All’s Fair in Love & Wrath (Queens & Heathens #4)

Chapter One

AXEL

The sun doesn’t rise over the mountains this morning, which is fine by me.

I prefer a foggy, dew-covered start to the day over the angry, relentless sun that bears down with its pissed-off rays, trying to scorch everything it touches.

Nah, gimme rain, cool air, and overcast skies any day of the week.

I may not be from Washington State, but it’s home, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. But summer can fuck all the way off.

My phone buzzes obnoxiously on the end table next to my bed, a tangible reminder that my job never stops. I run the damp towel through my hair one last time before draping it over my shoulders, reaching for my phone before they hang up.

“Yeah?”

“This Axel James?” the gruff voice on the other end asks.

“Who’s asking?”

“Dean, your contractor down at Hell’s Asylum. We got some permit issues, need you or one of your guys down here to help straighten some stuff out this morning.”

“What kinda issues?”

“I don’t know yet. Inspector came by and is going through shit right now. Didn’t get a heads up either. We’re losing working hours here while shit is shut down, so the sooner someone gets down here, the better.”

I groan in irritation. It’s always something.

As the secretary of Hell’s Heathens Motorcycle Club, I feel like I’m the club bitch, constantly busy, putting out fires, getting shit figured out, untangling webs, and hunting down information.

The latter part, I actually don’t mind. In fact, I’m getting better at it every time there’s a shitstorm at our front gates.

“You got it. Someone will be down there shortly.”

I end the call with Dean and pull up my text thread with our club’s treasurer, Rolo. It’s either him or me that has to go deal with it, and since he’s been handling the rebuild of our nightclub since it was burned down, I’m going to let him take this one.

Me: Need you to take a few prospects and head down to Hell’s Asylum. There’s some inspector down there causing issues. The sooner the better.

Rolo: You got it.

Me: Thanks brother

Rolo: Enjoy your quiet morning off

Me: You know there’s nothing quiet about living here

After that’s handled, I toss my phone onto the bed. I barely have enough time to pull on my boxer briefs and tuck my dick away before my phone buzzes again. Snatching it up, I see our president’s name with a text message below it.

Chaos: Church in an hour. All ranked members.

Me: Issues?

Chaos: Gotta clean house, figure out these prospects, time for housekeeping

Me: Agreed.

Me: Just sent Rolo to deal with some shit down at the nightclub. You need me to get him to stay?

Chaos: Nah, that’s a priority. We’ll manage

Me: Sounds good. See you soon

Knowing I want to get a cup of coffee and some fresh air before jumping into business, I pull on a pair of distressed denim jeans and a V-neck T-shirt, shrugging on my cut.

I lace up my combat boots around my ankles and then return to the bathroom to style my hair.

The guys in the club may give me shit for being the pretty boy, but I actually give a damn what I look like.

Might also be why I get more pussy than they do, even if some of them have taken old ladies now.

I comb my black hair the way I want it, using product to get it to stay, and then quickly run a razor over my face. Despite the rest of my brothers, I like my face clean-shaven and smooth. Plus, I paid way too much for my neck tattoos, and I’m not hiding those fuckers with scruffy-ass facial hair.

After locking up my room, I head toward the kitchen to find a fresh pot of dark roast coffee waiting in the carafe, which means Morgan is already up.

She’s Rolo’s old lady and takes care of all of us Heathens.

He met her when I was still a dumbass prospect and locked her down quick.

We have an in-house cook, and he’s not too bad, but any time Morgan takes over, we’re a much happier group of bikers.

I pour a steaming cup of coffee, black, and head outside.

The Hell’s Heathens’ compound sits on ten acres of mostly dense forest, with a small field off to one side, a huge garage with an underground room that we use for less-than-legal business, and a section where some spare houses sit.

The entire compound is surrounded by a high chain-link fence, armed sentries at the front and back gates, and twenty-four-seven patrols, up until recently. It’s gotten a little lax lately.

My club brother and our sergeant at arms, Malice, is already outside by the fire pit as I round the corner to the side of the clubhouse, his stark blond hair noticeable from anywhere. A new color he’s tried out recently and seems to be working for him.

