Chapter One #3
Cross smirked, slowly nodding. “Actually, got a few offshoot streets.” He pointed to the left and narrowed his gaze. He wasn’t pointing out anything they didn’t already know. “But I think you know that, right?”
They did. For a deal this big, Satan’s had done their research.
Killcreek was often dismissed, not verbally, but they weren’t given the same regard as others.
Degenerate, ruthless, outlaw bikers who fed off violence.
Not many were highly educated, partied more than they worked, and everyone assumed Inez ran their club from behind-the-scenes.
That was the perception. It couldn’t have been more wrong.
The Satan’s members mounted their bikes, but none responded. They understood the threat with an underlying promise.
Wraith and his VP stayed outside watching the bikes pull out of the driveway. Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to. They were on the same page with their thoughts. This wasn’t over. Maybe Satan’s Hex would take the deal. And maybe they wouldn’t. Only time would tell.
“What do you think?” Cross asked.
Wraith arched his back, cracking it in the process. “They don’t have the numbers to move that much. They’re gonna cut corners, and in six months” —Wraith looked over at Cross— “They’ll be sharing cells with Slater and Axel.”
Cross snickered. “That would be something to see. Those two would fucking destroy every single one of them before they had a chance to make their own fucking beds.”
True.
“Been in contact with them?”
Killcreek was under no obligation to give Slater or Axel a heads up on what was going down with their club.
Cross shook his head. “Not our club, not our problem. But” —He grasped his jaw— “thinking if there was a way without bringing attention to us, Ace would make the call. But there ain’t, and he won’t take that chance.
Tell you though.” Cross smirked. “When Axel and Slater do find out? Wouldn’t be surprised if we got a call with a job to burn their fucking clubhouse down. ”
“I’d take that job,” Wraith said.
Cross slapped his back. “Me too, brother.”
Seconds after the bikes disappeared from sight, a familiar car rolled up, parking near the rear of the house. Cleo’s spot. It had been designated years ago when she’d first arrived. Aside from the VP and president, the brothers parked wherever they wanted.
Cross didn’t bother waiting for her, and he turned, walking back into the house. Wraith waited.
Cleo got out, hooking her pocketbook over her shoulder.
It weighed her down more than usual. He figured it was where she’d stored her snacks.
It was strange how she always concealed them in a bag.
It was as if she didn’t want anyone to know what she had in fear that it could be taken away.
It made sense since she’d never really had anything that was her own.
The woman was a psychologist’s dream. Broken, beat down, and battered. That’s what they’d see.
Wraith saw something different.
Cleo locked the door, and it beeped. Wraith scoffed, shaking his head.
There were more cameras and security on the clubhouse property than a prison.
As she passed her rear door, she reached back and double checked the handle.
Overly cautious and doubtful of herself.
It didn’t take a medical diagnosis to know her past trauma had scarred not only her body but her mind.
Cleo didn’t trust herself, which was ironic since she seemed to trust all those around her.
Too fucking trusting for her own good.
As she rounded the bumper and popped the trunk, she patted the left pocket of her cutoff jeans.
Double checking for her phone. He steeled his features, battening down his smile.
The woman had more odd quirks than he could count.
For most people, especially the club, they’d go unnoticed.
Much like her presence. Not Wraith, though.
He’d watched her every move since the day he’d set eyes on her.
It might’ve been considered an unhealthy obsession, but he refused to give it up. Or her. His allegiance stemmed from her connection to the club. His possession was completely personal. He’d never formally claimed her. Not yet.
Cleo bent over the trunk, grabbing a bag of ice.
She juggled it in one arm and reached for another.
His gaze was drawn to her ass. The hem of her shorts rose, showing slivers of her cheeks.
Goddamn this woman and her cut-off shorts and tank tops teasing her toned stomach.
Being around Cleo was a daily test of his control.
Wraith ground his teeth and jerked his head to the door.
“Prospects!” His venomous roar was loud enough for anyone in the neighboring towns to hear.
