Page 30 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)

CHARLOTTE

I watch from the window as Thor and Ratchet haul Vincent's plastic-wrapped body to the van. The corpse disappears into the vehicle's dark interior with a heavy thud that I feel in my chest more than hear.

My fingers press against the cool glass, leaving smudged prints that mark my presence in this house.

Thor's eyes find mine through the window, and for a moment, everything between us hangs suspended.

He raises his hand in a brief wave before sliding into the passenger seat and backing out of the driveway.

“He'll be right back,” V says, appearing beside me like a ghost. “Thirty minutes, tops. Then we're gone for good.”

I don't respond. What is there to say? A man died in the basement, and now they're disposing of his body like yesterday's trash.

I turn from the window, wrapping my arms around myself.

“You need to sit before you fall down,” V says, gesturing to the couch. “You look like you're about to shatter into a million pieces.”

I don't argue. My legs feel disconnected from the rest of my body as I sink onto the cushions.

“Want something to drink?” V asks, already heading to the kitchen. “Water? Coffee? Something stronger?”

“Just water,” I manage. My throat feels like sandpaper.

He returns with a glass and sits beside me, leaving enough space that I don't feel crowded. The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken horrors.

“So...” V clears his throat. “You play any video games?”

I blink at him. The question feels so disconnected from our current reality that I almost laugh. “What?”

“Video games.” He shifts, suddenly awkward. “I've got a Switch in my bag. Mario Kart? Smash Bros? Anything to distract from the whole...” he waves his hand vaguely, “corpse situation.”

This time I do laugh, the sound sharp and borderline hysterical. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.” He winces. “Poor choice of words. But yeah, distraction is good. Keeps you from spiraling.” He pulls a small gaming console from his backpack. “I never leave home without it.”

“You carry a Nintendo Switch with you to take care of motorcycle club business?” I stare at him, trying to reconcile this man—who hours ago was torturing someone in a basement—with the guy now offering me video games like we're at a sleepover.

“Never know when you'll need entertainment.” V shrugs, setting up the console on the coffee table. “Besides, Thor's a moody bastard on road trips.”

I take a sip of water, watching V's fingers move with practiced efficiency. There's dried blood under his nails. The same hands that helped kill a man are now connecting colorful controllers.

“How do you do it?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

V pauses, glancing up. “Do what? Beat Rainbow Road? Years of practice.”

“Switch between...this,” I gesture at the game, “and what happened downstairs. How do you compartmentalize like that?”

His playful expression fades, replaced by something harder, “Same way you're sitting here having a conversation instead of screaming in a corner. Survival.”

I flinch at the brutal honesty.

“Sorry,” he says, softening. “That came out harsher than I meant it.”

V sets down the controller. “Look, I know how this looks,” he says, leaning back into the couch. “One minute I'm helping take apart a man in the basement, the next I'm setting up Mario Kart. But the truth is, the club—this life—it saved me.”

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “Saved you?”

“Life hasn’t always been sunshine and rainbows for me, but the club gave me a purpose. A way to use my talent for good. A purpose.”

“Purpose in violence?”

“Purpose in brotherhood. That's how I met my wife.”

“You're married?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

“Five years, and two kids later. She’s a therapist, ironic, I know, and my club president’s sister.”

“And she's...okay with all of this?” I gesture vaguely, encompassing the house, the situation, everything.

“She grew up in this world. Her dad was the founding president of the Heaven’s Rejects. A right bastard from what she’s told me. She got out for a while, but circumstances brought her back. Damn happy that it did, too. I’d probably still be chasing cosplayers online.”

He pulls out his phone, thumbs through it, then turns the screen toward me. “Leia's four months old. And Han is three—thinks he's already a prospect.”

The photo shows two dark-haired children with V's mischievous smile, sitting on a gleaming motorcycle. The boy is flashing a gap-toothed grin while the baby is cradled in his arms.

“They're beautiful,” I say, and mean it. These men aren't just killers or criminals. They're fathers. Husbands. People with lives beyond the violence.

“Yeah, they are.” V tucks the phone away, a shadow crossing his face. “That's why I do what I do. Why we all do it. The world's full of monsters, Charlotte. Men like your ex-husband. Like Vincent. Someone has to stand between them and the people we love.”

“And Thor?” I ask, the question escaping before I can stop myself. “Where does he fit into all this?”