I pull out a cigarette from the pack in my back pocket, lighting it up and taking a long drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs, and the nicotine spread through my veins.

It’s not as good as a joint, but I’ll take this so my mind can be clear today, especially if Chaos wants to discuss the bullshit about our current prospects.

I fall into one of the Adirondack chairs next to Malice, juggling my coffee in one hand and my smoke in the other.

“You’re up early,” I tell him as he pulls out his own cigarette and lights it up.

He seems lost in his head, somewhere he retreats to sometimes.

Even after all these years, I still don’t know if that’s for his protection or ours.

“Only slept a few hours, been up since three.”

“Nightmare?”

Malice nods. “What do we got going on today?” he asks, never wanting to open up and talk about it, but we all know there are demons he’s battling. Just like most of us.

I take my first sip of coffee, letting the warm liquid slide down my throat.

“There’s some issue at the build site of the new club, gotta go down there and get shit sorted.

” Last fall, one of our businesses, our nightclub, Hell’s Asylum, was burned to the ground.

Our club vice president, Sin, got into some shit when he fell in love with a woman who was engaged to someone else.

Granted, the guy’s a huge piece of shit, and I’m glad Bristol is around now, but it caused a shit ton of issues for us.

Especially when he and his fucking goons burned down one of our establishments.

A place that meant a lot to most of us here.

We’ve all got an attachment to that club.

I know I spent a helluva lot of time there watching the dancers and sinking my cock into a willing, wet pussy.

Seeing it reduced to brick and ash broke something inside Chaos and Sin that day, though, and they’ve both been hell-bent on getting it rebuilt ever since.

“What’s the issue?” Malice asks without looking my way.

I shrug, not completely sure. I take a long drag of my cigarette. “Dunno, Rolo’s taking care of it.”

“I’ll go with him,” he says quickly. Rolo and Malice are close.

They met in jail, when Malice was still practically a kid, and Rolo gave him a second chance at life.

He was John Doe when Rolo met him, gave him a name, and a new start.

Every Heathen has a story. We’re outcasts from society, wanderers, freaks, demons, the abused, and the broken.

But Malice is different. He doesn’t talk about it, but we all know his story is darker than any of ours.

And that’s saying something because we all come from nothing.

“Nope, Prez needs you here today. Some shit with the prospects. He wants ranked members in church in an hour.”

Malice nods, not putting up a fight like I would expect him to. “You think he’s pushing a vote?”

“Nah, I think he wants to postpone it. Do you think any of them are ready? I sure as hell don’t, and that’s not a reflection on you. They’re all running from something, but that doesn’t mean they’ll have our backs when the fight comes knocking again.”

One of the biggest foundations Chaos has put in place since he became president was trust. He doesn’t rule as our leader; he’s one of us.

He doesn’t force anyone to be here or to become a member.

There’s no coercion or blackmail, just loyalty and family.

We have to know that the men who become patched members will have our backs without thinking.

You can’t buy a man’s loyalty with force or fear, and Chaos knows that.

It’s something we’ve all worked hard to maintain and protect.

We’re a family that works together like a well-oiled machine.

Our new prospects, some who’ve even been with us for nearly a year, just aren’t there yet. Even though they’ve been tested, something doesn’t feel right; I just haven’t been able to put my finger on what it is. I take another long drag of my smoke, flicking out the cherry and holding onto the butt.

“You’re not wrong. It hasn’t even been that long since all that shit went down with the Widowmakers, we’ve got time. There’s no rush. We’ve gotta play this right,” Malice says, being shockingly diplomatic for someone as ruthlessly stabby as he is.

“Agreed. I’m heading in. See you in there.”

I stand up, taking the last big sip of coffee before turning to head inside, Malice hot on my heels. The double bay doors at the front of the clubhouse are open already, and I step in just as Rolo and two of our prospects, Garrett and Luca, step outside.

Wanting another cup of coffee, I make a quick stop in the kitchen, finding one of the patch bunnies, Cora, walking in through the back door.

She’s wearing a summer dress that hugs her body just right, her perky tits pushed up and spilling from the top.

Her long blonde hair is pulled up in a messy bun that I know she took her time to make look effortless.

She’s a sexy thing, and I’ve fucked her more times than I can count.