Chapter 8
Mia
Mason
You okay? You seemed out of it when everyone left.
I’m okay, I just need some alone time to process all this.
Mason
I won’t see you now until I get back. Heading to Virginia.
Tonight?
Mason
Yeah, I gotta ride, clear my head and they need my help down there.
Apparently, Virginia’s HOH chapter lost two members to what Mason tells me was an “accident,” which means they were probably killed. I know how to read between the lines.
I’m fine, I have the club if I need anything.
Mason
I know how much you check in with the club.
Never.
I’ll be fine Mase.
Mason
I’ll be gone about a month, but I’m only a few hours away.
Stop worrying. I’m going to find a job.
Mason
Behave.
Don’t forget to wrap it up.
Mason
Fuck you very much.
I tuck my phone into my purse as I smile, waiting for Libby to get back with my second drink.
I love that I get to see a side to my brother no one else does.
I know he’s a different man when he’s with his club, and I hate lying to him, but what I’m saying is sort of the truth, and right now there’s no other way.
He’ll be in Virginia for the time being anyway.
Maybe when he gets back, I’ll have the proof I’m searching for, and he’ll understand why I had to keep this plan from him.
I got home from Briggs’s after all the guests were leaving our house, and just in time for my mother to tell me how irresponsible it was for me to disappear on the day of Nic’s celebration.
Then she proceeded to tell me and Mason that she and Craig were leaving in the morning to go on a long haul to Washington.
She didn’t ask either of us if we needed anything. Not that I should be surprised.
“You’re the shiny new toy, that’s for sure.” Libby grins at me now, motioning to the room as she passes me my glass. She wears a pale pink strapless dress, and her lips are pink and glossy too. She looks like a Barbie I had once, and she’s never not smiling.
I notice the room is quickly filling with men in cuts and women who seem to want to be near any man wearing one, though I flinch at the sight. I have to keep reminding myself I’m supposed to be here. Disciples cuts have always been a warning before now. Danger.
The space is exactly what I expected their clubhouse to be like.
I’m no stranger to my brother’s club—I’ve been there many times for barbecues and other events—and this one is the same…
yet different. It’s an old warehouse of sorts on the outskirts of Lakeside, and it sits at the end of a wooded drive, far back from the road and removed from any kind of community or neighborhood.
It’s covered in black metal siding and has few windows.
Harleys and a few classic cars were parked along the gravel path that led up to a big overhead door.
When we got here, the door was rolled up and Nine Inch Nails was playing through massive speakers.
There were people inside and outside, smoking, drinking, and laughing as the sun set behind the field beyond the building.
A big bonfire was going a few yards away, and there was another crowd gathered around it.
I look around now as the song changes to “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains, taking in the black and white checkered tile and the long wooden bar flanking the east wall.
On the black wall above the bar, graffitied in various shades of white and gray, with shockingly beautiful detail, is the infamous Disciples reaper atop the Harley, and under it… a motto.
“Ride free. Spare none.”
The seating that lines the outer perimeter of the massive room is all black leather vintage booths.
They wrap around wood tables that seat six.
Tables and chairs fill the middle of the open space, and I get the impression that they get pushed aside for dancing.
At intervals, there’s a pool table or a dartboard along the wall where dozens of framed photos of old bike rallies are hung, and in the corner is a vintage jukebox.
At the back is a massive American flag. As I take it all in, I feel a light tug on my braid, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise in defense.
I spin quickly to find the kind eyes of Libby.
“Why the braids and no makeup?” She shrugs, glancing over my simple outfit as she lets go of my hair.
“I just don’t like to wear it down”—so I don’t attract pigs who might think they can touch me—“and it’s easier”—to fight someone off—“if my hair is back off my face.”
“You know what would be so hot? All that hair down and some red lipstick!” Cara, one of the other girls I’ve met tonight, pipes up. “A modern Marilyn Monroe.”
I just smile in response.
“You’re beautiful now.” Libby nudges me with the sweetest smile. “But some lipstick would be super hot.”
“Just don’t hook up with Raef. He’s been with everyone, and the girl who quit before you, Shana, she had a pregnancy scare because his huge cock broke the condom,” Cara adds with a laugh as Libby doubles over. She already seems a little drunk. “I mean, there are worse problems.” Libby giggles.
