Chapter Two
Lucky stared at his reflection, the typical snarky light absent from his dark eyes. Where once a playful grin could be found on his face at all times, his mouth was flat, his expression dull. His hair was too shaggy, his beard too scruffy, as though he lacked the energy to care for himself.
Disgusted, Lucky turned away from the mirror and rested his ass against the sink. For the past two weeks, he’d wrestled with a decision so great it was bleeding into every aspect of his life. No longer did he find joy and fulfillment in the club that had been the entirety of his existence for almost nine years. Now, he looked at every brother and wondered if they were involved in Rebel’s drug dealing venture.
The best and only option was to take what he knew to Crystal Rock. Shiv and Striker would be outraged at Rebel’s blatant disregard for the club’s bylaws. They’d take care of the problem and it would be out of Lucky’s hands. But something held him back. He owed so much to this club. They were his family. They’d taken him in at a low point in his life, just months after his baby sister overdosed. He’d been an angry, revengeful shadow of a man hell-bent on vengeance.
Rebel had given him that chance for revenge, and the man who hooked his sister on heroin not only didn’t sell drugs anymore, he didn’t walk, or eat, or breathe. Thanks to this club.
And now, every day that passed was one more day Lucky allowed Rebel to engage in behavior that could harm some other young and far too trusting girl. It sickened him.
Over the past weeks, he’d collected enough evidence to present to the Crystal Rock chapter and prove Rebel and Savage’s guilt without question. He wouldn’t chance ruining the men’s lives unless he was sure what they were up to. His president and VP were neck deep in the drug trade and raking in the dough. What he hadn’t been successful in discovering was exactly how many others were involved in their dealings.
He spun, faced the mirror once again, and grabbed his razor. Time to make this asshole look more like who he was. When he’d trimmed the beard to his customary goatee, he turned on the shower and brushed his teeth while the water warmed. With one last look at the now presentable reflection in the mirror, he stepped under the spray. Warm water rained down on him, easing some of the tension from his shoulders.
His mind drifted back to what he’d been thinking of seconds ago. What he’d been thinking about nearly every moment of every day for the past two weeks. It was time. Time to take this to Crystal Rock. While a large part of him felt like a dirty rat, another part of him knew it was the right thing, and a small weight lifted from his shoulders. Informing Shiv and Striker was what was expected of him. What he owed the rest of his brothers. He wasn’t the one who’d fucked over the club.
But he sure felt like the one paying for it.
~ ~ ~ ~
If her damned hands would stop shaking, Kori could actually read the number on the scrap of paper she held and verify the address. Not that she needed to. The eight or so bikes lined up outside a giant building was enough of a clue. But if she couldn’t double check the address then she was completely out of stall tactics and had no choice but to make her way inside.
She’d spent the past week and a half going back and forth on her decision to seek out her father so many times she no longer knew up from down. Did she want to meet him? Probably not, but she had to. She had too many questions, too much curiosity, too much loneliness now that her mom was gone.
A longing to connect with family had bloomed in her chest in the past week. It was time to meet the man who fathered her. Even if he was another biker.
Unlike her mom, she wasn’t impressed, turned on, or even intrigued by bikers. Much of her life had been spent in their presence since her mom was a biker’s ol’ lady, but luckily the man had never taken much interest in Kori. Once she reached her adult years she separated herself from that part of her mother’s life as much as possible. They were too rowdy, too disrespectful, too controlling for her taste.
It was something she’d never understood in her mother. The draw, the attraction to the MC lifestyle. But then Barb had been as tightlipped about her childhood as she’d been about Kori’s father. Somehow her mom equated being an ol’ lady to respect and value.
Kori took three steps forward then spun back and returned to her car. One more minute, then she’d walk the thirty feet from her parking spot to the clubhouse. After repeating the action two more times she chuckled to herself. Since when was she such a chicken?
“All right lady, you’re making me dizzy. You gonna get that sweet ass in here or what?”
She locked eyes with a grinning man in a leather cut standing about twenty feet away. Well, man may have been too loose a term. The guy looked like he couldn’t be more than twenty. His cut had a patch that said prospect over his heart. Made sense given his apparent age.
“Um, yes.” She cleared her throat, pissed at the timid quality of her voice. Weakness wasn’t what she wanted to portray. “Yes, I’m coming.” She hurried through the parking lot toward the kid. “I need to speak with Mar—uh, Rebel.” The nickname would probably yield more results than her father’s given name, Mark.
