Chapter 2
Creed
Icross my arms and lean back in my chair, tipping it onto the back two legs.
Church is going fine and fast, but with the sun burning bright outside, I’m ready for the business shit to be over so I can go for a ride.
Keeping the best damn MC in the country at the top, however, means taking care of business, and we have a lot.
“Wednesday’s shipment is on schedule.” My VP, Ace, reaches for his beer and tips it back for a long swallow before adding, “The bar’s running clean, and new inventory there comes in tomorrow.”
Ace and me have known each other since we were kids, running around the same part of the mountain.
Barefoot little hellions. Him, me, and Reid.
The three of us joined the Kings together.
I glance over to where Revenge’s vest hangs on the wall with the other ones.
I miss the mouthy bastard every day, but it helps knowing every man responsible for my little brother’s death is six feet under. Ace helped put every single one there.
“That’s all I got,” Ace says. “Crusher?”
Our sergeant-at-arms rubs the short bristles on his head and says, “Property taxes got paid on the garage, so we don’t gotta worry about that again for a while.”
I nod and look around at the other men who make up the MC. “Any other business?”
“Patch’s been off grid for three days.” Ace’s expression is grim, and that’s a bad sign. I once saw him take on four Ash Reapers with just three bullets in his gun and not break a sweat. “No calls. No check-ins.”
Patch is Damien Murphy, a prospect trying to prove himself worthy of a Kings of Ruin patch.
Barely more than a kid and underfoot half the time, everyone assumed he was off doing what most of us were doing when we were his age.
Drinking and fucking. But three days is too long to go no-contact.
A prospect doesn’t party that hard that long, not if he’s serious about making it.
And he definitely doesn’t do it on his own.
None of the club members are missing, so I ask, “What about Nix and Titch?”
“They’re at the gate with Marco,” Brick says. “Didn’t say nothing about Patch.”
My chair goes down on all four legs at the same time Crusher speaks up. “Ace asked me to check Patch’s apartment this morning. All his shit’s still there. Bike’s still in the garage.”
I feel the men tense. No club member, not even a prospect, willingly leaves his bike behind unless there’s no other choice or the weather’s too shit to drive, which doesn’t happen often.
“Phone was on the counter, but he ditched the SIM card,” Crusher continues. “And there’s a gun missing from the stash under his bed.”
“Shit,” Cipher says what we’re all thinking. “That’s bad.”
I don’t gotta be a mind reader to know we’re all at the same conclusion.
Patch didn’t just take a vacation. He’s running from something.
The idiot should’ve come to us, but we aren’t going to leave him hanging just because he did something stupid.
Whatever trouble he’s in, Kings of Ruin will have his back…
or we’ll be the ones dishing out the punishment.
“Cipher, pull his cloud backups and phone records.” I deliver the orders rapid fire, knowing my men can follow. “Vandal, start with his highway contacts. Crusher, talk to neighbors, check cameras around the building. Brick, head down to the VA and find out if Patch’s been to work.”
Chairs clatter and scrape as the men stand, and I raise my voice to be heard over the noise.
“I want progress in the next hour so move your asses.”
“Cipher.” Crusher holds out a phone to the tall man next to him. “I think the kid wiped it before taking the SIM.”
Six-foot seven Cipher grins like Crusher’s just given him a present. “You really think you can erase anything completely?”
“Shit, I hope so,” Crusher shoots back. “I don’t think you want me keeping those nude pictures your mom sent me.”
Cipher flips up his middle finger and laughs before heading toward the security room where all the MC’s computers are.
Our hacker’s the smartest guy I ever met, and I know if there’s anything to find on the phone or in the cloud, he’ll find it.
We protected him once when he got into some trouble, so he owes us, but the moment he said he wanted to be part of the club, the debt didn’t matter anymore.
Now, he handles our intel work because it’s his job in the MC. And he’s damn good at it.
“Crusher.” I stand up and get the SAA’s attention. “You know if the gun Patch took was one of his, or the MC’s?”
“I’ll check inventory before I go back to his place to talk to people,” Crusher says. “Mind if I drag Trigger along with me? If people don’t want to talk to me…”
I nod. “Good call.”
