Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The clubhouse buzzed with energy, a haze of cigarette smoke drifting through the air along with old country music blaring from the jukebox.
Thane grinned around a fat cigar when he spotted Merci walking through the doors in front of me. “Darlin’, we haven’t seen you in a while,” he drawled.
Merci kissed the growly club president on the cheek. “I need a place to stay for a bit. Mind if I crash here?”
Thane puffed a cloud of smoke. “You know you’re always welcome. This is your home as much as mine—hell, maybe more. Take Reaper’s old suite across from Hatchet’s room. Don’t want you sharing a bathroom with these goons.”
Merci let out a shaky breath of relief. “Thank you,” she said, some of the tension releasing from her shoulders. She flashed me a tight smile. “I need a drink. Want one?”
I nodded. “Jack and Coke.”
Merci spun on her heel, flipping back her long, dark hair as she headed to the obsidian bar.
Thane raised his brows in question.
I tilted my head up and stared at the flat-black industrial ductwork crisscrossing overhead before letting out a long exhale. “She caught her fiancé screwing another woman. I just helped her move out.”
Muscles stilled under Thane’s cut, and his expression turned lethal. Each Maverick carried a sense of protectiveness for the daughters of the club, especially Merci. “Good thing Merrick’s out of town. We’d have a body to deal with.”
“I offered.”
Thane snorted. “Sure you did, boy. Bet you had some pretty fucking creative ways to make him hurt, too.”
I chuckled. “She’s pretty creative herself. Destroyed the house before she left. Trashed the kitchen, flooded the floors, stuffed vents with anchovies. A chaotic masterpiece.”
Thane’s eyes narrowed. He pulled the cigar away from his lips and pointed at my chest. “You’d best remember who she is. I see that look in your eyes. I know crazy turns you on, but she’s off-limits. You know our code.”
I barked out a laugh. “She’s Merrick’s baby sister. I’d never go there. He’d cut my dick off.”
Thane stalked away, giving me another warning glare as Merci approached with our drinks.
She sipped her cocktail. Her nails tapped the glass in rhythm with some silent battle in her mind.
I grinned. “How’d you get Leah to make you a pina colada? She fucking hates making froufrou drinks.”
“Played the breakup card,” Merci said with a shrug. “But she said I have to switch to tequila next because she doesn’t want to wash the blender.”
“Sounds about right.”
Leah, Jack’s old lady who managed the bar most nights, preferred to sling straight liquor rather than mixed cocktails.
“Darts?” I asked, gesturing to the group of boards that hung in one corner.
“You’re on.”
The eclectic fixtures hanging from the ceiling cast warm light across her face as she bit her lower lip to focus her aim.
Her phone rang, interrupting her focus. She scowled as she peered at the caller ID and silenced the phone before slipping it back into her pocket.
She threw the dart, missing the bull’s eye by three inches.
Another ring interrupted her next throw, and the dart speared into the wall with a thunk, nowhere near the board.
“Luca?” I asked.
Merci’s jaw locked, and her warm, brown eyes hardened. “Fuck him.”
I brushed a hand across her shoulders. “My offer still stands. You say the word, and I’ll destroy him. Fuck him up in ways he can’t even imagine.”
“Who are we fucking up today?” Fuse asked, approaching with a scotch in hand.
“Merci’s fiancé,” I explained as I tossed a dart, hitting the red center with ease.
“Ex-fiancé,” she clarified tightly.
Fuse’s expression darkened.
I looked at Merci, then back to Fuse as I flexed my jaw. “Right. She caught him doing the horizontal tango with someone else.”
Fuse clinked his glass against the remnants of her frozen drink. “Some light torture would brighten my day. Let’s do it.”
Coast strolled up. “Did someone say torture? Sounds like a perfect Tuesday night.”
I handed Merci the trio of darts.
“Come on,” I begged. “Let us show that fucker what it means to hurt a Maverick woman.”
Merci rolled her eyes. “First of all, I’m not a Maverick woman. I don’t belong to any of you. Second, as fun as that sounds, I’m going to be the bigger person.”
“Overrated,” Coast argued.
“Good for you,” Fuse added.
“Bigger person?” I barked out a laugh. “After what I just watched you do, I’m not sure there’s any moral high ground left for you to stand on. Maybe we should just go burn down his house—really finish things off right.”
Merci shoved my shoulder. “Let’s play pool instead.” She pointed to Coast. “Prospect, you’re with me.”
He stepped forward without hesitation, and I bristled at the easy smirk tugging at his mouth.
