CHAPTER 4
ADDYSON
Okay. Now that I’m standing in the middle of a motorcycle clubhouse, maybe I should have looked before I leaped. This time.
Considering the big picture here involves being on the radar of a murderer because I rushed forward without a lot of thought, maybe I should put more effort into thinking things all the way through across the board. I’m not sure it would have changed anything, but still.
When Scythe called me to check on me and to find out if I was on the way to the clubhouse, he told me I would be safe and that Mayhem would make sure of it. I would not have had the courage to walk in here without his vow echoing in my head.
You know, I’m realizing just how sheltered I’ve been. Nothing I’ve done has ever gotten me into this kind of trouble before. Part of that was not leaving Magnolia Point.
How much trouble could I really get into when everyone knows you and is more than willing to tattle on you?
Sure, we got away with some things, but nothing too wild.
It was all normal stuff involving beer in fields and bad decisions in parking spots.
It could have been worse, a whole lot fucking worse.
Whenever I rushed headlong into some idea I had, usually pulling Tallulah right along with me, I knew I had the town and my brothers at my back. Now? I feel like I’m freefalling without a net or parachute or whatever.
I’ve burst into the middle of a biker lair. What could possibly go wrong?
I shake my hands out, my eyes finding a guy standing near the bar.
For some reason I keep looking at him. While I should be figuring out who Mayhem is, I’m busy eye fucking a man.
That’s not mentioning the large and intimidating bikers who are studying me like they’re not sure whether I’m a threat or not.
I don’t think I am, but considering I heard a cop kill his estranged wife, I could be wrong.
The moment I mention the club’s president and Scythe, some of the men relax. But not all of them. I see their hands, but I won’t allow myself to think about what they could be reaching for. My body wants to lock up, but I will myself to stand tall.
It’s all gusto and a hefty side of fake it ‘til you make it. What other choice do I have right now?
The man my eyes keep going toward takes a step toward me, but the redheaded woman who is hanging off his arm tightens her grip. As if I want to get in the middle of whatever the fuck that is. No, thank you. I have enough problems.
That doesn’t mean I like the way she’s touching him. I hate it.
She’s hardly wearing any clothing, and it takes some concerted effort for me to not stare at her.
I can’t imagine having the confidence to wear a skirt that shows all of my bits.
And what is the point of wearing a netted shirt at all?
I mean really. Her nipples are jutting out through the holes in her shirt.
Does she think her outfit is sexy? Fuck, an even more disturbing question is whether the men find her outfit sexy? It leaves nothing to the imagination, but maybe that’s just the vibe here.
I remember Tallulah telling me about the club angels and what their role is. Hell, she’s given me a crash course in biker life and culture since she took up with her biker husband. But Jensen is the love of her life. I’m just a walking liability at this point.
Jealousy like I’ve never felt before burns in my gut. I want to walk over to her, remove her hands from him, and then rip out her fake ass extensions. But I don’t. Because it would be bad form.
I’m a guest. If that. Honestly, I’m probably more of an inconvenience than anything else.
And I don’t know the man she’s touching.
He certainly isn’t my man. My man, if I had one, would fucking never.
I swallow hard and try to focus, but the fear I’ve been trying to ignore is crawling up my throat. There are so many unanswered questions and I’m fairly sure I’ll never feel safe again. Not as long as Kendra’s killer is at large. I know it’s gotten less likely since he also wears a badge.
Why couldn’t I just be content with not getting involved?
Another man, this one leaning against the bar looks at the hulking figure of the man I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from and then back at me before smirking. “Who are you, sweet thing?”
My lip curls up at the endearment. I can’t help it. I’m not one to lose my head, or my panties, over a man using sweet words. I watched my brothers operate, thank you very much, and they were just a lot of pretty words and depraved thoughts. Nope. I’m not falling for that shit.
“My name is Addyson,” I tell him, my voice still weaker than I would like. Instead of giving into the fear, I straighten my back and square my shoulders. “Like I said, Scythe told me to come here. He said Mayhem would help me and keep me safe.”
