CHAPTER TWO
Jolt
The horrible stench from tossed out buffet food wafts in the open clubhouse doors as I wipe down the bar for what feels like the thousandth time tonight.
Most days I love living here in Vegas, but days like today I want to scream at whoever’s opening that damn door.
I don’t know how the hell the wind manages to carry it up from the Strip all the way here, but it does.
My arm moves in automatic circles, muscle memory taking over while my mind wanders.
The clubhouse is quiet at this hour, most of the guys either passed out or off doing who-knows-what.
Just me and my thoughts and this never-ending grunt work.
I pause to crack my neck, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.
My prospect cut feels heavy on my back, a constant reminder of my place in the pecking order.
Here I am, a few years in, and I'm still scrubbing floors, polishing bikes, and pouring drinks.
I'm not complaining. This is the life I chose, and I'll be damned if I don't see it through.
The creak of the front door jolts me from my musings.
I look up to see Shiver sauntering in, his face set in hard lines.
Something's eating at him, that much is clear.
"Hey brother," I call out, forcing a grin. "What brings you in at this ungodly hour?"
Shiver doesn't answer right away.
He slides onto a barstool, his muscular frame dwarfing the seat.
His eyes, usually dancing with mischief, are clouded over.
"Whiskey," he grunts. "Straight."
I nod, reaching for the good stuff.
If Shiver's in this kind of mood, he deserves the top shelf.
The amber liquid splashes into the glass, and I slide it over without a word.
Shiver downs half of it in one go, barely wincing at the burn.
I watch him carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw.
Whatever's on his mind, it's not good.
"You all right, man?" I venture, keeping my tone light.
No need to poke the bear if he's not in a sharing mood.
Shiver's eyes flick up to mine, a hint of his usual humor sparking to life. "Just peachy. Why the fuck you bein’ this nosy?"
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "Hey, bartender's privilege. Gotta make sure my patrons are happy, right?"
That gets a chuckle out of him, albeit a small one. "Your patrons, huh? Big words for a guy on bitch duty."
"What can I say? I aim high." I grab a glass and start polishing it, more for something to do with my hands than any real need. "Seriously though, you look like you're carryin’ the weight of the world on those shoulders."
Shiver sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's nothin', Jolt. Just... club shit."
I nod, understanding all too well.
There's always something brewing in our world, some crisis or conflict that needs handling.
Though, Shiver’s a prospect too, so I’m surprised he even knows the details.
"Anything I can help with?" I offer, knowing full well the answer will be no.
As expected, Shiver shakes his head. "Nah, man. You just keep pourin' drinks for me tonight and we’ll be square."
"Bet. But you need me to do anything for ya and I will. Well, maybe not anythin’."
That gets a genuine laugh out of Shiver, his face relaxing for the first time since he walked in. "Christ, Jolt. You never quit, do you?"
I grin, feeling a small surge of pride at having lightened his mood, even just a little. "Nope. It's part of my charm."
Shiver snorts, downing the rest of his whiskey. "That what you call it? I was thinking more along the lines of 'annoying as fuck.'"
"Potato, potahto." I shrug, refilling his glass without being asked. "So, you gonna tell me what's really bugging you, or do I have to guess?"
Shiver's expression darkens again, but he doesn't shut me down completely.
Progress, I suppose.
"It's just... frustrating, you know?" he says after a long moment. "Feels like we're spinning our wheels, not getting anywhere."
I nod, even though I'm not entirely sure what he's referring to.
"Sometimes the waiting is the hardest part," I offer, trying to sound wise beyond my years. "But I'm sure the club has a plan. Damon wouldn't let us just sit on our asses if there wasn't a reason."
Shiver's eyes narrow slightly at the mention of our President's name.
There's a story there, but it's not my place to pry.
"Yeah, well, patience ain't exactly my strong suit," he mutters, tracing the rim of his glass with one tattooed finger.
I bite back a smartass comment about that being the understatement of the century.
Now's not the time for jokes, no matter how much I want to lighten the mood.
"Look, man," I say instead, leaning on the bar. "I've seen enough to know that this club, these brothers... they're the real deal. Whatever's going on, we'll handle it. It’s just gonna take a little time"
Shiver looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right."
I resist the urge to pump my fist in victory.