I look over at Raef. Tall, dark, and handsome, inked and muscular. He looks young, and he looks exactly the part of an all-American playboy.
I laugh with her, but I can’t help the sudden feeling that I’m being watched.
I look over my shoulder to encounter the cool gaze of Aiden Foxx.
It’s impossible to ignore. The urge to have my brother tie him up right now and torture him sounds pretty good, if for no other reason than to stop the way his eyes pin me where I stand.
He sits at a table near the back of the room with Roz, watching me over the rim of his glass as he sips his whiskey.
He’s still wearing those perfectly fitted jeans, but his flannel is gone, replaced by a simple black T-shirt under his cut.
Ink covers every stretch of his visible skin, and he doesn’t look away when my eyes meet his.
I can’t tell if he’s angry that I didn’t wear the dress he chose or not. Aiden Foxx is impossible to read.
“Oh no… You can forget about him.” Cara snorts, breaking my stare. She’s a pretty brunette with big, brown eyes, and I’d guess she’s only a few years older than me.
“I wasn’t—”
“Of course you were. He’s the ultimate prize, but he won’t,” another girl I just met tonight, Trina, cuts in. “I’m pretty sure we’ve all tried, because there isn’t a finer looking man—”
“And he sure as sin looks like he could break a condom or two,” Cara adds.
“I’m sure he runs through women like a sewing machine,” I bite out.
The girls laugh as Trina tucks a lock of hair from her blond bob behind her ear. “Not that I’ve seen,” she offers.
The other girls shake their heads.
“That man is professional through and through,” Cara says.
“And calculated. He was a Navy SEAL sniper,” Libby tells us.
I frown, because being professional and a Navy SEAL doesn’t equate to the kind of predator I want him to be.
“A sniper?” I repeat, looking back at him. He’s speaking to a tall man in a Wretched Souls cut, though he’s not one of the ones I saw by Aiden’s bike when Nic and I were in town. The crowd is so thick I can’t tell yet if he’s here somewhere.
“Yeah, at least that’s what Roz said. He’s never spoken to me directly about anything personal,” Libby answers.
Although Aiden being a sniper doesn’t necessarily surprise me, it does impress me.
I grew up in a family of servicemen, and I know how brave you have to be to serve your country, especially in that kind of capacity.
I had a cousin who tried to become a SEAL and didn’t make the cut.
I remember him saying only one in five could even complete their training.
I have no idea how I’m going to pull off this little ruse now. Guess I’m gonna have to fake it until I make it.
I slowly sip the drink Libby brought me as Aiden turns back to his conversation with Roz. Slowly, because the drinks they make here are double shot strong. I’m pretty sure there’s more vodka in this glass than cranberry.
“Did you already piss him off?” Cara asks from beside me. I shrug, avoiding the eyes I know are still on me.
Libby laughs and leans in. “Hell, maybe you’re the one to win him over.”
I shake my head in response.
“I mean, the man’s gotta crack someday,” Libby adds with a shrug. “So far, nada.”
“Well, I can assure you I’m not the one,” I say as convincingly as possible.
“Agreed,” Cara adds. “Because that’s definitely his pissed-off face.”
“Boss wants to see you,” Roz says as she approaches, patting my arm. I turn to face her.
“Why?”
“I don’t ask those questions. You’d be wise not to either.”
I sneak a glance at Aiden again. His long, thick legs are relaxed, and he’s leaning back, completely at ease, untouchable even, as he waits for me to obey. He’s the king here in his castle. And he knows it. Nervous energy rolls through me at the thought of being alone with him again.
I set my drink down on a nearby table, finished for now.
It’s making me feel tipsy and hazy. My confidence wanes when he slowly stands, and I’m once again reminded of his sheer size and presence.
I mentally plan for our interaction. How much Aiden will tolerate from me is a fine line.
I can test him or challenge him, but I cannot disrespect him.
“If I don’t come back in ten, assume he murdered me,” I joke with the girls. Libby giggles.
“You’re safer with him than any man in here,” Roz defends firmly, and my tug-of-war about this man continues.
The older woman stays to talk with the girls as I move quietly toward the back where Aiden stands waiting. When he beckons me with a nod, as though I’m just supposed to follow him down a dark, unfamiliar hallway, the filter that I barely hang on to on the best of days all but disappears.
