CHAPTER ONE
“Morpheus, you ugly son of a bitch.” The words are out of my mouth before my boots even hit the ground in the parking lot of the Jacksonville Saints clubhouse.
My knees are stiff as hell from riding for the last hundred and fifty miles, and my ass feels like I’ve been sitting on concrete.
But seeing my old Army buddy standing with his arms crossed over his chest and that shit eating smirk on his face makes the whole damn ride worth it.
“Who you callin’ ugly, motherfucker?”
Klutch’s eyes bounce back and forth between us, a worried look taking up residence on his face.
Morpheus pushes off the wall he’s leaning against and strides toward me, a slow smile breaking out across his face.
“Were you worried?” I chuckle, glancing over at Klutch.
The SAA shrugs. “A little. Never can tell about you. You go from zero to ready to throw down without even batting an eye most of the time.”
“He ain’t wrong,” Morpheus chimes in, pulling my attention back to him.
Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “I’m not that bad.”
Morph’s eyes shift to Klutch, then to the little brunette riding bitch behind him. “He’s been full of shit for thirty years.”
When his eyes come back to me, he smirks. “Thought you’d be dead by now.”
I flip him off as I swing my leg over the seat of my Bagger, my lower back protesting from the movement.
Fifty-three years old, and every single one of them is making themselves known. “Keep talking shit and I’ll show you just how far from dead I am.”
Morpheus closes the distance between us and pulls me into a back-slapping hug. “Good to see you, brother.”
“You too, man.” I step back, taking in the compound around us. “Hell of a place you got here.”
“Not too shabby for a bunch of degenerates,” he agrees, then turns his attention to the others. “Klutch, good to see you again.”
The two shake hands before Morpheus’s eyes land on Demi. “This must be the little lady.”
Klutch helps Demi off his bike, his hand immediately going to the small of her back. “This is Demi. Baby, this is Morpheus. He’s the VP here.”
Demi smiles shyly, moving closer to her ol’ man. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, darlin’.” Morpheus tips his head respectfully before looking past them to where Crazy Train is helping Cleo off his bike. “Train! Been a minute, brother.”
“Too long,” Crazy Train calls out, that unhinged grin of his making an appearance. “You remember my ol’ lady, Cleo?”
“How could I forget?” Morpheus winks at the purple-haired woman. “Pebbles, you’re looking beautiful as always.”
Cleo laughs, tucking herself against Crazy Train’s side. “You’re such a charmer, Morph.”
Morpheus smirks, then claps his hands together. “Chief’s waiting for you inside. But first, I figure you’ll want to take care of...” His eyes shift to the small wooden box Demi clutches against her chest.
Her face falls slightly, and Klutch tightens his arm around her waist.
I step forward. “Let’s get the bikes unpacked and then head down to the water.”
Demi’s lips lift in a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
I give her a nod. I barely know the kid, but I know what it’s like to lose a parent. Even if hers was a deadbeat gambler who got himself killed owing the wrong people money, the man was still her father.
Five minutes later, we’ve unloaded our gear, and Morpheus leads us around the side of the clubhouse toward the beach.
“This is incredible,” Cleo breathes as we step onto the sand. “You lucky bastards have your own private beach.”
She ain’t wrong.
The clubhouse backs up directly onto pristine white sand, with the Atlantic Ocean stretching out blue-green toward the horizon.
A deck wraps around the back of the building, complete with string lights and what looks like a pretty decent sound system.
It’s a helluva lot different from the industrial warehouse we have back in St. Louis.
“It’s a tough life, but someone’s gotta live it,” Morpheus says with a smirk, sliding on a pair of mirrored sunglasses despite the late afternoon sun already hanging low in the sky.
I glance up at the palm trees lining the property, noting the Christmas lights wrapped around their trunks. A large wreath hangs on the back door of the clubhouse, a splash of red and green against the weathered wood.
A Florida Christmas.
It’s a little fucking weird.
We follow Morpheus down to the water’s edge, where the waves are gently lapping against the shore. It’s November, but it’s still warm enough that I’m starting to sweat in my cut and jeans. Too bad it’s too cold to strip down to my boxers and dive into the Atlantic.
I hang back with Morpheus as Klutch walks with Demi to the water. Crazy Train and Cleo trail a few steps behind them.
“How’s the kid holding up?” Morpheus asks quietly, keeping his eyes on Demi.
“Which one? The girl or Klutch?”
He snorts. “Both, I guess.”