V's mouth quirks up at the corner. “Thor? He keeps to himself mostly. Not exactly the social butterfly of our little group.”

“I've noticed,” I say, tracing the rim of my water glass.

“Don't let the brooding fool you, though.

He's a good guy.” V leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“A little grunty, sure. Man communicates primarily in monosyllables and death glares.

But loyal? To a fault. Once Thor decides you're under his protection, there's nothing he wouldn't do to keep you safe.”

“I've seen that firsthand.”

“And, just between us girls, he's pretty head over heels for you.”

Heat rushes to my face. “You don't know that.”

“Oh, I do.” V laughs, the sound surprisingly genuine. “I've known Thor for eight years. Seen him through gunfights, knife fights, bar brawls—you name it. Never seen him lose control like he did today. Not over a woman. Not over anyone.”

I look away, uncertain how to process this information. “It's just...protective instinct.”

V shakes his head. “No, Charlotte. That’s what it’s like to be loved by a biker.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with implications I'm not ready to face. Loved by a biker. The concept is so foreign, so far removed from anything I'd ever imagined for myself. Three days ago, I was a recently divorced cat mom. Now I'm...what? I honestly really don’t know.

“You don't have to look so terrified,” V chuckles, misreading my silence. “Though I gotta say, Thor's intimidating on a good day. I can't imagine what he's like in?—”

“Please don't finish that sentence,” I cut him off, feeling heat rush to my cheeks.

V raises his hands in surrender. “Just saying, the walls in this place are thin.”

I grab a throw pillow and hurl it at him. He catches it easily, laughing.

“Fine, fine. No more talk about you and Thor's extracurricular activities.” He tosses the pillow back. “But for what it's worth, I think you're good for him. He's...lighter around you. Less doom and gloom.”

“He killed a man because he insulted me?”

“Yeah, like I said. Less doom and gloom,” he shrugs.

“I don't know what to do with that information,” I admit.

“You don't have to do anything with it. Just know it.” V picks up the controller again. “Now, are we playing Mario Kart or what? I call Yoshi.”

I find myself smiling despite everything. “Fine. I want Toad.”

The console chirps to life, the colorful Mario Kart menu filling the screen. V hands me a controller.

“Fair warning—I'm undefeated in our club tournaments,” he says, scrolling through character options. “Even Thor rage quits when I lap him.”

I'm about to respond when a sound cuts through the quiet, tires screeching against pavement, engines roaring to a halt. My head snaps toward the window as three black SUVs skid to a stop in front of the house, blocking the driveway. Men pour out like angry hornets, weapons drawn.

“Fuck!” V drops the controller and lunges for his gun on the coffee table. “Get down!”

My body reacts before my brain can catch up. I hit the floor as the first shots shatter the front windows, glass raining down like deadly hail. V grabs my arm, dragging me behind the couch.

“They found us,” I gasp, panic clawing up my throat. “How did they?—”

“Doesn't matter,” V growls, checking his weapon. “Back door. Now.”

More gunfire erupts, bullets tearing through drywall and furniture. The television explodes in a shower of sparks. V shoves me toward the kitchen, keeping his body between me and the windows.

“Is it Terrance?” I ask, crawling.

“I don't know,” V hisses, his face tight with concentration.

Another volley of bullets tears through the kitchen cabinets, sending splinters of wood flying. V curses, returning fire through the shattered window.

“The basement,” he says suddenly, grabbing my arm. “Get down there now!”

I freeze. “The basement? Where Vincent?—”

“It's the only defensible position.” V shoves me toward the door. “Hide down there and don't fucking come out until it's one of us. Me, Thor, or Ratchet. No one else.”

“What are you going to do?”

V ejects his magazine and slams in a fresh one. “Buy us time. Thor and Ratchet will be back soon. I just need to hold them off until then.”

“But you'll be killed?—”

“Move!” He pushes me toward the basement door with such force I stumble. “Lock it behind you!”

I scramble down the stairs, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. I pull the door shut, turning the deadbolt with trembling fingers.

The concrete floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I search for a place to hide.

Vincent's blood still stains the plastic sheeting in dark, irregular patterns, his ghost lingering in every shadow.

I force myself to look away, pressing my back against the far wall where Thor's makeshift torture station still stands—overturned table, scattered tools, chains hanging from hooks like metal snakes.