It only took seconds before the front door swung open and four prospects ran out. He gestured to Cleo, keeping his glare on the third guy in line. Joker. The younger man had enough decency to drop his chin to his chest and pass the others in an effort to get to her car quicker.
“Cleo,” Wraith snapped, and she hiked her brows. “Inside.”
Wraith caught Joker taking the bags of ice from her arms before he walked into the house.
There were still a few brothers gathered in the main room.
It was where they had all their meetings with outsiders.
Their private room was for MC meetings only.
Killcreek had always been careful not to allow many inside their private domain.
It gave them an upper hand knowing the complete layout of the clubhouse.
And it left the club in a vulnerable position if ambushed or attacked.
It’d happened once. It won’t fucking happen again.
Wraith rounded the bar, grabbed a beer, and stood near the counter. It was intentional. The prospects would have to pass him to unload the ice bags.
Cleo walked in, waving to the brothers. “Hi.”
Her greeting was returned with the usual grunts, chin nods, and ignoring it by others. When the prospects walked in with the ice, Cypher pointed to Cleo and narrowed his eyes.
“You do their job, it makes life easier on them. That means we gotta make it harder.”
Cleo widened her eyes. “Well, you don’t have to.”
Cypher stared momentarily then turned his head, and his lips twitched.
None of the brothers would ever be described as soft.
But there were a few who were lighter with her.
It could’ve stemmed from working with her on a daily basis.
But Wraith knew it went a little deeper.
Some brothers were more privy to Cleo’s unfortunate past. Cypher was one of them.
“But we will.” Oak, one of the younger members, laughed, grabbing his beer and chugging half. “You’re too fucking nice, Cleo.”
Yeah, she is.
“No such thing.” The soft chime of her giggle sounded through the room.
Oak gestured to her. “Uh, yeah there is, and you’re the perfect fucking example.”
“You get more bees with honey.”
The room was drowned in silence. She had a knack for silencing a room, but not in the way Killcreek did. Half the things that came out of her mouth, confused the hell out of most brothers. Wraith sipped his beer, watching their reactions. She was the polar opposite of everyone in the room.
Oak practically choked on his beer, laughing. “What?”
She walked to the edge of the table, grabbing the back of the empty chair. “The nicer you are to other people, the better chance they’ll be nice to you.”
Ah fuck, not this again. Her line of thinking would be her downfall.
Oak arched his brow, smirked, and pointed to her. “So this is all an act?”
She darted her eyes, scanning all the men. She wasn’t used to being called out or in the hot seat. Most days, a greeting or an order was all she got from the members.
“No. I treat everyone the way I want them to treat me. If I’m mean and rude, the odds are they’ll be the same in return.”
“That’s bullshit.” Oak rolled his eyes.
Cleo shrugged. “That’s your opinion.”
Oak cocked his brow, doubling down. “It’s a fact.”
“In your mind, I’m sure it is.” Cleo glanced over her shoulder when Joker walked in with the last bag of ice.
Just the fucking asshole I was waiting on.
Cleo rushed toward Joker as he passed Wraith. “Can I help?”
“No,” Wraith snapped, and she flinched but didn’t move away. He turned to the prospect. “Picking up ice is your fucking job.”
Joker parted his lips, but Wraith was instantly distracted when Cleo slid her hand on his forearm. “I don’t mind.”
Wraith steeled his reaction to her touch.
It didn’t happen too often. Most people knew better than to put their hands on him without permission.
It only ended in one way and not good for the one on the receiving end.
Cleo was the exception. His muscles tightened, and his blood burned through his veins.
When the pads of her fingers lightly caressed over his skin, he balled his fists.
A move that would make most men calm had a different reaction for him.
Her touch stirred a desire, a need, and demanded a controlled response.
Wraith clenched his jaw. “I. Do.”
Cleo immediately dropped her hand to her side and looked down at the floor.