Merci lined up her shot. Her stance looked good until she angled the cue too high, and the ball missed the pocket. “I get a do-over,” she announced, moving the ball back to its original position. “Breakup rules.”
Coast stepped in behind her, lowering his hand over hers. “Here, let me show you.” His voice was low and steady as he guided her wrist a fraction lower, palm brushing the curve of her hand. “Keep it flat. You’ll get better control.”
My hackles rose, blood roaring in my ears as I watched Coast with his front pressed against Merci’s yoga pant-clad ass.
Merci went still for a beat, then tilted her head back just enough to look at him over her shoulder. “You sure seem confident for a prospect.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Coast murmured, mouth twitching in a half-grin. “The hazing here ain’t shit compared to BUD/S.”
Instead of pulling away, Merci leaned into him, letting his chest brush her shoulder as she bent to take the shot. The cue cracked against the ball, and one striped ball dropped into the pocket.
“BUD/S?” Merci inquired as she turned to face him.
“Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. The closest thing to hell on Earth,” he said, his eyes locked on hers.
“So, you think you’re a tough guy?” She raised a brow and raked her gaze up and down his body.
Coast leaned in, caging Merci against the pool table with his arms. “I know I’m a tough guy.”
“I bet you’re good at taking orders,” Merci taunted.
“I’m better at giving them,” he countered.
I set down my glass with a loud thud that echoed through the clubhouse like a warning shot.
“Get me another drink, prospect,” Merci demanded, her tone as stern as a drill sergeant. “The sweetest thing you can get Leah to make me without her poisoning it.”
Coast smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”
I trailed behind him and tugged him aside by the elbow once we were out of earshot. “Listen up,” I murmured, keeping it friendly enough not to make a scene but hard enough that he knew I meant it. “That’s Merrick’s sister. Daughter of a founder. Club royalty. Off fucking limits. Understand?”
Coast didn’t flinch, just met my stare and gave a single nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because Merrick’s telling Thane you deserve a patch, and I’d hate to have to tell him you were hitting on his sister.
” I patted him on the shoulder. “Get me a beer and bring back a round of shots while you’re at it.
And tell Leah I’ll clean the entire bar tomorrow if she makes whatever the fuck Merci wants tonight. ”
I spun around, not waiting for his response. Merci looked over, one eyebrow raised. I shrugged, giving her a sheepish grin. She flipped me off before spinning the cue in her hands. “You’re up.”
A few hours later, with the music pounding and the party in full swing, Merci’s eyes had grown drowsy and soft.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I suggested, steadying her with a hand at her elbow.
She squinted, lips twisted into an irreverent smirk. “You’re not taking me to bed, man whore,” she slurred, swaying into my side.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t flatter yourself, doll. I’m not trying to get into bed with you. You can barely stand.”
I guided her to the stairway that led to the loft bedrooms above the clubhouse. She staggered on the first step and tripped on the second. I grabbed her arm to steady her before sweeping her into my arms bridal-style.
She swore at me as I carried her up the stairs. “Put me down,” she muttered, her protests countering the way she snuggled into my chest.
I tried to ignore the way my body reacted, the scent of vanilla and sweet magnolia overwhelming my senses.
I kicked open the door to the suite across from my room and laid her gently on the bed.
I pulled off her shoes but thought better to remove anything else.
She mumbled between breaths, sounding bitter and tired—like a grumpy toddler after a birthday party.
Her phone pinged seven times in succession, and I fished it out of her pocket.
Luca: You’ve made your point. Call me back.
Luca: Honestly, you’re making too big a deal out of this. You’re not perfect either.
Luca: You’re really going to throw away everything we built over one tiny mistake?
Luca: Don’t ignore me. I deserve a chance to explain.
Luca: No one will ever love you the way I do.
Luca: Are you with your biker buddies? You better not be fucking one of them.
Luca: I knew you were a slut. My mom was right. You’ll always be biker trash.
Molten-hot fury boiled in my chest. Instead of smashing the screen, I deleted the messages, blocked his number, and plugged in her phone. She didn’t need to wake up to his bullshit.
I pulled a blanket over Merci’s curled-up form, and she buried her face into the pillow with a contented sigh.
I stood over her for a moment, trying to make sense of the conflicting feelings coursing through my chest. I wanted to protect her from every bastard like Luca.
She’d laughed with us tonight, but it wasn’t the same I’d heard before him.
I couldn’t remember a single woman I’d seen tonight besides Merci. I’m sure there were plenty—our parties brought in bold, beautiful women who’d been upstairs in my bed more times than I could count.
But the only one I saw tonight was her. And she was my best friend’s little sister.
Off-limits. Against the code.
A fucking death wish.