War’s Witch (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #26)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

CLEO

Music blasts through the speaker that is sitting on the bedside table, mixed with chatter and laughter from my girls.

My sisters from other misters.

We are in my cousin Steffy’s hotel room, which she is sharing with her sister, Elodie. It is Halloween and we have been invited to a party at the Three Kings MC clubhouse. Steffy knows one of the Ol’ Ladies there —she belongs to the VP, I think— I am not sure, but hey, a party is a party.

I am no stranger to MCs being around them most of my life; hell, I work for one back in Phoenix: the Rugged Skulls MC.

“Girls, I am going to get laid tonight by a sexy, burly biker with a long beard that feels amazing between my legs,” Tiffany says in a sing-song voice.

We all laugh at her as she dances around the room, drink in hand, living her best life. And why not? You only live once. The energy in the air is infectious, our excitement fizzing like the cheap prosecco we’re sipping.

Steffy grabs a pair of wings, then fits them to her shoulders with dramatic flair before spinning to the music, her laughter echoing off the walls. She is dressed like a fairy, which suits her and her petite frame and blonde hair.

Elodie starts a mock catwalk between the beds, showing off one of their hastily assembled costumes— she’s wearing a tight black dress, with ruby red lips and plastic fangs finishing her outfit off.

Tiffany, my roommate for the weekend, struts around the room in her sexy pirate costume. They all went for something with easy access as they all plan on getting laid this weekend by a biker, and hell, I am all for that.

My sex life has been like the desert that fills Phoenix for the past year. It’s sad and pathetic that I do not find fucking random men exciting anymore. I would use the excuse of it being my age, but I am only twenty-four.

I finish my badass sexy witch makeup and lean back, taking stock of how fucking hot I look.

My blonde hair is loose and wavy, hanging down my back, the tips dyed black for this weekend, forgoing my usual pink. We made sure to do my makeup a little darker to add to the character, plus the black lipstick that is to die for.

The dress falls to the floor, with a slit that reaches my hip, and my waist is cinched with a black belt that is adorned with a bat buckle. Spider web tights cover my legs, and my feet are slipped into my black pointed stilettos.

With my witch’s hat on my head, I watch as the girls laugh, drink, and dance.

For a moment, the world outside fades away, and we let ourselves be young and reckless, swept up in the promise of the night ahead. The anticipation is electric, every beat from the speaker pulsing with the thrill of what’s to come.

We all work our asses off back in Phoenix; I tattoo at Rugged Ink, and I fucking love it. I pick my own clients unless I am on walk-in duty, which so far has not been all that bad.

The guys I work with are epic— they treat me well and we are like one big family. Add to that the club members, who I love also, and we are a bag of mixed characters.

For years I was told that I was not good enough, and it fucking hit hard hearing that every time I tried to get a job. Then I stumbled on Rugged Ink, and went inside. Rock music was playing and the waiting area was full.

Lucus and Victor were super busy, and after they looked at my portfolio, they told me to get my ass in gear, and that I could start right away. Within an hour I was tattooing and I never left; that was over five years ago.

“Ladies, the cab is here,” Steffy says, with her phone in hand, typing away.

A surge of excitement slithers through my body; I get the sudden feeling that tonight something big will happen, and the spirits will help guide me toward my destiny.

I am a true believer in the spirits, ghosts, and all supernatural/paranormal things. It has always intrigued me.

We file out of the hotel room, and I look at the mess we have left behind, thinking I am freaking grateful that it is not my room. I have known these girls for years, and they have always been at my side, there to pick me up after my ex, Pato, did a number on me.

Not only did he repeatedly cheat on me, but he would belittle me daily and smack me around from time to time.

His men would stand around and watch, telling me that I was nothing without him.

They would take great joy in talking about some whore he fucked the night before, because I was never enough for a powerful man like their boss.

It took me nearly a year to get away from him, but the damage to my mind and soul was already done.

My girls collected me, scraping me off the ground and putting me back together.

This was when I was nineteen; now I am twenty-four and a strong bitch.

No man walks over me and comes out unscathed.

The drive to the clubhouse does not take us long, thankfully, because my body is vibrating with the need to let loose in a safe space. I do not know anything about the Three Kings MC, but I trust Steffy, and if she says we are safe, then I believe her.

“Okay, Lottie said that there are plenty of single brothers to play with; even a nomad or three have stopped by for this party.” She wiggles her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Tiffany moans enthusiastically. “I have not been fucked good and hard in weeks.”

“Girl, you need to pick better men to take home.” I nudge her with my shoulder.

She winks. “Tell me about it, but I have zero doubt that a biker can make me scream hard for him.”

“I hear you, sister.”

My go-tos have been one and done, as most single men say, or in, out, and bolt. Fuck, they have so many slogans for fucking and running, but it has been my thing since I got myself back after what Pato did.

Women can fuck and run also, and I hate that women are made to feel like whores if they leave after they come. Man can do it, so why can’t women?

Hell, most men like it that way, but society makes women feel like crap for wanting a good orgasm but not a man to marry.

We sing and dance, thanks to the Uber driver turning up the tunes in the car. My body is relaxed, and I know that has to do with the present company, along with the few shots of Fireball we drank while getting ready.

The driver stops at black gates that tower over the car, and Steffy hangs out of the window to speak to the guy manning the gate. I clock that he is wearing a leather cut with no patches, which indicates that he is a prospect.

“We are guests of Lottie’s,” she tells him.

“Are you now?” He smirks at her, and she giggles.

“I sure am, handsome.” His smirk widens.

Stepping forward, he dips down so he is eye-level with her. “Code word.”

Damn, his voice is smooth as hell.

Tiffany, who is seated next to me, whispers, “Damn, he is hot as fuck.”

I nod, but do not speak.

“Book boyfriends.” Steffy gives him the code and he nods.

“Go on through. A brother will meet you at the door.”

“Thank you, handsome.”

“You need to find a way to leave the party to come and see me later, baby.” He winks before stepping back.

“Damn,” I mutter.

Steffy slips back into her seat and fans herself with her hand.

“Oh, did the car heat up or what? I need me some of that tonight.”

She is not wrong; that man was fine as hell.

Anticipation is rushing through my body as the car stops outside the building. I cannot remember a time when I felt so connected to a place that I have never been to before; something feels right here. I am not sure if it’s the spirits telling me something or not, but I am glad to be here.

The car doors click open, and the girls and I spill out, along with giggles.

There’s a hum in the atmosphere as we step inside.

Heavy rock music plays, and people are dressed up in various costumes, even the bikers, and I sigh, a part of me happy that this will be a good night because everyone is involved.

The echo of possibility vibrates in my bones as I scan the room, feeling like I am being watched. We are new to everyone here, so I know we are classed as fresh meat, or pussy, as the men would say; yet the feeling of it being safe still lingers.

Steffy glances at me, her eyes sparkling, lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Let’s go, babes, I need Lottie and her man, Locke. He is the VP of the club,” she says, looping her arm through mine.

Together we cross the room, surrendering to the night, ready to see what this night—and this place—have in store.