Losing his temper with her always stoked his inner anger. Thankfully, he had a target to take it out on. He turned his glare on Joker.
“You’re gonna take the van and pick up the kegs. You, motherfucker.” He growled. “Not her.”
Joker nodded and pointed to the ceiling. “Just gotta grab the keys.”
Wraith hardened his stare. “Then fucking do it.”
Joker wasted no time rounding the bar and rushing to the stairs. Wraith watched but lowered his gaze to Cleo, who remained by his side. Dangerously close. Her hair was slightly tangled in the back, and his palm itched to smooth it out. Wraith clenched his fist, forcing down his desire.
“Well, I guess I should start my chores,” Cleo said.
She skittered out of the room, picking up her pace just as she rounded the bend of the wall.
He’d watched her for years. Wraith knew how her mind worked, how she responded to tense situations, and how her guilt overtook her emotions and actions.
He knew exactly what she was about to do.
And I don’t fucking like it. He dropped his beer on the bar, walked out of the room, and climbed the stairs.
He stopped halfway when he heard their voices.
“Wait, Joker.” Cleo’s breath labored as if she’d been chasing him. “I-I’m sorry.”
Fucking knew it. Wraith furrowed his brows and skipped the creaky step.
He was able to see down the hall without standing in full view of them.
Cleo was a foot away in front of Joker. Her hands were clasped in front of her, twisting her fingers.
She did that when she was nervous. She does it a lot.
Joker towered over her by at least half a foot, making her appear so much smaller than her five and a half foot frame.
“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I heard you throwing up this morning.” She flattened her lips when his scowl deepened. “I thought you weren’t feeling well, and since I was already at the store I just figured…”
Joker’s jaw squared, and he scoffed. He started past her, but she grabbed his arm. He immediately yanked it away, and Cleo held up her hands, backing up.
“I was just trying to help.”
His lips twisted. “Do me a favor? Stop fucking helping me. Don’t want it, don’t need it. ’Cause every time you help, my ass gets reamed. So just fucking stop! You hear me?” There was a dominant edge to his tone.
Wraith knew it well. It was a get the fuck in line tone.
He used it often. But never with her. And if he didn’t do it with Cleo, he sure as fuck wouldn’t allow anyone else to.
Wraith’s muscles tightened, and his blood heated through his veins.
He started down the hallway slowly but not quietly.
He slammed his boots, making his presence known.
“Cleo,” he snapped. She jumped back a step and spun around, wide-eyed and caught off guard. “Go to your room.”
Her bottom lip fell open, and she inched backward, nodding. When she turned, he noticed her pick up her pace. Seconds later, she was ducking into the last door on the left. Her bedroom.
“I’ll make it fast,” Joker said, walking toward Wraith.
The clubhouse was old, making the hallways narrow.
As he approached, Joker turned his body, pressing against the wall to pass.
When he was next to him, Wraith shot out his arm, grabbed Joker by the collar of his T-shirt, and slammed him against the wall.
A surprised gasp followed by a pained grunt had Wraith shoving his fist deeper into Joker’s chest.
Wraith leaned closer and snarled. “I ever hear you talk to her like that again? It’ll be the last fucking thing you say.”
Joker awkwardly nodded. “Yeah, Wraith, man…”
Wraith jerked Joker’s body forward, only to slam him into the wall again. His head bounced off the drywall.
“I’m not fucking done.” Wraith growled. “I’ll strip you of the prospect patch, beat you until your last fucking breath, and then I’m gonna stop. Gonna let you live the rest of your life breathing through a fucking tube.” Wraith hardened his gaze. “You hear me?”
“Yeah.” His throat bobbed.
Wraith slammed him against the wall one more time, then released him. Joker leaned to the side, rushed to the stairs, and disappeared. Wraith drew in a breath, dragging his hand over his shaved head. He stilled when he heard a door lightly close. He jerked his stare to the end of the hallway.
He didn’t see her, but he knew she’d seen him.