Chapter 6
It’ll be fun.
Those are Sofia’s exact words as we approach the entrance to The Ape Hanger, though I’m second guessing my decision to come out tonight the second I spot the row of half a dozen or more motorcycles lined up along the front of the building, reminding me of where I am.
A sense of dread sweeps through me, as does the stiff breeze against my bare legs in this silly excuse for a dress Fi made me wear.
She dug it out of her closet earlier today after discarding every piece of clothing in mine.
It’s all white with a built in lace corset, the fabric stretchy enough to move in but god help me if I need to sit down, I don’t wanna be known as the girl who flashed her ass to a bunch of bikers in my first week of being back in town.
The only parts of my outfit I had control over were my black leather jacket and the chunky black Docs on my feet.
She spent an hour and a half on my hair and makeup; my hair half up half down, falling around my shoulders in loose waves and my makeup minimal with a subtle smoky eye to make my blue eyes pop and a nude pink lip.
Rock music thumps through the speakers as we step inside the bar. It’s packed to the rafters, not an empty seat in sight and the volume of people in here is a little overwhelming. According to Fi there’s an event happening tonight, but she won’t tell me what it is. Apparently it’s a surprise.
To say I’m way out of my comfort zone is an understatement and it’s not only standing in the middle of a bar full of bikers that has me uncomfortable, it’s this fucking dress.
God forbid anything this short makes its way into my closet.
I tug the bottom of the dress down, though it does little in the way of covering any more of me up, my bare legs and half of my thighs on full display.
It’s not even been five minutes and I’m already itching to go home, even if it means coming face to face with my father.
Why the hell did I let Sofia drag me here?
I guess it was because seeing her so excited to introduce me to her boyfriend stirred something in me and I couldn’t bring myself to let her down.
“Mac!” she calls, throwing her arms in the air to signal one of the guys from across the bar who smiles when he sees her.
He excuses himself from his friends and makes his way towards us.
“’Sup, babe.” His smile is wide as he leans in for a kiss, his floppy blonde hair like a wave as he dips her, deepening their kiss.
He pulls back, righting them both as he pecks a final kiss to her lips, making her giggle before his gaze finds me.
Fi throws her arms around my shoulders. “Baby, this is Kaia, my bestest friend in the whole world. Kai, this is Mac,” she introduces proudly.
His blonde hair is just short of being shoulder length, it’s messy in an attractive sort of way.
He reminds me of a young Heath Ledger from a movie I can’t remember the name of.
He’s got a boy next door vibe about him, and if it wasn’t for the leather cut-off vest hanging around his shoulders bearing the patch of his club, I could see myself trusting him, maybe even growing to like him.
But it’s that patch on his back I can’t get over, but I force a smile for the sake of my best friend.
“Hey,” I offer.
Mac reaches to give me a loose hug. “Nice to finally meet you, Kaia. I’m starting to think I’m the third wheel in this relationship the way she talks about you, good thing I’m not the jealous type.”
“The way she talks about you has me feeling the exact same thing. I’ve only just met you and yet I feel like I know you already,” I joke.
He draws an arm around my shoulder, while he takes Fi under his other so he’s sandwiched between us. “Oh yeah? What exactly has she told you about me?”
“Things I shouldn’t know, things nobody but your girlfriend should know about you.”
“I told her you’re hung like a horse and fuck like a porn star. That your cock i—”
“Oh my god! Enough!” I slap my hands over my ears, focusing on the thumping drumbeat to drown out her voice.
Fi laughs, enjoying embarrassing me a little too much.
“Nice to know I’m doing my job right, babe,” Mac says. “Now tell me more about my cock.”
She swats him on his chest. “Yeah, you wish. You can rein in your ego now, that’s the only inflation it needs today.”
“Not the only thing that’s inflated, babe.”
My cheeks flame. “Oh my god! You two! Stop!”
Fi throws her head back, cackling away.
“We should probably head downstairs. I’ll grab us some drinks. Meet you down there.” Mac gives her a wink before heading towards the bar. The room has largely cleared now, leaving only a few stragglers including us.
“Come on, it’s about to start!” Fi grabs my hand and tugs me through the bar towards a door along the far wall.
“What is?”
She finds me over her shoulder and wiggles her eyebrows. “You’ll see!”
