CHAPTER FOUR
Jolt
I can't believe my fucking eyes.
Cobra's strolling around the clubhouse like he owns the place, his arm draped casually around her shoulders.
A's laughing at something he said, her head thrown back, exposing the curve of her throat.
The same throat I had my lips on not too long ago.
Izzy, Cobra's ol' lady, saunters up to them, and I tense, waiting for the explosion.
But it never comes.
She just smiles and joins their conversation like it's the most natural thing in the world.
What the actual fuck is going on here?
I grind my teeth, my fingers clenching around the empty beer bottle in my hand.
Who the hell is this "A" chick anyway?
And why does it seem like everyone in the damn club knows her except me?
I can't take it anymore.
I need a drink—a strong one.
Pushing myself up from my seat, I make my way over to the bar, my eyes never leaving A and her little entourage.
Siren's behind the counter, wiping down glasses with a rag.
"I need a drink," I mutter, sliding onto a barstool. "Something that'll make me forget the last hour of my life."
Siren raises an eyebrow, her hazel green eyes studying me as she reaches for a bottle of Jameson. "What's gotten into you, Jolt? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I snort.
If only she knew how close to the truth that was.
As Siren pours my drink, I motion towards A with a jerk of my chin. "You see that girl?"
Siren follows my gaze, her eyes landing on A. "Yeah, what about her?"
I down half the whiskey in one gulp, relishing the burn. "Who the fuck is she? And why does everyone seem to know her?"
Siren nods, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Grim's oldest daughter, yep. Aggie. Why?"
The glass nearly slips from my fingers, whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I can feel the blood draining from my face. "Hold up, that's Grim's daughter?"
Siren nods, confirming, "Yeah, well, his step-daughter, but he's been her dad forever, so."
My mind reels, trying to process this new information.
Grim's daughter.
Grim, the Sgt. at Arms for our Montana charter.
Great!
Fuck me sideways.
The man's a legend, known for his fierce loyalty and crazy temper.
And I just...
I take another long swig of whiskey, hoping it'll dull the panic rising in my chest.
I mutter lowly, "Jesus Christ."
Siren leans in, her dragon tattoo rippling as she moves. "What's the deal, Jolt? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I can't help but laugh, a hollow sound that catches in my throat. "Ghost. Yeah, that's one way to put it."
My eyes drift back to Aggie—because apparently, that's her name.
She's laughing at something Cobra said, her bleached blonde hair catching the light.
But now, knowing who she is, I can see why she’s so damn comfortable here.
That fire in her eyes, the way she carries herself—it all screams 'MC royalty'.
"Fuck," I breathe out, running a hand through my hair. "How long has she been around?"
Siren shrugs, refilling my glass without me asking. "She's been coming around more lately. Something about college in Vegas."
College.
Right.
Because of course, Grim's daughter would be smart as hell on top of everything else.
I down the second whiskey, hoping it'll wash away the memory of her lips on mine, her nails digging into my back...
Siren prods, her blunt nature cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
"You gonna tell me what's got you so worked up?"
I meet her gaze, debating how much to reveal. "Let's just say... I might've made a mistake. A big one."
Siren arches a single brow, “You’d best spit out more shit than that, brother.”
I chuckle lowly, the sound more bitter than amused. "Met her at a bar a couple of weeks back. Fucked her in the alley."
The words taste like ash in my mouth now.
Siren's eyes widen, her usual composure slipping for a moment. "Shut up, you're fuckin’ with me right now."
"Wish I was," I mutter, running a hand over my face. "Trust me, if I'd known who she was..."
Siren shakes her head, a mix of disbelief and something that might be pity in her eyes. "Jesus, Jolt. You sure know how to pick 'em."
I'm about to respond when a familiar voice cuts through the air, sending a jolt through my system. "You gonna steal my drink this time, or are we cool?"
She’s staring right at Siren.
Standing right there, a playful smirk on her lips that I now realize she must’ve mastered from her father.
I freeze, my mind racing through a thousand scenarios, none of them good.
Siren, bless her, doesn't miss a beat.
She turns to Aggie with a smile that's all business. "We're good. You're not seventeen anymore, kiddo. Eighteen is enough for me to turn my eye, but I won't turn an eye if you're sharing with underage girls like that again."
I watch the exchange, my heart pounding.
Aggie's emerald eyes flash with mischief as she leans against the bar, her bleached blonde hair catching the dim light.
She downs the rest of her drink and places it on the bar.
She's close enough now that I can catch a hint of her scent—something wild and sweet that takes me right back to that alley.
Fuck.
Oranges and cinnamon, maybe?
"You're a prospect, so I'm sure you'll do whatever I damn well tell you," Aggie says to Siren, her voice dripping with sass.
