Chapter 20
Twenty
Hella
Istride through the clubhouse entrance as Ripper emerges, a half-lit cigarette dangling from his lips.
“We good to roll out?” I ask, settling into one of the leather chairs across from his desk while he wraps up whatever conversation has his jaw clenched tight.
“Yeah.” His hands run over his face, dark circles under his eyes. “Beast is just figuring shit out.”
I chuckle. “So you're the one who's decided to run the Vixens, eh?”
A few months back, Beast shook hands with the Russians.
We'd babysit his daughter and her Satan's Vixens MC crew when the time came, in exchange for a favour. When it comes to these, it’s best to have as many as you need on the streets. Met his little psychos once. Once was enough. Now the Russians are cashing in their chips, which means Beast and Ripper get to drag Queen A and her girls back here to our clubhouse so daddy can figure out his next chess move with whatever he’s playing now.
Ashley, Queen A on the road, keeps her recruitment standards real simple. Walk in looking like a ten, or don't walk in at all. The patch-in process starts and ends with a mirror check. Shallow bitch.
“Brother, I don't envy you at all,” I laugh through the sail of smoke leaving my mouth.
He flips me off before walking toward his bike. I carry on through the clubhouse, boots echoing against the concrete floor as I head for the Chapel. The door creaks when it swings open onto Beast, perched on his throne with his phone pressed to his ear.
His free hand shoots up, stopping me, as if the mere sound of my voice will piss off whoever is on the other line.
I slip inside anyway and drop into the chair beside him.
“Yeah, alright.” He pauses, watching me closely. “What... now? Ripper's tied up.” His gaze shifts to me. “I might have someone. Let me call you back.” He ends the call, pockets his phone, and fixes his stare on me.
“What?” I ask, settling back in my chair.
“You wanna rehash your old tricks?”
My eyes slant. “What do you mean?”
He leans forward, his mouth opening just as the door flies open. Yana bursts through, chest heaving. Beast and I both shoot to our feet. Her eyes are wild, darting between us like a cornered animal.
Yana, who barely comes to the compound, is standing here with the door hanging crooked on its hinges and her workout clothes damp.
“Beast…” her mouth opens, but then she hesitates when she spots me. Silence. She shakes herself off, clearly second-guessing her abrupt entrance on my account. “Um, we have a problem.”
I widen my eyes at her, annoyed at her dragging. “Go on…”
She clears her throat. “I just got off the phone with… Melissa.” The temperature drops, ice creeping through my chest. My vision blurs at the edges. “Her and Millie, they're in trouble, and...”
“What?” I surge forward, and she stumbles back, colliding with the closed door.
“Let me fucking finish!” she snaps at me. “They're fine! Sorry, I should have led with that.” She flinches, looking up at me apologetically.
The tension in my shoulders melts away.
“But that's not what the issue is.”
And my muscles are tight again.
“It was who took them,” she says, crossing her arms over belly.
“Someone fucking took them?” Rage so hot its blinding flares behind my lids. My hand wraps around Yana's arm, fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above her elbow. The contact grounds me because why the fuck is everything spinning out of control?
“Where is she?” Every second that passes is another second she's out there, vulnerable.
“She's at her house,” Yana says, her voice steadier now.
I blow out a breath. Holy fucking shit. Talk about fifty different emotions in less than thirty-seconds.
She straightens her spine, pulling herself together in the way she does when she knows she needs to be strong. “I'll need to go and get her.”
“No!” Both mine and Beast’s answers overlap one another. Yana flinches, her eyes darting between us like she's trying to figure out which one of us she needs to convince first.
“I'll go,” I add quickly, already calculating the fastest route to Melissa's place, but Yana is already shaking her head before the words are fully out of my mouth.
“No, you can't.” Her tone firm, resolute. “She won't come. Not with you. After everything that happened between you two...” She trails off, but we all know what she means. It wasn’t more the ending but the events that happened leading up to the ending. “I'll go and pick up her and Millie.”
“Who’s Millie?”
Beast’s question slices through the quiet, his gaze locked on Yana like she’s a puzzle missing half its pieces. His jaw tightens—just enough to show he’s shifted gears. President mode. Every twitch of her fingers, every flicker in her eyes, gets filed away.
“That's her little sister,” Yana explains, and I can see her mentally preparing herself for our reaction to what comes next.
“Fuck,” I grunt, the curse slipping past my lips before I can stop it. “There's two of them?” That's fucking terrifying. “My girls…”
Yana rolls her eyes. “Yes, but Millie is the complete opposite of Melissa. She's sweet, innocent, keeps to herself.” She pauses, seeming to weigh her next words carefully. “She's a nun.”
My head jolts back so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, and a chuckle escapes me despite everything, a short, disbelieving sound that echoes off the walls. “You can't bring a fucking nun back here, Yana.” A clubhouse is the last place on earth a woman of God should find herself in.
Beast steps in close. “I'll go with her. She's right. The way you and Melissa left things? She might change her mind. There's a reason why she called us and not Zane.”
