Chapter Five
Wren
Isat at the scarred wooden table in the Bound in Blood common room, staring at a cup of coffee.
My phone sat face down beside me, taunting me.
I’d fucked guys before. Maybe not much, but the few times I had, leaving had never been a problem.
In fact, I’d always kind of left as soon as we’d finished.
Or when I woke up. Whichever was the path of least resistance.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to focus on anything but the memory of Rocky's hands on my skin, his mouth against my neck, the way he'd looked at me as if I was the only thing worth seeing. Two days, and I still couldn't shake him from my thoughts.
Fuck. This wasn't like me. One-night stands were just that. One night. No lingering feelings, no checking my phone like some lovesick teenager. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face, felt the weight of his body against mine.
My fingers drifted to my lips without my permission, the ghost of his kiss still haunted me, along with the memory of how he'd tasted. Like whiskey and something darker, more dangerous. I pulled my hand away quickly, annoyed at myself. Goddamnit. I needed to get my shit together.
The common room buzzed with the usual afternoon activity.
Though the debauchery was at a minimum tonight, there were at least three club girls topless and another couple completely naked as they flirted and coaxed any interested men into sex.
It was a whole thing. Lynyrd Skynyrd belted out Sweet Home Alabama from a speaker mounted on the wall on the other side of the room from the truly, obscenely massive TV.
Normal. Familiar. Everything as it should be, except for the storm raging inside my head.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, unlocking my phone and glancing at the screen.
Maybe I should text him first? No. Bad idea.
Very bad idea. Especially after finding that Copperheads patch.
I'd spent the last two days digging, trying to find information about a guy named Rocky who might have ties to the Copperheads, but I kept hitting dead ends. Either he was new to the area, or he was good at staying under the radar. Didn’t help that I didn't know his real name. Whether or not I decided to keep him, I knew I’d eventually have to have some help.
Computer geekery was not among my skill sets.
I knew nothing about Rocky. Nothing. Cold hard facts, and ones I needed to face out in the open since I might have inadvertently put the club at risk. Once Ghost found out, I knew I’d be in a world of hurt.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and my heart leapt into my throat. I swiped open the notification, only to find a text from Ghost asking if I needed anything from town. I exhaled slowly, telling myself the disappointment curling in my stomach meant nothing.
Rocky likely belonged to the Copperheads.
Which meant whatever had happened between us was a setup of some kind.
But for what? What could he possibly want from me?
Sure, I was the VP’s daughter, but I wasn’t included in actual club meetings.
Security meetings, like the one Jack had called a couple of days ago, were attended by everyone, including the club girls, but those were the exception.
The meeting the other day had thrown me. It had been pretty obvious Jack had been talking about me when he told us about the uptick in Copperheads violence.
"You look like someone with a lot on her mind."
I glanced up to find Honey standing over me, two beer bottles dangling from her fingers.
She set one on the table in front of me as she dropped into the chair opposite me.
Her blonde hair fell in waves around her shoulders.
Despite her sweet name and appearance, Honey had a backbone of steel.
She'd been through some shit with Bloody Jack and had earned her status as his old lady.
Honey was quite possibly the most powerful person in Bound in Blood.
There was a reason Jack Mason had the road name Bloody Jack.
Those reasons were doubly true with regard to Honey.
No one messed with Honey or they faced the wrath of Bloody Jack Mason.
"Just tired," I said, grabbing the beer and taking a long pull.
Honey's eyes narrowed as she studied my face. "Bullshit. You've looked like this for two days." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper even as she gave me a cocky smirk. "You got laid."
I nearly choked on my beer. "What?"
"At the Valentine's Ball." It wasn't a question. "You disappeared with some guy, didn’t come home, and you've been walking around in a daze ever since."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, buying time. "That obvious, huh?"
"Only to someone who cares about you and is paying attention." Honey took a sip of her beer, her eyes never leaving my face. "So? Who was he?"
"No one." I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. "Just some guy passing through."
"Some guy," she repeated, clearly not buying it. "Some guy who's got you checking your phone every thirty seconds and touching your lips like you're remembering what his mouth felt like."