Her Scottish accent comes out thicker now, and it only adds to her allure.
I can't help it.
Something in me snaps.
Maybe it's the way she's throwing her weight around, or maybe it's the fact that I can't stop thinking about how her skin felt under my hands.
Either way, the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"The fuck she will, or any of us for that matter," I growl, stepping closer. "Our duty is to the club, not to some MC princess brats or keepin' their secrets."
Aggie's eyes widen slightly as she turns to face me.
My heart's racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I know I'm playing with fire here.
She's Grim's daughter, for fuck's sake.
But there's something about her that makes me want to push, to see how far I can go before I get burned.
Aggie's smirk widens, her emerald eyes flashing with a challenge that sets my blood on fire.
I shouldn't like it, but goddamn, the sassiness, the sheer balls on this woman... it's intoxicating.
Cobra, who's been watching our exchange with amusement, finally releases his arm from around Aggie's shoulder.
He leans in, his voice a mock-stern growl. "Little girl, I might not be your daddy, but I can still give ya a whoopin' when need be."
I tense, ready to step in, but Siren beats me to it.
She snorts, shaking her head as she wipes down the bar. "Jesus, Cobra. That sounded so fucking perverted."
Cobra's eyes widen comically. "I didn't mean it to!" he sputters, looking genuinely flustered.
Izzy breaks out into a fit of laughter.
Hell, it's almost enough to make me laugh, if I wasn't so focused on Aggie.
Izzy grabs Cobra's arm, rolling her eyes. "Come on, you big idiot, before you say something else stupid and get yourself into more trouble."
She starts dragging him away, but not before throwing an exasperated look at Aggie. "Sorry about him, hon. You know how he is."
As they disappear into the crowd, Siren turns to us, her hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "You two want another drink?" she asks, already reaching for glasses.
"Hell yes," I mutter, not taking my eyes off Aggie.
She nods too, and Siren pours our drinks.
I can feel the tension crackling between us, electric and dangerous.
Part of me wants to grab her, to finish what we started in that alley.
But another part, the part that values my patch and my life, knows that's a fucking terrible idea.
Siren slides our drinks across the bar and then, bless her, makes herself scarce.
I take a long pull from my glass, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. When I look back at Aggie, she's watching me, her gaze intense.
"So," I say, my voice low. "A is for Grim's daughter, huh?"
Aggie's emerald eyes flash with a mix of amusement and defiance. "A is for Aggie."
I can't help but laugh, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. "Ghost is more fitting," I retort, taking another sip of my drink. "You've been haunting me ever since that night."
For a moment, Aggie's tough exterior crumbles, and I catch a glimpse of something vulnerable in her eyes.
But it's gone in an instant, replaced by that sassy smirk I'm quickly becoming addicted to.
"I don't know whether to throw up or say that's sweet," she quips, but there's a warmth in her voice.
I lean in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. "How about you decide after you get another drink?" I suggest, my voice low and husky.
Aggie opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, a booming voice cuts through the clubhouse chatter.
Damon hollers, his face set in grim lines. "Everyone except the women, kids, Siren, Shiver, and Doc, with me now!"
The change in atmosphere is immediate.
Every patched member snaps to attention, as do I.
I straighten up, my body tensing as I watch Damon's face.
Whatever's happened, it's serious.
Booger, always quick to ask what everyone's thinking, pipes up. "What's goin' on, Prez?"
Damon's eyes are hard as flint as he surveys the room. "Someone set fire to one of our car washes," he growls.
A collective intake of breath ripples through the room.
My fists clench at my sides, anger surging through me.
Who the fuck would dare?
Actually, I don’t even know why I’m thinking this.
Sally, or the Kodiak fuckers.
It had to be one of them.
As if in answer to my unspoken question, Mouser's gravelly voice cuts through the tension. "Them damn Kodiak motherfuckers," he grunts, spitting on the floor for emphasis.
I glance at Aggie, seeing the worry etched on her face.
Part of me wants to stay, to make sure she's okay, but I know my duty.
I'm a Reaper's Reject, and the club needs me.
"Stay safe," I mutter to her, before turning to join the others.
As I move, I can feel her eyes on me, and I silently promise myself that this isn't over.
Ghost or not, I'm not letting Aggie slip away that easily.
I sprint out to the parking lot, the cooling night air a contrast to the heated air inside.
The familiar sight of our bikes lined up like soldiers, ready for battle.
My Harley stands proud among them, its sleek black paint job gleaming under the harsh lot lights.
Damon's voice booms across the lot, and in an instant, we're all in motion. "Let's get the fuck outta here!"
I swing my leg over my bike, feeling the comforting rumble as I kick it to life.