“Oh,” I answer, my lips curving into a grim smile. “She'll be coming.”
Beast's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. “Hella.” He jerks his chin toward the door. “I'll take the van and a couple prospects. I need you to help Ripper out with these Vixens.”
“Bring her straight here.” I need to leave before I fight my fucking president on this. “She ain't leaving my sight this time.”
The doors clap shut behind me as Ripper strolls in through the main entrance. Sunlight streams in around his massive frame, momentarily blinding me. Five leather-patched girls follow behind, their boots clicking against the concrete floor in an almost synchronized rhythm.
Leather and motor oil mix with perfume and cigarettes. These women carry themselves with MC confidence. Light from the doorway catches their hair as the atmosphere shifts.
A woman with dark hair and the kind of confidence that you can only get by being told you’re a bad bitch all your life walks through.
I lift my chin, my expression neutral but open. “Sup.”
She stops a few feet away, close enough that I catch another whiff of her perfume mixed with the leather of her cut. Her eyes lock onto mine, and there's a challenge there. Not hostile, but testing. She's sizing me up just as much as I'm her. I can respect that kind of direct approach.
“I'm Ashley,” she says, her voice smooth with just a hint of gravel that suggests too many late nights and cigarettes.
A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “My girls call me Queen A.” She pauses, letting that sink in before tilting her head slightly. “You're Hella, right?”
She dips her head towards the bar. “Drink?”
Ripper's poor attempt at trying to hide his smug fucking smirk fails, and my eyes sharpen.
“Yeah, why not.” Fuck it. Gonna need a drink to calm myself down before Melissa gets back here, anyway.
With a wave of a hand, she gestures to the girls behind her. “Jizzy, Harley, Precious, and Cherry.”
I pause, my eyes drifting to the collection of women she's just introduced, taking a moment to study each face.
The names roll around in my head, and one in particular makes me do a double-take.
“Jizzy?” I ask, unable to keep the snark tone out of my voice as I focus on a petite brunette with heavily lined eyes and a nose ring.
Jizzy rolls her eyes. She’s probably heard every reaction to her name.
Annoyance flashes across her features before she pivots away with an exaggerated sigh, boots clicking against worn wood as she stalks toward the bar.
I can't help myself. A genuine laugh bursts out of me, rough and amused. “Seriously? Jizzy?” I repeat, shaking my head as I watch her retreat. “That's really what we're going with here?”
I leave it alone. Guess I can't talk. I mean... Hella? Shit bet everyone thinks it has something to do with Hell. All dark and mysterious. Really, it's short for Hella problems.
Jizzy settles onto a barstool with the girls trailing behind, so Ripper and I follow suit.
Ashley claims the seat next to me while Old Fella shoots us a judgmental look.
Fucker has side-eyed me since all the shit went down with Melissa.
He’s a founding member, but a retired one, so he does all the hang around shit here.
I wave my hand. “Just pour the drinks, old man.”
Ashley shifts her gaze toward me, Ripper lounging on my other side, the tension tight. “So, why has my daddy dearest called you boys in?” She asks, her curiosity tinged.
“You seem so sure that this has to do with your dad and not a kidnapping.” I smirk around the rim of my glass, removing my cap and flipping it backwards. Her eyes follow me and Ripper.
“I was kidding,” I continue flatly. “We'll have to wait until Beast comes back to see what our next move is with you.” I down a hefty gulp of my drink.
Her fingertips trail across my denim, climbing toward my belt buckle. She cocks her head, those brown eyes scanning my expression. “It's been a long day.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “What'd you say?”
I pause and study her closely, letting my gaze drift over her features. She's hot, there's no denying that, but not in a way that will have my cock straining against my jeans.
I chuckle, the sound rough and humourless as I take another drink, savouring the burn down my throat. “We've had some news come up just thirty minutes before you walked your ass through that door,” I explain, my voice carrying an edge of tension. “So I'm not really in the mood.”
Ripper snorts from his seat. “Not in the mood?”
I kick his foot to shut him the fuck up and bring my eyes back to Ashley.
“All the more reason to get your dick sucked though, right?” She answers sweetly, running her tongue across her bottom lip.
I let my eyes roam over her body once more.
Their club vests are cute, barely covering their belly, and doing an excellent job at displaying their tits.
Some fake, some natural. They probably all work out the same as the brothers and I do.
Probably too much for my taste. Kind of like mine with some fucking recoil when you tap it.
Regardless, none of them are gonna do it for me. Fuck. What the fuck am I even saying.
I clear my throat, fishing a joint from my pocket and sparking it up. “Sweetheart, you wrap those pretty lips around my cock right now, it ain't gonna be your face I'm thinking about when I blow my load down your throat. Still eager to climb on?”
Ripper loses his shit, laughing from his spot.
Ashley glares, snatching her glass of whiskey from the bar. “Then, no, I take that back.” Pretty sure she mumbles some shit like fucking bikers under her breath.