Rough & Ruthless (Rebel Kings MC #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

STRYKER

The roar of my custom bike engine tears through the heavy air, vibrating up through my steel-toed boots and locking into my bones.

The cold spray of the Pacific ocean bites at the bare skin of my neck.

I twist the throttle, pushing the bike hard and fast, desperate to outrun the relentless noise crashing around inside my head.

It doesn’t work. The memories are too loud. I think back to nearly a decade ago, stepping up to lead the Rebel Kings MC during our darkest, most violent period. The previous president was drowning himself in a bottle while the club was fighting for their territory.

It took blood, grit, and sacrifice to pull us out of the mud, but I earned a unanimous vote for President when the dust finally settled.

I earned this patch, and I’m damn proud of the men I call brothers.

Right now, however, the patch feels like an anchor.

I guess the old saying is true: heavy lies the head that wears the crown.

My bike and I lean into the next curve of the winding road, the rumbling of the engine keeping me grounded.

The beauty of the Pacific Northwest never gets old.

It’s a rugged beauty, filled with jagged peaks and thick forests laid against a rain-drizzled background.

A lot of people think we get more rain out here than the rest of the country, but that’s not true.

It’s more of a constant mist rather than sporadic days of down pouring rain.

The gray, cloudy skies suit me just fine. I’ve never been much for hot, sunny days.

My phone call with Wolf earlier today is still ringing in my ears.

My Vice President confirmed the discrepancies in our shipping manifests.

I worked tirelessly to transform the Rebel Kings into a legit, highly lucrative operation through King’s Logistics & Hauling.

We have a fleet of freight trucks, a sprawling port side warehouse, and a custom garage.

It’s my empire. And now, someone is messing with our delivery routes from the inside out.

Someone is threatening everything I’ve built, and the tension is a live wire in my blood.

It’s challenging enough to keep the club running, my brothers happy, and managing a multi-million dollar company.

The added stress of potentially losing it all might just be my breaking point.

Not that I’d let anyone else see the defeat threatening to swallow me whole. That’s my burden to bear.

I roll into the town I’ve called home for the last fifteen years, finally conceding that my hours-long ride did nothing to relieve my stress. Port Royal is a gritty coastal town that’s more than worn around the edges. Kind of like me.

Pulling over, I hit the kill-switch, letting the roaring engine die down as I try to catch my breath. Racing along the coast with my motorcycle has always been an escape for me, a place to let my thoughts go as I fill my lungs with the ocean air. So why am I still so amped up?

I close my eyes and rub my temples, willing the racing thoughts to slow. When I open my eyes, I see that I parked right in front of a floral shop I’ve never noticed before. It must be brand new. The simple, peaceful, and clean decor stands in stark contrast to the town's roughness.

Hanging greenery fills the windows, while concrete sidewalk planters with overflowing, vibrant, unique blooms frame the front door. An undeniable, unexplainable force draws me toward the glass. I’m a moth to a flame, wondering if there’s light inside or if I’m just looking to get burned.

The moment I step inside, the heavy noise in my head cuts out completely. I experience a rare moment of genuine calm. It is not the hyper-vigilant control I usually maintain, but pure peace.

Just as I’m marveling at the sudden silence in my soul, a soft, melodic singing voice drifts from deeper in the shop. I follow the sound like a man possessed.

She’s standing there among the flowers, and the breath leaves my lungs. Whoever she is has lush curves, an effortless grace, and an overwhelming physical pull that yanks at my chest. Every instinct in my body roars to life.

The woman turns around and gasps, startled.

Her hand flies up to her throat in a delicate, pearl-clutching motion, while a pale flush of pink blooms across her round, adorable cheeks.

An uncharacteristic and confusing urge grips me.

I want to step close, wrap my hands around her, and kiss the color from her cheeks.

"Holy rose petals!" she exclaims, breaking the heavy silence. She looks embarrassed. "I'm sorry. You caught me singing to my plants."

I stand there speechless, completely spellbound by this goddess of light. Her silky auburn hair is swept back into a ponytail that swishes back and forth, hypnotizing me with the movement.

She fills the silence with ease, her hazel eyes wide and bright. "Singing to plants is scientifically proven to help them grow, you know," she explains playfully.

I blink, wondering if she’s even real. Holy rose petals? Singing to plants? She’s too pure for this world. Certainly too pure for this town and the likes of me.

I should walk away. Leave her be. Crawl back into the darkness I came from. Instead, I say, "Probably just the extra carbon dioxide you're exhaling on them. Not the music." The rumble of my own voice sounds foreign in this quiet sanctuary.

She tilts her head, a playful smile curving her lips. "Are you suggesting I go around huffing on my plants?" she asks. "Because that's ridiculous."

"Most people would consider singing to plants the ridiculous part," I counter.

She just shrugs with a bright, amused smile. "Most people are no fun."

The statement lands straight in my chest. As President, I don’t give a damn about anyone's opinion. But looking down at this sweet, curvy woman, I find myself caring deeply about what she thinks. I want her to look at me and see something more than a hardened biker.

"What are you looking for?" she asks, her voice soft and bright against the quiet hum of the shop.

You. The word sits right on the tip of my tongue. I bite it back so hard my jaw aches. I fumble for something, anything else to say. My mind, usually sharp and calculating, goes completely blank under her wide gaze. "Peace," I finally grit out.

She tilts her head, her deep hazel eyes filled with questions. Then, a slow, radiant smile spreads across her face. "I have just what you need."

The enchanting woman turns away, moving deeper into the greenery. I only need you. The baffling thought sits in my head while I try to recover. Am I having a stroke?

She comes back carrying a ceramic pot, holding it like a prize as she presents it to me. I stare at the thick green and yellow striped leaves shooting straight up into the air.

"It's a snake plant," she explains, her voice dropping to a softer, almost reverent tone. "It filters the air. The leaves are so tall and strong. They always stand at attention, like a fortress." A pretty pink blush creeps up her neck and settles on her round cheeks. "Kind of like you."

I’m completely speechless. I don’t deserve this. Her kindness is entirely unearned. Yet I can’t help but turn my face toward her warm light, soaking it in like a starving man.

She traces the edge of a leaf with her delicate fingertips. "I always had one of these in my bedroom in the trailer where I grew up. I liked to think of it as a shield. Like it would somehow shield me from whatever was on the other side of my door."

Every protective instinct I possess snaps to attention. The air in my lungs turns to ice. "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "What was inside that trailer you needed protecting from?"

She looks flustered. Her eyes dart away from mine, and her breathing hitches. She recovers quickly, flashing a bright, forced smile. "No, no. I just meant the door to the outside world."

I don’t believe her. Not for a single second.

I need to know who put that fear in her eyes, but before I can ask another question, my phone buzzes obnoxiously in my heavy leather jacket. When I see Wolf’s name flash across the screen, I know I have to answer it.

I take a step backward toward the door, holding my phone up to let her know why I’m leaving. She nods and waves, still holding the plant while giving me a soft, sweet smile. I back out of the shop, completely thrown off by her soothing presence.

The moment my boots hit the pavement outside, the chaos, stress, and noise crash back into my head like a tidal wave.

I look back through the glass window. For a second, I think there must be a magical shield keeping out the dark world.

Then the truth settles deep in my gut. It isn't the shop at all. It’s the woman singing inside it.