Rev
I LIKE A GIRL who’s willing. Someone who takes orders in bed and prefers her sex dirty. Someone who understands the club comes first and that I’m out when my prez calls. Evie should fucking be grateful I’m bodyguarding her fine ass because the Colombians make me look like the choirboy I never was. So yeah, she should thank me.
I know something about gratitude, too. Not a day’s gone by when I haven’t acknowledged to myself that my club saved my ass and set me on the road I’m riding on today. At seventeen, I’d been my old man’s rebel son. I’d liked sex, I’d liked sin and I’d never met a rule I didn’t want to break. Shit had hit the fan the night my old man had been hit by a drunk driver, and the club had been there for me.
Gratitude is not part of Princess’s repertoire. After finishing her second party, she stalks past me and into the Princess Mobile as if I’m the invisible man. I’m debating how to respond when my phone rings and caller ID warns fun and games are over. Hawke’s on the line and the Hard Riders president doesn’t sound happy.
“We’ve got a situation. Black Dogs grabbed Sachs. Word on the street is Sachs stuck his nose into a drug deal and BD leadership took offense. Guess the Colombians also want in on the action in case Sachs overshares with the cops. BD’s prez is still arguin’ with the cartel leadership over what to do with Sachs, but we’re not waitin’ around for them to hold a vote.”
“We know where he’s being held?”
“Yeah,” Hawke replies. “Fuckers have him in their clubhouse. Not tryin’ to hide it, either—they’re darin’ us to come in there with guns blazin’.”
“Trap?”
Hawke’s mean-as-fuck smile broadcasts through the phone just fine. “’Cause they think if they shut down the Hard Riders, they get free access to East Las Vegas? They can try.”
I’m pro-violence myself, but I’m also calculating the odds. I don’t want to go in for Sachs and trade his life for that of another brother’s.
Shit. Trade. I look at the pink RV. Fuck, I already hate myself, but it has to be done.
“We trade. We go after someone they care about and make a swap.”
“You got an idea?”
“Evie Kent.” We can trade Rocker—give him Evie, take back Sachs. Win-win for everyone involved.
“Not goin’ to be a problem, you snatchin’ Evie?” I love and respect my president, but the club comes first. Questioning my loyalty is for shit.
“Tell me to bring her in, and it’s done.”
“Do it,” Hawke says. “The longer Sachs stays at the Black Dogs’ clubhouse, the longer those Colombian fuckers have to mess with him.”
Evie’ll be safer at our clubhouse anyhow. I can protect her better there. It was stupid as shit to try for any kind of relationship with a woman like Evie. I’m not a repeat guy and we’ve had our fun.
Still, when Evie emerges from the RV, I discover the gratitude business is actually the other way around. Any thanking that gets done? It’s gonna be me on my knees before her, because I’d be happy to drop and do some worshipping. Must be her version of biker chic, but she’s wearing a pair of faded jeans that hug her ass. A blue-and-white T-shirt announces Happy Camper, which I certainly am because the thin cotton does nothing to disguise her red bra. Bright come-fuck-me red—my favorite color.
“Got a call.” I need to tell her enough to get her to go with me willingly. “The Colombians are gunning for Rocker and there’s a good chance they come after you since you matter to him. I’m seeing you back to your place. Or mine. Lady’s choice.”
“I’m not the one running drugs, so why target me?” Her fingers twist the edge of her shirt, and the gesture would be cute if she wasn’t so naive. She’s not part of the club and she runs a legitimate business for kids, for Christ’s sake. Her life is as different from mine as a rabbit’s is from a shark’s. I’m the one swimming around all predatory and scaring the fuck out of people—she’s the soft and fluffy vegetarian. But I’ve seen what the cartels do to make their point and now we have that road rage incident from the other day as Exhibit A. I’m not letting that kind of bad shit happen to her.
I pace her. Just keep walking, baby doll, and we don’t have a problem. She looks at me as if I’m her Prince Charming and white knight extraordinaire. Which honestly makes me feel more like the horse’s ass, because I’m not nice. More like I’m a founding member of Bastards Unlimited.
“Rocker’s in deep.” I fight the inexplicable urge to smooth the little crinkle between her eyebrows. I don’t do comfort, either. All I have for Evie is a talented tongue, ten fingers and a dick I know what to do with. I shouldn’t have started this with her. She’s gonna hate me. Fuck. I hate me. “His club cut a deal and sounds like Rocker may have tried to up the ante.”
She sucks in a breath. “What do you mean?”
“Rocker double-crossed the cartel, so they’ll go after him any way they can—maybe put out a hit on you.”
Her eyes widen and she makes a startled sound. Okay. So she really didn’t know what her asshole brother has been up to. Either Rocker kept her in the dark or she refused to believe someone she loved could be that dumb. Problem is, she can’t fix this for him and staying blind will only get her killed.
“Today sucks,” she says softly.
“Sorry,” I offer, meaning it. I’d like to fix her problems, although so far I’m coming up empty. Shooting Rocker only fixes my shit.
“If he’s in trouble, I need to be there for him.”
Appreciate her loyalty, but it’s misplaced. Her brother is an asshole. When he turns up dead or worse, she’ll hurt. Fuck that. Vik pulls up while I’m working through these unexpected thoughts. “You really want to get into this now? Because we both know I’m not part of your brother’s fan club. Let me take you home. We’ll figure something out.”
She chews on her lower lip, thinking shit over. I’ve seen military campaigns conducted with less strategizing.
“Okay.” She sighs and gestures toward the RV’s passenger-side door. “Hop in.”