Lenny was right, as we drove up the driveway to Rocky’s place in the woods I could tell something was different.

The road was overgrown and neglected, trees grew too close to the laneway and weeds grew up in the middle.

The worst of it was the former clubhouse. It wasn’t recognizable, if I didn’t know what had once stood there I wouldn’t have known it had once been so huge.

Half of the sprawling wooden structure was burned out and the blackened remains stood stark against the sky, like the rib cage of some prehistoric beast.

The part that was still standing was riddled with bullet holes, some of them blown so wide they must have been rocket launchers or grenades. The once elegant structure, it had one time looked more like a luxury chalet in the mountains of Vale, appeared on the verge of tumbling down at the slightest breeze.

“Damn,” I exhaled as we exited the car, “what the hell happened here.”

“I told you, all-out war,” Lenny wheezed and struggled to keep up with me as I strode towards the place.

“Those bastards. How could anybody survive this?” I looked pointedly at Lenny who had obviously made it through the attack.

“A dozen or so of us made it out the back,” he replied, seemingly apologetic. “That’s it, that’s all that’s left. Rocky was taken down though, a bullet right in the heart. So was Big Jim. All the original crew. The club is dead, Hatch, it’s done.”

I walked around the perimeter and could see the truth in his words. The club members were dead, faded, tattered police tape cordoned off the most of the site, and the remaining guys were scattered in the wind.

Lenny had done me a solid by picking me up, for that I was grateful, but I realized it truly was time to start fresh.

I would hit the road and begin a new life somewhere else, it’s all I could do.

“You sure this old thing is gonna make it to Vegas?” Lenny asked and clapped his hand on the hood of the Ford truck I’d purchased the day before.

“I’m not sure of anything these days, but I’m giving it a go,” I laughed. It was a beast, early nineties, army green and would be perfect for my business once I got it up and running.

I said my goodbyes to the last couple guys who knew the old me, hopped in the truck, and hit the road.

I had a friend from high school who had a place on the outskirts of Vegas in one of the sprawling suburbs people didn’t see when they came here to drink and lose money at the craps table.

I rolled into town early in the morning after pulling an all-nighter. Brady was home, just getting ready for his job downtown as a dealer at a hotel…The Millennium.

“Holy shit, you’re jacked,” Brady said, laughing as he gave me a quick hug. “Prison must be good for you, like a twenty four hour fitness club…I mean if you ignore the assaults.”

“I was fine,” I chuckled. “I was already big enough when I got there to hold my own.”

“You’re a fucking mountain, insane,” he said, looking me up and down. “You were such a scrawny little shit in school.”

“Yeah, well, hormones kicked in and I started to notice chicks…and notice that they liked muscles. What can I say, I like to get laid.”

“Excellent motivation,” he said, looking at his phone. “I have to run, but make yourself at home. I’ll see you when I get off my shift…or you can come down and meet me for drinks afterwards. There’s a great club in the hotel, especially if you like hot women.”

“I don’t like hot women,” I said and grinned at his look of surprise, “I love ‘em!”

He laughed, shook my hand, and hopped into his car. I jangled the keys he’d given me and started to unpack my stuff.

I spent the rest of the day catching up on sleep, the guest room was at the back of the house and had air conditioning, thank god. I wasn’t used to having so much free time, prison was so regulated, so sleeping for the day was pure indulgence for me.

Since the day had been a total write off, I decided to take Brady up on his offer and drive into town.

Pulling up to the luxury hotel in my old, shitty truck made me miss my Harley more than ever. Lenny had no idea what had happened to her, and god dammit, I missed my baby.

It commanded attention and respect, this truck commanded nothing beyond the occasional sneer or glare shot my way.

Not that I gave two shits what any of these people thought about me, but this truck was a tool, nothing more. My bike had been an extension of me, part of me. I’d spent years working on it, customizing it to suit me, right down to the last bolt, the last speck of paint.

I found a parking lot nearby and parked the truck, walked back to find Brady’s table and waited until he was off shift, drinking whiskey served up by a flirting blonde in a skin tight black outfit that did everything it could to show off her assets.

I did appreciate whoever had come up with the casino’s uniforms.

“I thought Katie was going to bust out of her bustier when she saw you,” Brady said as he strode over, his shift done. “Damn, Hatch, you must have pussy being thrown at you everywhere you go.”

“Almost everywhere, I did have a bit of a five year dry spell,” I replied and downed the last of my drink.

Brady guffawed and slapped me on the shoulder. “You mean you didn’t get your dick wet the minute you left that place? What the hell’s wrong with you, got a taste for dudes now?”

“Why, are you offering?” I raised a single brow and couldn’t contain my laugh when he clued into what I was saying.

“God, no, but I do know where we can go check out the local wildlife. I told you, the hotel’s got the best spot for it. The Little Black Dress.”

“Little Black Dress? Damn, I hope they peel them off, I want to see more than a dress,” I chuckled and followed him as we walked out.

“Well we could go to a strip club, but the owner manages to find the hottest girls in Vegas. For real. Besides, I get an employee discount and can get us both cheap drinks.”

“I’m down for that. Hot chicks and cheap booze, nothing would please me more.”

Brady sidled up to the bar and I took a seat next to him. “Two whiskeys,” he said, holding his hand up to grab the bartender’s attention.

I wasn’t looking too hard at who was behind the bar because of the bevy of gorgeous cocktail waitresses slipping through the crowd balancing trays of drinks above them.

Brady had been right, the owner had a real eye for beautiful women. Each one of them was gorgeous, perfect tits popping out of their black dress, make-up and hair done to perfection, legs that went on for miles.

“You’re still drinking whiskey, right?” Brady asked and I turned around on the stool to answer him when I was struck dumb and couldn’t respond because I found myself looking into the most brilliant blue eyes I’d ever seen.

I nodded wordlessly and let my gaze travel along the woman behind the bar, checking her out. If the women on the floor were beautiful, she was other worldly. My cock responded immediately, throbbing uncomfortably as I imagined her full, lush lips wrapped around it with me grabbing handfuls of her thick, black, wavy hair.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer, asshole,” she quipped and stomped away from us, irritation clear in the way she held her shoulders so tight.

But god damn, her black dress was leather and hugged her body like a jealous boyfriend trying to hang onto her as long as possible.

And man, what a body. She was tall, at six and a half feet I often dwarfed women, but she was probably close to six feet herself on the heeled boots she had pulled on up to her knees.

Her arms and from what I could see, part of her thigh were decorated with elaborate, beautiful tattoos. I saw a bird from mythology, some goddess figures that seemed familiar, and symbols that weren’t your run of the mill airhead ink.

Her breasts were full but not huge, they swelled over the top of her dress, but weren’t rock hard…they must be natural and would feel incredible under my lips and tongue.

Her waist was small, and it curved out to a perfect heart shaped ass that nearly sent me falling off my stool when she bent down to hook up a tap under the bar on the other side.

I heard Brady laugh and looked at him. “Oh shit, you’re a dead man,” he said and laughed again.

“Why’s that?” I asked, barely able to keep my eyes off the woman behind the bar.

“She’ll eat you up and spit you out. Nobody gets anywhere with Kitty Donatello…she’s the club owner’s niece and the hotel owner’s daughter. And only heir to the biggest hotel family in Vegas.”

“She’s definitely something else,” I replied, barely hearing his words.

All I knew was that Kitty was perfection, and I needed to find out if my kitten had claws.