I shrug, scratching at my beard. “Klutch seems pretty gone on her. As for the girl, I just met her a couple of days ago, but she seems strong. Had to be, growing up with a father like that.”
He grunts in agreement, and we watch as Demi opens the small wooden box and carefully removes the plastic bag holding her father’s ashes.
We fall silent as Demi wades into the water, Klutch right beside her. She says something too quiet for us to hear, then pulls open the bag and lets the ashes fall into the ocean.
I’ve been through this ritual too many times in my life.
Parents. Brothers. Friends.
Every one of them leaves a hole that never quite goes away.
When they’re done, Demi turns and buries her face against Klutch’s chest. He holds her tight, murmuring something into her hair. After a few minutes, they wade back to the shore, and I can see the relief in her eyes. Like she’s finally let go of something that’s been weighing on her.
“Ready to head inside?” Morpheus asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Chief’s got the bar stocked for you guys.”
“God, yes,” Crazy Train groans. “My balls are sweating in my jeans in this heat.”
Cleo smacks his arm. “Babe!”
“What?” he asks, spreading his hands innocently.
I shake my head, unable to hide the grin on my face.
This motherfucker lives up to his name.
We follow Morpheus back to the clubhouse, climbing the wooden steps to the deck. Christmas lights have been strung overhead, and more palm trees strung with colorful bulbs line the perimeter of the property.
It’s festive in a weird, tropical way.
“You guys really go all out for Christmas, huh?” I comment as Morpheus pulls open the door.
He looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes.
“The old ladies did this shit.” He pushes the door open.
“Chief’s wife Cora got it into her head that we needed to,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “‘decorate for the season’. Next thing you know, Chief has the prospects out here hanging fucking tinsel.”
The door swings open, and the sound of music, laughter, and shouted conversations, hit us like a battering ram. Next is the smell of beer, cigarettes, and weed.
My eyes close and I breathe it in.
Damn I love this fucking smell.
It’s like being home away from home.
Opening my eyes, I follow Morpheus inside, letting my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The main room is packed with people.
“Chief’s over there,” Morpheus says, gesturing toward a corner.
I turn my head to look where he’s pointing but stop in my tracks when my attention is snagged on something else entirely.
More specifically on someone else.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
There, in the middle of the room, dancing to a Nickelback song pumping through the speakers, is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen in my fifty-three years of life.
She’s tiny, maybe five feet nothing, with a body that makes my mouth go dry. Tanned skin, toned legs, and curves in all the right places.
Goddamn.
But it’s her hair that caught my eye first—chin-length and dyed a pale fucking pink, styled up in two little buns on top of her head like some kind of punk rock Minnie Mouse.
She’s wearing cut-off denim shorts so short they barely cover her ass cheeks and a hot pink bikini top that’s making my dick twitch behind my zipper.
She spins, laughing at something one of the brothers says to her, and I get my first look at her face.
My heart stops.
Her eyes are a bright turquoise blue—the color of the ocean on those tourist postcards. Her lips are full and glossy pink, and when she smiles, she lights up the entire fucking room.
Time slows down. The noise around me fades to nothingness. It’s like someone hit the pause button on the entire world except for her.
She’s still moving, still dancing, completely unaware that she’s just knocked the air out of my lungs.
“You good, brother?” Morpheus’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.
I blink, trying to clear my head. “Yeah. Fine.”
He follows my line of sight and a knowing smirk spreads across his face. “Ah. I see you’ve spotted Pinky.”
Pinky.
The name fits her perfectly.
“Who—” My voice cracks and I clear my throat to try again. “Who is she?”
“She was one of our Cherries. Been here about six months, but she’s leaving soon.” Morpheus whistles sharply, catching her attention. “Pinky! Come here, baby.”
She stops dancing immediately, her head whipping in our direction. When she sees Morpheus waving her over, a bright smile breaks across her face, and she bounces—actually fucking bounces—over to us.
Christ, even the way she moves is sexy.
“Hey, Morph!” She throws her arms around his neck in a quick hug.
Something hot and possessive flares in my chest at the casual display of affection. Which is fucking ridiculous. I don’t even know this girl.
Morpheus wraps an arm around her shoulder, and I have to consciously keep my hands from balling into fists.
“Pinky, this is Rambler. He’s a Nomad from our St. Louis charter. He’s visiting for a few days.”
She turns those incredible blue eyes on me, and I swear to God my knees actually go weak.