Dom," Jesse replies rigidly.
Dom ignores Jesse and moves closer to the bar, closer to me. "What's your name, sexy?"
His roaming eyes make my blood boil. "Go fuck yourself." My words drip with venom as the jackass and his misfits fill the room with howls of laughter.
"Now, that's quite a name," Dom finally says. "I bet you're a wild one, ain'tcha." A lethal sneer is my only reply.
As if my hatred only turns him on, Dom licks his lips. "Mmm, I like 'em wild." His insinuation has me seconds from unleashing hell on this bastard. I'm about to jump over the bar and set Rebel Raven free on this fucker when Jesse moves in front of me, blocking my path to the soon-to-be-dead Dom.
"We have an agreement. Nothing goes down on home turf. Both clubs swore to it." Jesse's words grab my attention. What the fuck?
Dom feigns innocence. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, brother. We're just here for some drinks." He shifts to stare at me, still partially blocked by Jesse. "And the view."
Jesse studies the group for a moment before nodding to Archie, who's joined us from the kitchen. Archie fills five glasses and slides them to the men.
"Sixty bucks," Jesse tells Dom coldly.
The pack leader chuckles. "What? No discount for an old friend?"
"Nope. Premium price for a premium asshole."
Dom shakes his head, chuckling as he drops three twenties on the bar. He pulls out another and holds it out to me. "For you, Wild Thing. Somethin' to remember me by."
I scoff at his outstretched hand. "Keep it. Maybe you can use it to buy yourself some game."
Another chorus of laughter erupts from the group as Dom pockets his money. "I like a woman with a mouth like that on her. Means she knows how to use it." His vulgar tongue jets out, leisurely swiping his lips as his eyes take their time appraising my curves.
"Finish your drinks and leave," Jesse commands, his voice threatening in a way I've never heard him speak before. Dom holds up both hands in surrender before grabbing his glass and directing his gang to a table nearby.
They drink slowly, chatting amongst themselves and stealing glances toward the bar every so often. Archie never returns to the kitchen, instead choosing to stay close to me behind the bar. Jesse never takes his eyes off them, watching their every move with caution.
"What was that about?" I ask him while Archie makes a phone call.
Jesse peels his eyes off the MC, giving me a tense smile. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"I know when something is nothing, Jes, and that ," I nod pointedly to the table of assholes, "ain't it."
He lets out a frustrated sigh, looking torn. Finally, he gives in. "I can't say much, alright. It's just . . . those assholes are part of another MC, a rival crew, you could say. There's some bad blood between them and us because of some ancient history between the two founders."
He pauses, debating if he should continue or not. His eyes drift back to the table as he says, "Nothing's happened between the crews in a while. Sometimes, they like to come around and stir everyone up, that's all."
Something in his face tells me that's not all there is to it, but I don't push. The fear in his eyes is all the confirmation I need—the MC is definitely not just a club for Harley lovers. The Sons of Sorrow are part of something much more sinister. Something very dangerous.
And now Phoenix and I are right in the middle of it.