We follow a group of guys through the door and down a narrow metal staircase that creaks beneath my feet.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but it falls on deaf ears as she leads me down the steps. I stop a few steps short of the bottom and take in the scene before me.
The basement is almost as big as the bar upstairs. The air is thick and stuffy, pungent with the scent of sweat and beer that stings my nose.
There must be in excess of a hundred people down here all surrounding an empty area in the middle of the room, making a square.
“There’s the star of the show!” She points to something in the middle of the room.
With my elevated position, I have a clear view over the sea of heads in front of me. The empty area in the middle of the room is lit up with a huge spotlight that hangs overhead, the rest of the lighting is dimmed, bathing us all in an ominous red glow.
A man steps into the clearing. His back is to me as he tugs the black t-shirt over his head and tosses it behind him.
His entire upper body is made up of pure powerful muscle that ripples with every movement, his skin a collage of intricate tattoos.
A wing covers each of his shoulder blades, one with delicate feathers like an angel, while on the other, the wings are darker, weathered, all sharp angles and jagged edges.
Like the wings of the devil.
His wide shoulders narrow to a tapered waist that disappears below his black low-rise jeans.
Arousal flutters low in my belly as I take him in and I want nothing more than for him to turn around so I can see what he looks like.
There’s no doubt that he’s tall, at least six feet, maybe more, and his thick head of hair is dark so that just leaves…
handsome. Is he handsome? Can he make every girls’ ideal man a reality and embody all three?
Another guy steps into the ring. He’s smaller than my mysterious stranger and judging by the reception to both men, it’s clear who the underdog is.
My breath hitches when the first guy turns around, eagerly anticipating his face, but it’s covered by a black bandana with a skull’s face in place of his own. A bandana I recognise and my heart thuds heavily against my rib cage.
Oh my god.
It’s him.
My mystery biker.
He’s a member of the MC.
The man closest to him whispers something in his ear and a few moments later, his eyes lift to find mine. My breath locks as he holds my gaze and for a moment it’s like we’re the only two people in the basement, the world around us fading to nothing.
“That guy has a death wish I swear,” Fi says, dragging my attention away. She leans in close to my ear so I can hear her. “Nobody walks out of the ring after going a couple rounds with Killian Hunt.”
Hearing that name is like being doused in a freezing bucket of ice cold water. “Wait. That’s Killian Hunt? The one with the bandana?”
“Yeah, why?”
It takes a moment for my mind to fully process what I’m seeing and what I’m hearing and when it finally sinks in, my stomach rolls with nausea.
“No reason,” I lie.
Her attention returns to the two men in the ring while over here, my mind is reeling.
Killian Hunt. The man I’ve barely been able to push from my mind for the better part of a week is Killian fucking Hunt?
I’ve never been able to put a face to the name, but I know enough to know Killian Hunt is a the worst for the worst, and a man that should have a sensible girl like me running for the hills.
I’ve heard the rumours, they’re rampant in towns this small, they give the old busy bodies with nothing better to talk about a topic of conversation over a cup of coffee.
A regular Don Juan who spreads more legs than an gynecologist—a direct quote from Mrs. Sanders who owns the bakery in town.
A rebel without a cause who thinks he’s above the law.
An ex-con who spent the better part of a decade behind bars.
And the worst of all… He’s a murderer.
He reaches behind his head and unties the bandana and stuffs it into his back pocket.
Holy shit.
He’s the guy I bumped into on the sidewalk last week outside the tattoo shop. Realisation slaps me across the face like a wet fish.
Vivid Ink.
I bumped into him outside Vivid Ink, Killian’s place of business. It all makes sense and something turns sour in my stomach.
Trust the first guy I meet who even remotely interest me to be a both a renowned womaniser and a murderer.
I’m slammed out of my thoughts when the roar of the crowd fills my ears as Killian lands the first punch, the other guy stumbling over his feet, desperate to stay upright.
The crowd chants Killian’s name, the sound filling the room which only spurs him on. He hypes up the crowd, puffing out his chest like the fight is already won, all the while his opponent recovers.
Killian turns, only to be met with a punch to the face. His head snaps to the side from the force of the blow, but his body doesn’t move, it’s like he’s build from solid stone.
His opponent goes to land another hit, but Killian blocks it, taking hold of his wrists as he draws his knee up into the guy’s abdomen. He does it over and over, his opponent growing weaker with every blow.