“What do ya need him for?” The prospect eyed her with skepticism and blocked her path to the door.
“It’s personal,” she said.
He cocked his head and scratched his chin. “You knocked up, honey?”
“What?” The question threw her back a few steps.
“You knocked up? Looking to pin it on Rebel? Cuz I’d bet he always wraps it and know he won’t take responsibility your fuck up.”
Lovely, just lovely. Fucking bikers. “No, prospect. I’m not pregnant and the reason I’m here to see Rebel is none of your damn business.” Her hands landed on her hips. She may not like bikers, but she knew them, knew how they played and knew enough to keep her head above water. They respected strength but weren’t usually thrilled when a woman was the one to show it. Maybe a softer approach. She dropped the aggressive pose. “Will you please take me to him?”
The prospect’s expression iced over, but then he shrugged and motioned for her to follow him through the door. Probably realized he didn’t care enough to pursue it further.
Hurdle one jumped.
She trailed after him through the entrance and into the clubhouse. The moment the door slammed behind her, an odd sense of relaxation and familiarity settled over her. It wasn’t necessarily a welcome feeling, although the reduction in anxiety sure was. The place looked similar to the MC clubhouse in Florida. With a large bar, pool table, and bikers hanging around, along with a number of women wearing much less clothing than she was.
The feeling shouldn’t have thrown her so much. Of course the surroundings felt familiar. They were familiar. Like it or not, the world of bikers was her world, at least on the periphery.
“Hey,” the prospect called to no one in particular. “Pres around?”
Pres? Her father was the president? Now things were getting a bit out of her league.
“Office,” someone answered. “Who’s the dame?”
Her eyes darted around trying to assess which man the voice rose from. No luck.
The prospect shrugged. “Beats me, Savage. She asked to talk to Pres.”
Finally, she located the mysterious voice. A man stood with his back to the bar, one hand holding a drink and his opposite arm around the shoulders of a woman wearing the shortest shorts Kori had ever seen. She was running one very long-nailed hand up and down his muscular chest while smirking in Kori’s direction.
Her focus left the woman and moved to the guy’s face. Ruthless was the first thought that came to mind. It didn’t really make sense. It was not as though the word was tattooed across his head, but his eyes were sharp, cold, and his jaw was set in a don’t-fuck-with-me manner. Something, some invisible force made her turn away. Maybe it was plain and simple self-preservation, but the little voice in her head warned her she didn’t want to draw his attention.
“This way.” With a wave, the prospect indicated for her to follow him down a dim hallway. “Wait here,” he said as he knocked on a heavy wooden door.
“Come on in.” The raspiest voice Kori had ever heard sounded from behind the closed door.
“Don’t move.” The prospect disappeared behind the door and Kori was left alone.
She blew out a breath. Her father sat just feet away. The father she hadn’t known existed until just over one week ago. Shit. She so wasn’t ready for this. What the hell had she been thinking coming here? Did she expect to walk into that room and feel a sudden and instant loving connection to a man who, as of now, didn’t have a clue in the world she existed?
No. This was beyond a terrible idea. “I have to get out of here,” she whispered as she turned and started down the hallway. She froze in her tracks as the door opened and the prospect called out behind her.
“He’ll see you, lady. But I warn you, you better not be here to pull any shit on him. He’s not one to fuck with.”
Her heartrate accelerated and the legs that had carried her from the car seemed to quit wanting to walk.
“Lady? He ain’t got all day. Get movin’.” He pushed past her and ambled down the hallway toward the main area.
Right. Move.
After a cleansing breath, she spun. The four steps to the door seemed to happen in slow motion. She watched her hand reach out and twist the door knob as though it weren’t attached to her body, wasn’t commanded by her mind.
There was no turning back now. Time to cinch up the big girl pants and meet her father.
With one last breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into a giant cloud of smoke. Ever since her mom’s lung cancer diagnosis, Kori’s had an almost violent reaction to the smell of smoke. Her stomach heaved and she waved a hand in front of her face in a vain attempt to clear a section of air and make it safe for breathing.
When her eyes adjusted to the haze, her gaze landed on the man seated in an old, beat-up leather chair behind a desk.
Her world tilted on its axis for the third time in just a week and a half.