A low whistle comes from a man much closer to me. When I glance his way, he winks at me and I narrow my eyes at him. At least he’s close enough for me to see the patch on his chest letting me know his road name is Duckie and he’s the Sergeant at Arms for the club. I probably shouldn’t piss him off.
“What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, babe?” Duckie’s eyes sweep over my body, and I can see the appreciation in his eyes. “Not that I mind that you’ve stumbled into our clubhouse. You’ve got a smokin’ hot body.”
The man with the redhead hanging off his arm takes another step and then lets out a growl that sounds like a warning. My head snaps in his direction, and I tilt it as I look him over again.
Fuck, he’s hot. He’s got to be at least a foot taller than my 5’4” frame. But it’s not just height he has going for him. He’s built and my heart flutters at the thought of being sheltered in his strong arms.
What is wrong with me?
Still, I can’t help but catalog everything about the man.
His dark hair is cut short except for a little bit of length on top and what is there is messy like he’s been running his fingers through it.
I’m not going to lie, my fingers want to do the same.
They twitch at my sides with the need, but I ball my hands into fists. Now is not the time to get handsy.
I have enough problems.
“Duckie,” the mystery man’s voice is sin and honey. It wraps around me and squeezes in such a way that my mouth goes dry. “That’s enough.”
When I glance over at Duckie, his eyebrows have shot up to his hairline and he’s holding his hands up in surrender. “You got it, Prez.”
My eyes go wide. No fucking way. Prez. The president of this chapter is Mayhem. The man I’m here to see. The one who is going to keep me safe.
I slowly turn my head back toward him and catch the ghost of a smile on his lips. Why did he have to be so hot?
This is going to be torture.
“You’re Mayhem?” I can’t help the way I take him in while he inclines his head in a way which tells me it’s the only answer I’ll be getting from him. “I’m Addyson,” I introduce myself, again, because being polite is something my mama drilled into me while growing up.
I feel my cheeks heat as the redhead who still has a proprietary hand on Mayhem smirks. Damn it, I hate mean girls and drama. This isn’t something I have time for.
When Mayhem notices my focus on the woman clinging to him like a damn vine, he does a double take as if he hadn’t even realized she was still there. Well, that makes one of us.
He shakes off her touch, but it doesn’t matter now. She got her point across loud and fucking clear; her claim is staked.
He steps closer to me and the woman frowns while I feel all the eyes in the room boring into me. It makes me want to squirm. It makes me want to run. But I’m frozen in place.
When he’s close enough, I get lost in his crystal blue eyes. There are flecks of other colors there which remind me of clouds when a storm is on the horizon.
“Addyson,” his voice is rough and my body goes on high alert, “come into my office. I’d like to go over your story.”
I bristle at the implications of his words, and I can’t help myself when I spit out, “It’s not some fanciful tale. It’s the truth. I listened to a woman be murdered and now I know who did it.”
Ignoring the collective intake of breath from the men in the room, I glance over my shoulder almost expecting Wagner to burst through the door behind me. He doesn’t.
When I look back at Mayhem, his eyes are soft as he nods once. I have a feeling it’s about all I’m going to get. Little victories for sure.
A glance at the redhead tells me she’s pissed to the point smoke is about to come out of her ears. I’m not looking to get involved in any drama.
Even for a man as good looking as Mayhem. He has heartbreak and bad decisions written all over him.
I still want him, but I can recognize a mistake coming my way. And thinking it would be different won’t help anyone, least of all me.
We all make mistakes in life.
“That’s not what I meant,” his voice is soft and from the way everyone’s eyes widen, it is not a common occurrence for him to walk back his words in any capacity.
“Sorry,” I murmur and step toward him, my feet moving without my input.
I swear my body keeps trying to sway closer to him. As if I need to be near him. As if I’m desperate for it. It makes no fucking sense.
He shouts, “Anchor. Rampage. Duckie. Ripper.”
I have no idea who he’s calling out to other than Duckie. When his blue eyes look back down at me, something flashes there, but then it’s gone.
“They’re all officers in the club, Tempest.” Fuck, why does that sound like a lullaby? “I need them in the meeting with us, that way you’ll only have to get through it once.”
