Chapter One
THAT NIGHT
SABAN ~ PRESENT DAY
“Aye, get your gear. Come over to the clubhouse. Angel needs you.”
Listening to the rough gravel of his voice is like a serrated blade dipped in lust gliding over my skin. Not that I’d ever know what that experience is like with Snake, or anyone else, for that matter.
One, my guardian acts like he can barely stand me these days.
Second, with the way my life is so locked down, I may as well be his prisoner, not his ward.
Angel needs me — never Hadrián and definitely never the man he’s become — Snake — La Serpiente, a man as vicious as the viper he’s taken as his road name.
Just as deadly as the fer-de-lance tattoo he has covering his entire body.
Closing my iPad, I shove it under my pillow. There goes my evening of reading my new favorite thriller author’s book about a sheriff hunting for a serial killer in a small Virginia town.
Ugh, I only think it. Not wanting him to hear me. Earlier he told me I sounded like a fucking child earlier when he forbade me to come to the club tonight.
“Guys are coming off the road. The only things they have on their minds are fighting and fucking. I ain’t got time to be putting motherfuckers down tonight.
” He told me after we ate the dinner of ribeyes and fries he cooked for us.
He saw me getting ready to go to el Diablo’s clubhouse with him and shut it down with the quickness.
“Sara has a tattoo she wants me to do for her. It’s an easy five hundred bucks, Snake.” The look he gave me would have peeled paint off a wall.
“And just why do you need money, martirio?” Just like the reptile, his road name denotes his eyes slit as he narrowed his focus on me, pulling his cut on. His voice slithered across me, cold and malicious, daring me to spill my secrets.
Already knowing I couldn’t win — I never win with this man — my designated guardian, the “ugh,” erupted from me like a geyser, my frustration clear.
I haven’t shared my hope of opening my own tattoo shop with anyone. Not even him. Especially not him. He’d shut that shit down so quick. He doesn’t have time to stand watch over a shop all day for me, he’d say.
As Angel’s primo, he doesn’t. I’m not asking him to. When I turn twenty-one next year, I can do it myself. With the money I’ve been saving since I started designing tattoos at sixteen, I can probably buy my shop outright.
“K.” He doesn’t respond, as is his norm. The line just goes dead.
Looking around, I grab my leather jacket, helmet, and gear. Maybe this night won’t be a waste after all.
Excitement rolls over me as I press Sara’s icon. Sending her a quick text: On my way!
Pulling my sisterlocs into the head wrap, I secure my hair under my helmet before getting on my custom-made bike when I see her praise hands reply.
There’s row after row of choppers as I pull into el Diablo clubhouse parking lot.
Going around back, I know Angel, Snake and Ellie have reserved for their bikes as el Presidente and Primo. I know I can find a space.
As I approach the back, I see only two choppers.
Taking Angel’s spot just so I can hear him fuss, I pull my bike beside her onyx and chromed-out mate — Snake’s Harley-Davidson chopper.
They look so pretty beside each other, though his chopper far outsizes mine.
A big bike for a big man and topping out at six-foot-eight, he had to have his bike custom made, and the same for mine because at five-foot-one, there are definitely no bikes ready made to fit me.
The only reason I’m not constantly ribbed about it is the fear everyone has of my guardian.
It’s odd Angel’s bike is not here, I’m thinking, taking my pack, pulling it over my shoulder to head inside.
Taking the steps, I enter the back of the building.
I’m under Snake’s protection, and everyone knows it, but Rudy’s guys like to play dumb.
You’d think after seeing their comrades being shot, stabbed to death, throats slit, and a few decapitations, by my silent but very deadly viper would have them thinking twice before daring to try anything with me.
Still, I’d rather just get in and do what I need to do for Angel, find Sara, do her design and collect my five hundred dollars.
“Hey, pixie.” Ellie’s smile is warm but fleeting as she steps up to me, either to block me from the view of the crowded taproom or my view of what’s going on.
“Rudy tried a girl that came in hurt from a wreck on Highway Seventeen. Angel claimed her instead. Yeah.” Ticking of the events like a list of chores she gives the girls who work around the clubhouse, her hands are gentle as she steers me away from the crowd into the back of the club down a long hallway leading to el Presidente’s office then veers off to his loft above.
“You’ve got your gear?” She nods at my backpack.