Gunfire erupts above me, rapid bursts that shake dust from the ceiling. V's voice carries through the floorboards, shouting something I can't make out over the chaos. Then silence. Terrible, suffocating silence.

My phone. I need my phone. I pat my pockets frantically, remembering I left it upstairs on the kitchen counter. Fuck. No way to call Thor, no way to warn him he's driving straight into an ambush.

The basement door rattles. Someone is trying the handle.

I slide deeper into the shadows, crouching behind a stack of paint cans. My breathing sounds impossibly loud in the confined space. The door rattles again, more violently this time.

“There’s a basement,” A man's voice says, muffled by the door.

It's not Thor or Ratchet. My muscles lock up, every instinct screaming at me to stay hidden. V's words echo in my head. No one else.

The door explodes inward with a crash of splintered wood. Heavy boots thunder down the stairs, and I press myself smaller against the wall, praying the shadows will swallow me whole.

I curl into myself, making my body as small as possible behind the paint cans. The sound of boots on concrete echoes through the basement—one set, then another. Heavy breathing. Metal clicking against metal.

“Check behind those shelves. She's gotta be down here somewhere. She didn’t get out the back door.”

Flashlight beams slice through the darkness, dancing across blood-stained plastic and concrete walls. I hold my breath as light passes inches from my hiding spot, illuminating dust particles floating in the air.

“Look at this place,” someone mutters. “Fucking animals.”

The beam sweeps back, catching the edge of my shirt. I flinch, pressing harder against the wall, but it's too late. The light freezes, then moves deliberately to my face.

“Found her!”

Rough hands grab my arms, yanking me from my hiding place. I kick and thrash, but the grip only tightens, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.

“Let me go!” I scream, clawing at the man's leather-clad arm.

He drags me into the center of the basement, throwing me down on the blood-stained plastic. I scramble backward, heart hammering against my ribs, until my spine hits something solid. Looking up, I freeze.

It's not just men in leather vests standing over me.

It's Terrance.

My ex-husband looks exactly as I remember—perfectly tailored suit and silver cufflinks glinting in the dim light. A devil in Armani.

“Hello, Charlotte.”

His voice slithers through the air, oily and familiar, wrapping around my throat like a noose.

“You look terrible. Though I suppose that's to be expected when you're keeping such...unsavory company.”

I try to stand, but one of the men shoves me back down, his hand heavy on my shoulder. I recognize the colors on his cut now—Heaven's Rejects, Vegas chapter. Thor's brothers. Traitors.

“Where's V?”

Terrance tilts his head, studying me like I'm a mildly interesting insect. “The one upstairs? Alive, for now. Though I can't say he'll stay that way if your new boyfriend doesn't cooperate.”

“What do you want?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“What's mine.” He crouches before me, close enough that I can smell his cologne—sandalwood and citrus, the scent that used to make me flinch when I caught it in the air. “You've caused me quite a bit of trouble, Charlotte.” He gestures to the bloodstained room. “Vincent was expensive.”

“So was our divorce,” I spit back. “Funny how you didn't want to pay that either.”

His hand moves faster than I can react, the slap echoing through the basement like a gunshot. Pain blooms across my cheek, sharp and familiar. The taste of blood fills my mouth.

“There's the Charlotte I remember,” Terrance says, flexing his fingers. “Always so mouthy. We'll have to work on that again.”

I touch my split lip, feeling the warm wetness. “Go to hell.”

“Already there, darling. Have been since you left.” He stands, smoothing down his suit jacket. “But I'm taking you with me.”

He steps closer, the heel of his polished shoe scraping against the concrete. I try to scramble back, but there’s nowhere to go—just cold cement and the stench of old blood.

His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up to him like I’m some delicate thing he’s appraising. “You’ll learn to behave again,” he says softly, like it’s a promise. “You did before.”

I lunge for him, nails catching his cheek, drawing blood. A small act of defiance, but it’s all I have left.

His expression doesn’t change.

Not even a flicker of pain.

Then everything goes white.

A sharp crack. The sickening jolt of my head snapping to the side.

And then—Nothing.

No heat.

No pain.

Just the dull thud of my body hitting the floor.

The last thing I hear before darkness swallows me whole, calm and cruel as ever.

“Let’s go home.”