The roar of multiple engines fills the air.
As one unit, we peel out of the lot, tires squealing against asphalt.
The wind whips at my face as we tear down the streets of Vegas, weaving through traffic like it’s natural to us.
My mind races faster than my bike, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
"Fuckin’ Kodiaks," I mutter under my breath, gripping the handlebars tighter. "They're gonna pay for this shit."
We round a corner, and suddenly, the night sky is illuminated by an angry orange glow.
The stench of smoke hits me first, followed by the devastating sight of our car wash engulfed in flames.
Turmoil swears from beside me as we screech to a halt. "Jesus Christ!"
The fire is a beast, consuming everything in its path.
The heat is intense, even from where we're parked.
I can hear the crackle and pop of burning wood, the crash of the collapsing structure.
Damon's off his bike in an instant, his face a mask of pure fury. "Fan out!" he roars, his voice barely audible over the inferno. "Find the fuckers responsible for this!"
I nod grimly, my eyes scanning the area.
The fire's reflected in Damon's eyes, making him look downright demonic.
I've never seen him this pissed, and that's saying something.
"You heard the man," I shout to the others. "Let's hunt these bastards down!"
As we spread out, I can't help but think that whoever did this just signed their own death warrant.
The club doesn’t take kindly to attacks on our shit and tonight, someone's gonna learn that lesson the hard way.
Turmoil and I stick together, our eyes scanning the chaos around us.
The heat from the blaze is getting worse, sweat already beading on my forehead.
My heart's pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
That's when I spot him—a figure darting around the back of the car wash, moving fast, maybe a hundred yards away from it.
"There!" I shout, pointing. "Back of the building!"
Turmoil's eyes narrow. "That must be the fucker who did this," he growls.
I don't wait for confirmation.
My feet are moving before I even realize it, pounding the pavement as I run like hell.
The world narrows to a tunnel of focus—me and my target.
Nothing else matters.
I can hear Turmoil's heavy footsteps behind me, but I'm faster.
The gap between me and the runner is closing rapidly.
Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else.
With a final burst of speed, I launch myself at the bastard, tackling him to the ground.
We hit hard, the impact jarring through my body, but I barely feel it.
All I can think about is making this piece of shit pay.
My fists start flying before we even stop rolling.
I'm straddling him now, raining down blows with everything I've got.
Each impact sends a jolt of pain through my knuckles, but I don't care.
I just keep hitting him.
"You don't fuck with the club!" I roar between punches. "With my fuckin' family!"
I'm vaguely aware that my knuckles are splitting, blood smearing across the guy's face—mine or his, I can't tell.
Honestly, it doesn't matter.
Nothing matters except making him hurt.
Suddenly, I feel strong arms yanking me back.
"Hold up, brother." Turmoil's voice cuts through the red haze of my rage. "We don't want him dead. At least, not yet."
I struggle against Turmoil's grip, my chest heaving.
"Let me go," I snarl. "This fucker needs to pay!"
But even as I say it, I know Turmoil's right.
We need information, and a corpse can't talk.
I force myself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the inferno of rage in my chest.
The crunch of gravel under heavy boots cuts through the night air.
I turn, still breathing hard, to see Damon approaching.
His eyes sweep over the scene—me with blood-slicked knuckles, Turmoil's restraining grip, and the sorry sack of shit whimpering on the ground.
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Damon's face. "Damn, good job, Jolt."
Pride swells in my chest, mingling with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
I've impressed the Prez.
That's no small feat.
"Thanks, boss," I manage, my voice rough. I flex my aching hands, feeling the sting of split skin. "Fucker thought he could run."
Damon crouches down next to our captive, who's curled into a fetal position, face a mess of blood and rapidly swelling bruises.
Good.
I hope it hurts like hell.
"Now then," Damon says, his tone deceptively casual. "Why don't you tell us who sent you to torch our place?"
The guy just whimpers, and I feel my anger flaring again.
I snap, taking a step forward. "Answer him!"
Turmoil's hand on my shoulder stops me.
"Easy, brother," he murmurs. "Let Damon work."
I nod, forcing myself to stay put.
But my mind's racing.
Who is the fucker that would be stupid enough to hit us like this?
Sally, or the Kodiak MC?
Damon's voice, hard as steel now, pulls me back to the present. "Last chance, asshole. Talk, or I'll let Jolt here finish what he started."
I bare my teeth in a feral grin, hoping the dipshit takes the hint.
Part of me—a bigger part than I'd like to admit—hopes he stays silent.
I'm itching to get my hands on him again, to make him suffer for threatening my family.
Because that's what the club is—the only real family I've got, and I'll be damned if I let anyone fuck with that.