"Of course I'm right," I say instead, unable to resist a little gloating. "I'm wise beyond my years. It's a burden, really."
Shiver rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "And modest too. Christ, who let you in here again?"
I grin, grabbing a fresh rag to wipe down the bar.
We lapse into a comfortable silence after that, me cleaning and Shiver nursing his drink.
My mind drifts to my own brother, Victor, or Vader as the Deathstalkers MC calls him.
Wonder what he'd think of me now, prospect cut on my back and outlaw MC all around me.
Probably wouldn't be disappointed considering I kind of followed in his footsteps, but then again, we both walked different paths for a reason.
The armed services, a life of rules and structure.
Me?
I crave the chaos, the freedom that comes with this world.
I continue my cleaning, moving from the bar to the tables scattered around the room.
Shiver watches me work, nursing his drink and looking slightly less stressed than when he came in.
As I'm stacking chairs, a thought occurs to me. "Hey, Shiver? You hear anything about your dad’s members comin’ in? I overheard Hawk mentioning something about reinforcements."
I continue stacking chairs, waiting for Shiver to respond.
The tension in his shoulders is visible, even from across the room.
Finally, he lets out a long sigh and takes another swig of whiskey.
"Yeah, there's some shit going down," Shiver admits, his voice low and gravelly. "Same ol' shit, different day, you know? Shadow and Spur should be here within the next couple of days."
I nod, encouraging him to continue.
Shiver rarely opens up like this, and I'm not about to interrupt.
"It's just..." He pauses, running a hand through his hair. "We ain't gettin' anywhere with the Kodiak MC. Summer's over, and we're still sittin' on our asses while those fuckers are out there, probably laughin' at us."
The frustration in his voice is evident.
I set down the chair I'm holding and make my way back to the bar, leaning against it as I face him.
"Patience, brother," I say, trying to sound supportive. "I'm certain Damon has a plan. And with a couple of your dad's members arriving any day, I'm sure things are gonna be gettin’ better soon."
The words feel hollow even as I say them, but I'm not sure what else to offer.
Shiver's eyes flick up to mine, a storm brewing in their depths. "If it was your girl who went through this shit," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "you'd want their fuckin' heads too."
The intensity of his gaze makes me take a step back.
I've never seen Shiver like this before, and it's more than a little unsettling.
For a moment, I try to imagine how I'd feel if someone I loved had been hurt the way Shiver's girl was recently.
The rage that wells up inside me at the mere thought is overwhelming.
"You're right," I admit quietly. "I probably would."
I nod, trying to understand the best way I can.
The weight of Shiver's pain hangs heavy in the air between us. "I'm sure," I say, my voice low and earnest. "But you know we're gonna get him, him and his fuckin' club for what they did to her."
They fucking jumped her when she was coming out of the bathroom at a local diner.
Their president gutted Siren like a fish, and luckily we were able to get her to the hospital in enough time so it didn’t kill her.
My fingers drum against the polished wood of the bar, a nervous habit I can't seem to shake.
The tension in Shiver's shoulders is visible, like a coiled spring ready to snap.
I want to reach out, to offer some kind of physical comfort, but I know it's not my place.
Shiver's eyes lock onto mine, blazing with a fury that sends a chill down my spine. "Damn straight I am," he growls, his knuckles whitening as he grips his glass. "Those fuckers won't know what hit 'em. And Serpent, he’s mine."
The venom in his voice is terrifying, and for a moment, I'm grateful it's not directed at me.
I've seen Shiver in action, seen the damage he can do when he's pushed too far.
The thought of him unleashing that rage on the Kodiak MC is like a big-wig UFC fight—when you want to be front and center, watching the action.
"Hey," I say, trying to lighten the mood with a hint of my usual charm. "Save some for the rest of us, yeah? I've got a few scores to settle with those assholes myself."
Internally, I wonder if I'm pushing too far, if my attempt at humor will backfire.
But to my relief, I see the corner of Shiver's mouth twitch upward, just slightly.
It's not much, but it's something.
"You'll get your chance," he says, his voice still rough but with a hint of warmth creeping in. "Just make sure you're ready when it comes."
I nod, feeling a surge of determination. "Trust me," I say, meeting his gaze steadily. "I'll be ready."