Trigger’s the newest member of the MC, barely past prospect, and he’s young too, but it’s no mystery why Crusher wants to take the kid.
Besides being massive, Trigger’s a scary-looking motherfucker with bigger muscles than a lot of bodybuilders.
Lots of piercings, tattoos, and scars, he’ll scare the shit out of anyone who’s reluctant to talk.
We don’t hurt people unless we have to, but we’re not about to play nice when one of our own is missing.
Crusher leaves and I turn to Ace, ready for him to tell me anything I missed, but I’m interrupted before I can say anything.
From outside comes the unmistakable sound of a car engine on its last leg and the crunch of tires on gravel.
I’m halfway to the door when the car stops abruptly.
When I open the door, I expect to see Marco at the gate giving directions to someone who got lost, but my hand’s on the Magnum in my waistband. I’m prepared for anything.
And it’s a good thing too, because I hear shouting before my eyes adjust to the sunlight.
I blink a few times as I walk to the edge of the clubhouse porch, the wooden boards creaking under my feet.
I barely hear them, though, because I’m focused on what’s happening a few yards away across the parking lot.
A beat-up white Toyota Corolla sits just inside the gate, close enough to block anyone who might try to get in or out.
Anyone, in this case, is Brick who’s straddling his bike and glaring at the woman.
I’m surprised to see she’s not even flinching, and I can’t help the flicker of admiration I feel.
It takes a lot of guts to piss off someone who got his nickname at thirteen when, after getting hit in the face with a brick, picked the brick up and put his stepfather into a coma.
She might not know any of that, but there’s no mistaking Brick is a dangerous bastard.
I can’t help wondering if the driver has any sense of self-preservation.
The prospects are standing on either side of the car with their thumbs up their asses like they don’t know what to do.
“What the fuck?” Marco yells as he storms toward them. “Get them the fuck outta here!”
I don’t know why no one has their gun drawn, but then the driver’s door opens and a girl gets out.
A woman, technically, but it’s clear she’s no older than twenty-five, at the most. Dark smudges under exhausted eyes say she hasn’t slept in a couple of days, and her reddish-brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, like she just wants it out of the way and doesn’t care how it looks.
I can’t say there are a lot of women who come here like that.
The club bunnies might walk around half-dressed, but none of them would be seen without a full face of make-up and done hair.
As she closes the car door behind her, she tugs at the oversized sweater sliding off her shoulder, but it’s an absent sort of movement, the kind someone does without really thinking about it.
What she is thinking about becomes clear a moment later when she starts toward the compound, a stubborn tilt to her head.
Shit.
I come off the porch as Marco moves to stop her.
The determined look on her face tells me if Marco grabs her, things are going to kick off in a way I really don’t want.
I don’t know if she can fight, but I don’t want to find out.
We’re a rough bunch of guys, but we don’t hit women.
Doesn’t mean we’ll let them hit us either.
If she tries to hit Marco, he’ll stop her, and I don’t like the idea of how he’ll do that, even if it won’t hurt her.
I’m not the self-analyzing type, so I don’t try to figure out that thought.
Instead, I start walking toward her, unhurried, like this is all normal.
Taking their cues from me, my men fall back and watch.
Trusting my men will handle anything that might need a weapon, I hook my thumbs into the belt loops of my jeans.
As I walk, I let my gaze run over her body.
She’s short, but not tiny, with the soft sort of curves I like on my women.
Gives me something to hold onto when we’re fucking.
I have the sudden urge to dig my fingers into her hips, just to see what she’ll do, and my dick gives an interested twitch.
I ignore it. Just because I like her body doesn’t mean I want to fuck her.
I do want her to look at me, though. I can tell a lot about a person from their face.
And if she happens to have a good poker face, there’s always her eyes.
It’s a lot harder to lie with them. She’s only a couple of yards away when she finally locks eyes with me.
I see hers are a shade of green I’ve never seen anywhere else, and in them, I see fear and ferocity in a combination that makes something in my chest click.
Only one thought pops up in my mind.
She’s gonna be trouble.