“Yeah,” my voice sounds far away. I’ve heard about club claiming, but I’ve never been part of one.
One of the most important parts of the ceremony in any claiming or biker wedding is the tattoos.
It wasn’t until last year that old Rafael cleared me as being good enough to do the wedding tattoos.
I was plenty ready — have been since I was sixteen, but the old bastard wouldn’t let me do anything until his arthritis got bad enough to let me take over.
“Okay, Snake is going to come get her in a few. We don’t have much time. All this needs to be done before sunrise or she belongs to the club.”
My head snaps her way. “What does that mean?” It sounds like some kind of loophole, and not one that benefits the girl.
“It means Rudy’s crew is going to tear that girl apart and throw her in the Tombigbee River. Hurry.” She raps on the door and steps back.
Stepping past her, I look at Sara and Lorena standing on either side of Angel’s favorite patchwork quilt couch like sentries.
A cute, chubby woman who looks like she’s having the worst night of her life is sitting center.
White clothes smudged from the road where it’s obvious she fell.
Her top is ripped like someone tried to tear it off.
Her eyes rest on me and I see a lot of fear and steely resolve.
She’s determined to survive this ordeal. I like her immediately.
“This her?” Adjusting my enormous duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I walk over to Angel’s desk, sitting it down before turning the ladies assembled.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch as she eyes my full sleeve of tattoos on both arms, then watch as she traces them, over the top of my chest, up to my neck, stopping just below my ears.
I give her a cool look. She looks like she’s super conservative and a Bible thumper to boot.
“You ready for this?” I ask her in Spanish since that’s what she was speaking when I came in with the twin cousins, as we like to call Sara and Lorena because they look so similar.
“No, but it doesn't seem like I have a choice. It’s either him or the whole club. I'd rather it be him. Well, actually, I'd rather it be nobody, but here we are.”
My heart stutters at her sweet voice and the sheer terror she evokes with her soft-spoken words. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, let alone this seemingly sweet innocent woman who just had the misfortune of having an accident in el Diablo territory.
“You know we’d sneak you out of here if we could?” Sara squeezes her shoulder.
Damn right we would. The cousins and I are here by choice, but there is only so much we can do in this world we were all brought to.
She swipes the tears away in a hopeless way.
“They’d run you down like a dog, then kill you.” I warn, rolling my eyes. Making it clear just how dire this is.
“Where we doing this at?” Looking at the twin-cousins, I get busy taking out my equipment.
“What are you doing with that?”
My head snaps up at the question. These two are so busy trying to baby her they’ve not given her the critical information she needs to survive this situation.
“Oh, we forgot to tell you have to get a tattoo with Angel’s name on you to show he’s claimed you.” Sara explains like that's the most natural thing in the world.
“What?” She stands back up, looking at them.
“I’m not getting some motorcycle gang president’s name tattooed on me like I’m his property. Y’all must be crazy.”
“Listen, if you don't wear his name, it’s just like you don’t belong to him.
If his name is not on your body by the time the sun rises, you belong to the club.
You decide.” Lorena lays it out like it doesn't matter to her either way. She’s not fooling me.
I can see the concern in her eyes. She’s always been the softer of the two.
“I guess here is as good as any place.” The girl plops back down on the couch a little defeated, but something tells me under all that fluff is some steel.
“Thigh or tummy?” Big brown eyes watch as I load my tattoo gun with dark ink.
While I do, I ask a rapid-fire litany of questions about her health, how she bleeds, HIV status — which has her almost choking. “Does your skin keloid? Are you allergic to any dyes?”
She shakes her head, ‘no.’
I can tell she’s overwhelmed, but Ellie’s warning is still ringing in my ears. We need to get this done and her claimed by sunup.
“You're going to have to come out of those pants anyway for the ceremony, so I’ll wait here while you freshen up in the bathroom.” Nodding to the door at the back of the room of Angel’s restroom.
I lay everything out as she heads to the bathroom.
The twin cousins are talking softly to one another. Lorena hands Sara an oversized towel after a few minutes. She takes it to the door and knocks.
“Take your pants off and wrap this around you,” instructing the girl when she pops her head out. Her eyes look hunted as she nods, takes the towel and disappears behind the door again. I almost wish there were a window she could squeeze out of, but the chances of her getting away are nil.
After a few minutes, she emerges, chin-up, wrapped in the towel. Like I said, fluff and steel.