The tension eases slightly, and I seize the moment to dig a little deeper.
Hawk's gruff voice cuts through my thoughts. "Gimme a beer, now."
It's not a request, and I don't treat it like one.
Without hesitation, I grab a cold bottle and pop the cap, sliding it across the polished wood.
As I do, I can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance.
I know my place as a prospect, but sometimes the lack of basic courtesy grates on me.
Hawk takes a long pull from the bottle, then sets it down with a satisfied grunt.
His eyes flick between Shiver and me, and I can see the moment he decides to weigh in.
"Heard you boys talkin' about the Kodiak situation," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "Once we get a few more bodies, we'll be making some serious moves against those fuckers."
I nod, trying to keep my face neutral even as excitement bubbles up inside me.
This is what I've been waiting for—a chance to prove myself, to show the club what I'm made of.
But I can't let my eagerness show too much.
Shiver leans forward, his muscular forearms resting on the bar.
His eyes narrow as he glances at Hawk. "What about up north? Shit still goin' down in Montana?"
Hawk's face darkens, a storm brewing behind his eyes. He takes another swig of beer before answering, "Yeah, but not for long. Zane's about to fuckin' explode, and Boomer's club is gonna be on the receiving end of it."
The tension in the air thickens at the mention of Zane.
I've heard stories about his temper, and the thought of him losing it sends a chill down my spine.
Still, I can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction.
Boomer's club has been a thorn in our side for too long.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself asking, "What about Mexico? Things changing down there yet?"
Hawk's eyebrows furrow, and he shakes his head. "I honestly don't know shit about Mexico."
As I nod in response, my mind wanders to Sally Bernard.
That woman's always got an ace up her sleeve, and I can't help but wonder what she's planning next.
The news about Sera's inheritance of the casino shares is still fresh, and I know it's just another wedge between her and her mother.
Internally, I mull over everything.
Sera, with her slate gray eyes and that raven tattoo peeking out from under her designer clothes, now holds a significant piece of the Vegas pie.
It's a power play that's bound to have repercussions, not just for her, but for the club as well.
As I mechanically wipe down the bar, my mind drifts to a different, more intoxicating memory.
A, the woman from a few weeks ago.
Her image floods my senses—those piercing green eyes, the curve of her hips, the way her blonde hair fell across her face as she threw her head back in laughter.
I can almost smell her perfume, a mix of jasmine and something darker, more dangerous.
My fingers tighten on the rag as I remember how her skin felt under my touch, soft yet electric.
"Earth to Jolt." Shiver's voice cuts through my daydream. "You zonin’ out on us, brother?"
I shake my head, forcing a grin. "Just thinking about bike maintenance," I lie smoothly.
Shiver snorts, not buying it for a second. "Sure, if that's what we're calling it these days."
I shrug, not willing to share my thoughts about A.
Something about her feels private, separate from the chaos of club life.
"Speaking of maintenance," I say, eyeing the clock, "I should probably hit the hay. Early start tomorrow."
Hawk nods, draining the last of his beer. "Good, man. We need you sharp."
I toss the rag into the sink and stretch, my muscles aching from a long day. "Night, brothers," I call out, heading for the door.
The cool night air hits me as I step outside, a welcome break from the stuffy clubhouse.
I make my way to the trailer I share with Shiver and Siren, the gravel crunching under my boots.
Inside, the trailer is quiet.
Siren must be asleep already, and Shiver's still at the bar.
I head straight for my room, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
As I strip off my clothes, my mind wanders back to A.
The memory of our encounter in the alleyway beside the bar is vivid, almost painfully so.
I can still feel the rough brick against my palms, hear her breathless moans in my ear.
I lay down on the bed, my body thrumming with desire.
Closing my eyes, I let myself sink into the fantasy.
A's lips on mine, hungry and demanding.
My hands roaming her body, memorizing every curve and hollow.
The heat of her core as I thrust into her, the way she clung to me like I was her lifeline.
A groan escapes me, and I have to remind myself that the walls in this trailer are thin.
But even as I try to rein in my thoughts, I can't help but wonder if I'll ever see her again.
A... she felt different.
Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with rival MCs or club politics.
As I drift off to sleep, her face is the last thing I see.
In my dreams, we're back in that alleyway, and this time, I don't let her slip away.