“Hey,” I call from behind him. He doesn’t acknowledge me, so I move faster as he enters the hallway.
“Hey!” I grab his strong, warm arm and grip tight, my nails digging into his forearm. Fuck, it feels good. I want to dig them in harder.
Aiden stops in his tracks and turns to face me.
His eyes are piercing as he looms over me from his full height, and I shrink a little where I stand.
In my attempt to contradict the Jessica Rabbit dress that he chose for me and appear as innocent as possible, I wore flat, strappy gladiator sandals, and our height difference is more apparent than ever now as he peers down at me.
At five foot seven, I’m not exactly a short woman, so it’s rare that a man makes me feel small. But Aiden Foxx does, with ease.
“I’m not just going to follow you into the back abyss of your club,” I tell him, willing my voice to soften.
Aiden’s eyes move to where I’m still gripping his forearm, hard.
I pull my hand away quickly, my nails leaving little crescent moons in his skin.
He smirks—and the way the corners of his plush lips turn up slightly takes me by surprise—as he leans in closer.
It’s such a beautifully wicked sight, which makes rage pulse through me even hotter.
“If I wanted to hurt you, I would do it right here.” His eyes slowly drop to my lips before he pulls them away and glances around the room.
I scan the room too. I get it. Everyone here is in his court.
Just like he did in the dressing room at Lavish this afternoon, he reaches up and lightly wraps his first finger around my braid, pulling it gently.
“If I wanted to harm even one hair on this pretty blond head, I’d do it right out in the open while everyone watched.
” He tugs a little harder, and I almost whimper.
“I’d make a fucking example out of you.” He growls his last words before he lets my hair go, and the tone of his voice sends a shiver up my spine. This tone isn’t playful.
“Not one single person in this room would try to stop me, whether they agreed with me or not. They all follow my command. Or do you not realize yet who you’re fucking dealing with?”
I swallow, trying to hold my composure under those violent blue eyes.
As strong as I’ve been trained to be, this isn’t Briggs, and this isn’t a training scenario.
This is real, and I can already tell he’s a man who would do whatever dark and depraved things run through his fucked-up head.
I picture my sister’s face outside the Yard. She was fucking terrified.
“I think I know exactly who I’m dealing with.” My voice hardens as I stare straight at him.
“Then stop wasting my fucking time and follow me. I have other shit to do tonight.”
He turns and walks all the way to the end of the hall and pushes through a heavy wood door.
An office. A quiet space, secluded in the back of his clubhouse.
A tiny wave of fear ripples up my spine, and it just pisses me off, because I’ve been trained not to fear.
I take a deep breath, push through it, and force myself to take the upper hand.
“I want you to tell me exactly what it is you want from—”
“Sit down and stop fucking talking,” Aiden snaps as he closes the door behind me and hits a light switch.
A lamp on the large mahogany desk flicks on.
This space is warmer than I expected. The walls are painted black and there’s warm wood furniture.
Oversize leather chairs sit on either side of the desk, and behind his seat are bookshelves full of binders and ledgers.
“Sit,” he reiterates gruffly.
Fire races through my blood as he takes his seat, obviously annoyed. His shirt strains against his upper arms, and I get a closer look at his ink. Flames—or waves, I can’t tell which—run up the inside of his arms, and there’s writing I can’t read. Another language.
“I don’t have a lot of fucking patience,” he bites out.
“No kidding,” I retort, unable to stop myself, still distracted by his arms and his hands. They’re so big and rough.
“Then if you’re finished staring at me, please fucking sit down,” he grits out, and even his resting asshole face is appealing. Fuck, I hate him.
“Nice to see it is possible for you to do what you’re told, darlin’,” he says more softly when I finally do sit.
“I’d really love to hit you, darlin’,” I grind out, louder than intended. At which his eyebrows raise, but not really in anger—more like interest.
“But I need this job,” I say with a sigh. It’s not a lie. I’m invested now. If I find out he or any man in his club had something to do with Nic’s assault, that man will be dead by the time I go back to school. That makes me smile for real as I settle back in my chair.
Aiden leans forward on his forearms, folding his big hands in front of him on the desk. His eyes seem to look straight through me as he watches me smile at him, like he’s trying to figure out what’s behind it.
Just picturing you bleeding out, asshole.
“Time for you to wipe that sassy fucking grin off your face and tell me exactly who you are, Mia.”