Page 12 of Property of Mako (Kings of Anarchy MC: Louisiana #1)

Blood in the Flour

Lyra

I woke to the faint scent of leather and coffee brewing.

Calix was already up, standing shirtless at my kitchen counter, loading weapons into a duffel. His back was all carved muscle and ink, the kind of view that should’ve made me forget my own name—but instead, it reminded me of everything that happened last night.

Everything I couldn’t take back.

We hadn’t just crossed a line; we’d set it on fire.

Unsure of how to proceed, I made a cup of coffee.

Through all my commotion, Calix didn’t speak.

That might have been the most frustrating part—he’d lit me on fire, left me gasping and seeing stars, and then shut it down like he’d thrown a switch inside himself.

Now he stood at my kitchen counter, cleaning his weapons like nothing happened, as if last night we hadn’t just crossed a line we couldn’t uncross.

I wasn’t about to ask him why. Mostly because I was afraid he’d tell me, and I wouldn’t like the answer.

The phone on the counter buzzed, breaking the quiet. Calix picked it up before I could blink, his voice low and sharp. Whoever was on the other end said something that made his eyes narrow.

“I’ll be there,” he said, hanging up without a goodbye.

Picking up my coffee, I headed to the bedroom to get dressed.

I wasn’t sure how much time I had, so I quickly grabbed clothes and jumped in the shower.

It was only long enough to wash the smell of sex off myself.

As I rushed to rinse off, I noted that I was a bit sore between my legs and on my neck.

The memories rushed in, and my face burned.

It took me all of about eight minutes to scrub myself off and wash my hair. I hurried back out and dried off.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed in my underwear and a hoodie when he walked into the room.

He didn’t look at me when he announced, “Got a lead. Several places the girls might be stashed before the auction.” His voice was clipped, all business as I tugged socks on.

Not wasting time, I pulled on my jeans, still feeling his hands from hours before. “Let’s go, then.”

His head lifted, eyes narrowing. “You’re going to the clubhouse. You’ll be safe there.”

I crossed my arms. “What? No way. We’ve discussed this.”

He gave me that look—the one that said he was already tired of arguing with me before I’d even started. “No. You’re going to the clubhouse this time. You’ll be safer there.”

Adamant, I shook my head. “I’m not hiding in some biker vampire man cave while you go off chasing leads.”

His lips twitched at my words, but he didn’t actually laugh or smile. “It’s not a request, Lyra.”

“Well, too fucking bad, because I’m not going. Either I’m part of this or I’m not, and if I’m not, you can just walk right back out that door.” I pointed to my front door.

His jaw flexed like he was grinding his teeth.

I planted my hands on my hips. “She’s my sister, Calix.”

“This isn’t a discussion?—”

“Yes, it is. Either I’m in this or you go without me, and I find my own way. Your call.”

His jaw ticked, and for a moment, I thought he’d drag me out to his bike kicking and screaming. Instead, he let out a low curse. Then—without another word—he grabbed his cut from the chair and motioned toward the door. “Fine. But you stay on my six the whole time.”

* * *

The first two locations were ghosts—empty rooms or buildings that smelled of dust and disappointment.

By the time we rolled up to the third—a hulking old abandoned bread factory in the warehouse district—my gut was already knotted. The place looked dead, its cracked windows gaping like broken teeth.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old flour and something I didn’t want to know the source of.

Calix, Killswitch, Crypt Keeper, Spook, and Bugsy spread out, moving like they’d done this a hundred times.

Calix had introduced us when we met up at the shop where I’d first confronted him.

They hid it well, but each of them was shocked he had me along with him.

Like I promised, I stayed close, my boots crunching on scattered debris.

If anyone had been here, it had been a long while. My heart sank at the newest dead end.

That’s when I saw it—movement in the shadows.

Calix stiffened. Before he whispered, “We need to go.”

Except as we started to cautiously backtrack, I heard it—the faintest scrape of metal on concrete.

The ambush hit like lightning. Vampires poured in from the far side of the warehouse, fangs gleaming, eyes blazing.

“Hide,” Calix barked, shoving me toward the old walk-in cooler. He yanked the door open, the hinges groaning. “Stay put.”

Understanding that if I was out there, I was a liability, I did as he said.

There was a tiny window in the cooler door, fogged but still enough for me to see through.

My jaw dropped as Crypt Keeper ripped off his clothes and shifted —bones snapping, fur bursting through skin as his body stretched and contorted. One second, he was a man, the next, a massive gray wolf, tearing into the nearest attacker with a snarl that rattled the door I hid behind.

Spook vanished in a blur, only to reappear behind one of the vampires, his blade already buried in the bastard’s chest before he removed his head with a swift slice. Then he blinked out again, moving like smoke, striking from every angle.

Killswitch was a raging beast, and I soon discovered he too was a vampire. With canines long and vicious, he ripped at the throats of the enemy. His blade moved with insidious precision.

Bugsy wasn’t so lucky. I saw him go down under two vampires, blood blooming on his side. Calix ripped one off him, snapping the vampire’s neck like a twig, but the damage was already done.

“Fuck!” Calix’s voice cut through the chaos.

The loss of one man didn’t seem to slow them down. In fact, it seemed to light a fire within the remaining three. They were relentless and brutal.

The fight ended as suddenly as it began, bodies littering the flour-dusted floor. Calix scooped Bugsy up, his face grim, and we all hauled ass for the alley where we’d stashed the bikes. As we ran, Killswitch was on his phone, breathlessly explaining to someone what happened.

Calix placed Bugsy on the ground on the side of the dumpster by the bikes. The other two watched the entrances to the alley.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked, at a loss.

“No,” Calix grimly replied.

It wasn’t long before a black SUV turned into the alley. My heart stopped. Shit, they found us.

“No, that’s for us,” Killswitch said.

“I—” I started but then stopped. Had I said that aloud? But before I could think about it any further, the SUV ground to a halt and the doors flew open. Two men got out, and Calix lifted Bugsy and carried him to the back.

“Get in,” Calix snapped at me. This time, I didn’t argue. Once I was in the backseat, he slammed the door. One of the men that had been in the SUV got on Bugsy’s bike, and they followed us out of the city.

* * *

Back at the clubhouse, the air was thick with iron and urgency. Killswitch had gone into an office with a big scary man they called Boomslang as soon as we arrived.

Dexter, the club’s medic—and apparently a healer of some sort, though I still wasn’t sure I wanted to know what that actually meant—had Bugsy on a table, hands moving fast, muttering under his breath in some language I didn’t recognize.

Calix, Crypt Keeper, and Dexter spoke in low, urgent tones. Words like “too clean” and “perfect timing” kept slipping out.

They weren’t saying it outright, but I heard the shape of it anyway.

Someone had sold them out.

And the Kings of Anarchy had a rat .