Heat crept up my neck. Was I really that transparent? "It was just sex, Honey. Nothing to write home about."
"You are so full of shit right now." She reached across the table and curled her fingers around my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong.
Honey had been my best friend since grade school.
Her touch grounded me now when my emotions spun out of control with no hope of processing them all.
"I know the difference between 'just got fucked' and 'can't stop thinking about getting fucked. ' You're firmly in column B."
A prospect walked by, slowing as he passed our table. Honey shot him a glare that sent him scurrying away.
"Listen," I hissed, leaning closer. "It's nothing, OK? Just drop it."
"Not a chance." Honey's face softened slightly. "I know that look because I wore it the first time I fucked Jack. You met someone who got under your skin."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Maybe. But it doesn't matter. It can't go anywhere."
"Why not?" She tilted her head, studying me. "Ghost wouldn't approve?"
I barked out a laugh that contained zero humor. "Ghost would fucking murder him. Then probably me, too."
"Ah." Honey nodded slowly. "Another club?"
My silence answered for me. Honey was relatively new to this life, but being a quick learner helped. I couldn't bring myself to say the word "Copperheads" out loud.
Honey's eyes widened slightly as understanding dawned. "Fuck, Wren. Please tell me you didn't."
"I didn't know," I said quietly, staring at the bottle in my hands. "Not until… after."
"Shit." She drained half her beer in one go, then set the bottle down with more force than necessary. "Upstairs. Now."
"What?" I blinked at her.
"We are not having this conversation here." She stood, pulling me up by my wrist. "Your apartment. Right fucking now."
"It's not that big a deal," I protested weakly, but allowed her to drag me toward the stairs.
"Not that big a deal," she muttered, shaking her head. "Jesus Christ, girl. You have no idea."
I caught Ghost watching us from across the room, his silver eyes tracking our movement with that quiet intensity that missed nothing. He raised an eyebrow in silent question. I forced a casual smile and shrugged, like Honey was just being Honey, dragging me off for girl talk. Nothing to see here.
He didn't look convinced, but he turned back to his conversation with Jack, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The last thing I needed was Ghost getting involved in this mess. And if Ghost got involved, Bloody Jack would be right behind him.
Honey tugged me up the metal stairs to the second floor, her grip never loosening. My apartment door loomed ahead of us. I was so fucked.
Honey slammed my apartment door behind us as we entered and twisted the deadbolt with a decisive click.
I tossed my keys onto the cluttered coffee table and paced across the worn carpet.
My space wasn't much—living room connected to a tiny kitchen, bedroom off to the side, bathroom barely big enough to turn around in, but it was mine.
Ghost had helped me fix it up when I moved in, the two of us painting the walls midnight blue, hanging shelves for my growing collection of bike manuals and horror novels.
Now it felt like those walls were closing in as Honey crossed her arms over her chest and fixed me with that no-bullshit stare.
"Spill it," she demanded. "Everything. Now."
I grabbed a throw pillow from my couch as I sat and hugged it to my chest like a shield. "There's nothing to spill."
"Bullshit." Honey planted herself on the coffee table in front of me. "You've been walking around like a zombie for two days, checking your phone constantly, and I just watched you practically have a stroke when Ghost looked your way. So cut the crap and tell me what the fuck happened."
I suddenly felt so exhausted I wasn’t sure I could hold this conversation in any meaningful way that didn’t include the complete and honest truth. Honey knew me better than I knew myself. Always had.
Where to even begin? The way Rocky had watched me across the bar?
The electricity when our hands touched? The fact that I couldn't stop replaying every moment of our night together?
I sighed heavily. "His name is Rocky," I finally said, my voice quieter than I intended.
"We met at the Valentine's Ball. He was. .. different."
"Different how?" Honey's voice softened slightly as she leaned forward, bracing her forearms on her knees. She took one of my hands on both of hers as she watched my face with careful concentration. The woman was studying me so she caught everything she could glean from my nonverbal expressions.