Hell’s Balance (Hellfire MC #14)

Prologue.

A dark cloud followed as Chance walked through the clubhouse. Shotgun’s president seemed in a mood, not unusual for Chance, but there was a darkness about him now. Chance grabbed a seat at the bar and scowled at Jinx, who was serving.

“What’s up?” Shotgun asked.

“Found a fucker selling drugs, right out in the open near the school. Asshole took offence when I confronted him,” Chance replied.

“Is he working for someone?”

“Yeah. I flushed his shit and warned him. The little prick told me I’d pay for that. His boss was bigger than me, and then he ran. I’m getting old, Shotgun. I’d have more chance of winning the lottery than catching that fucker,” Chance complained.

He wasn’t far wrong. They were all getting older.

Shotgun looked around the clubhouse; it was a far different scene than it had been ten years ago.

Even five years ago, it wasn’t like this.

For one, they’d been in their old clubhouse, which a cult had blown the hell up.

Club whores and hang-arounds were rife back then; now it was rare to see an unattached female.

His brothers had begun settling down, and it showed. Over time, skanks, sluts, and hang-arounds had been banned. Too much drama. Hellfire had more than enough of that.

Shotgun acknowledged his brothers wanted—and had earned—a quiet life, but he sometimes missed the partying and everything that came with it.

Take them to your bunk, fuck them, and kick them out.

That had been his motto. Now, it wasn’t so simple.

His love life was a mess and confusing as shit.

Shotgun had kept a secret from his brothers, and it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

He regarded Chance and wondered what his Prez would say if he blurted it out.

Told Chance everything he’d bottled up for years.

Would his club vote to kick him out? Would Shotgun be rejected?

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Chance demanded.

Shotgun held Chance’s gaze. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Nope, he couldn’t trust Chance with this.

“Nothing.”

“Liar. Think I don’t know something’s bothering you?” Chance retorted.

Jinx placed fresh beers in front of them, and Chance kept staring.

“Ain’t got an issue, Prez,” Shotgun denied. Yes, he did. A huge fuckin’ problem.

“When you find your balls, come and talk.” Chance lifted his beer, drained it, and banged it on the bar. He got up and strode off. His steps were angry and loud.

Shotgun shook his head. Yeah, there ain’t no way he was confiding in Chance, not when it concerned Chance’s family.