My heart stutters in my chest. At the care he’s showing me when he doesn’t know me. At the way he’s looking at me like he’s not planning on letting me go anytime soon. At how much I want him, even though we just met.
Mayhem is a biker who may or may not operate outside the law. He’s the last man I should get involved with.
But I have a feeling I won’t be able to help myself.
Worse things have happened.
You know, like being murdered by a man who has taken an oath to serve and protect, not to be confused with the whole wedding vow thing. Wait, I’m not sure wedding vows cover killing. Maybe it’s time for a revision.
Mayhem moves close enough that the heat of his body soothes some of my jagged edges which have been sharpened by fear and helplessness over the last two days. I want to sink into him, but I don’t get the chance. A clawed hand slides over his shoulder and the redhead drapes herself against Mayhem.
“We’ll take this up later, baby,” she purrs, her words dripping with innuendo even a nun could interpret. And blush at. Fucking yikes.
When I take a step away from the pair, Mayhem turns toward the woman.
“Sin,” he snaps, and I almost laugh at the perfection of her name, “get your hands off me.” She does.
Slowly. “Do I need to remind you of your place here?” When she only blinks up at him innocently, he growls, “You are a willing and waiting hole for any of the brothers. Don’t forget that is where your importance begins and ends. ”
“Harsh,” I breathe out. Mayhem looks down at me with amusement dancing in his eyes.
When he arches an eyebrow, I hold my hands up, grateful for the focus not being everything going wrong in my life for a moment, “I didn’t say you’re wrong, I just said that was harsh because it was.
I mean,” I shrug as I point out, “how many times have you stuck your dick in one of those willing and waiting holes?”
Does it kill me a little to ask? Yes. Does it deserve to be asked because even if she is a club angel, she deserves a little bit of respect? Also, yes.
Now, if she continues to glare at me and piss me off, my opinion on the matter may change. But I’ll ride it out for now.
When one corner of Mayhem’s mouth tips up, it’s devastating.
Let Geoffrey Wagner come for me. I’m done for anyway.
Sin slinks away, but I’m not na?ve enough to believe it’s the last I’ll see of her. No, the mean girl always pops up again, doesn’t she? I’ve had plenty of movie marathon nights disguised as sleepovers; I know the drill and I’ll be ready for her.
Mayhem slides into place next to me and his large hand finds the small of my back. It feels right to be at his side. The feeling of something clicking into place has me closing my eyes. Just for a second.
I haven’t felt safe in two days and now the feeling of someone nipping at my heels is hard to shake.
His touch is grounding. It’s a sensation I should not be feeling when I’m embroiled in my fight or flight response, with the added benefit of some biker dinner theater. What could go wrong?
The bikers he called upon like a fucking king fall into step behind us as Mayhem guides me around the bar and down a hallway.
We walk into what can only be his office.
I’ve never been in a room that screams man more than this one.
I’m only a little surprised to not find posters on the wall of half or completely naked women.
And if said woman was straddling a Harley? Even better.
“Have a seat,” Mayhem waves his hand toward one of the chairs facing his desk.
I expect him to walk around it and sit as I lower myself into the chair, but he doesn’t. I’m just grateful to not be holding myself up anymore. My ability to hold it all together is fraying.
“Addyson,” the rumble of Mayhem’s voice has me snapping my head up to look at him while pushing my hair out of my face.
I should have grabbed something to pull it up. But I’ve never run for my life before. Clearly, I need to work on my execution. The expectant look on the face of the biker looming over me has me fidgeting in my seat. Did he ask me a question?
I glance around at the four men who have fanned out around the room. They’re close, but I don’t feel crowded. If they did it on purpose, I appreciate it. If not, I’m all for happy accidents. They are looking at me with a mixture of wariness, curiosity, and expectation.
Well, fuck.
I blurt out, “I’ll take Hammond Whiskey if you have it. But if you don’t then I’ll take a shot of vodka or rum of any kind. I’m sorry to say that I will not drink tequila. That’s a night of catty bitchiness no one needs,” I decree with a swipe of my hand.
Mayhem sits back against his desk and does something that stops everything.
He smiles.