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Chapter One

R age

“That ref was blind as shit.” I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the counter before glancing over at the club’s enforcer. “How the hell are they gonna call interference on a clean hit?” We’d watched the Warriors played the Tonoka Thunder the night before at the clubhouse.

Killer’s shoulders went up. The 6’5” 285 pound Samoan loved full contact sports.

Hockey, Mixed Martial Arts, Boxing. You name it.

If there was violence and someone was likely to get drug out bleeding or broken, you could consider him a super fan. “Only thing worse than the blind fucking refs was the Thunder’s defense. Wide open fucking net, and they still couldn’t finish.”

Reign chuckled, shooting the bright orange Nerf basketball across the room into the flimsy net hanging on my office door. “Aye. Ye’ talk that much shite online, ye’ get yer arse handed to ye’ before the puck even drops.”

I snorted. “It was pretty fucking entertaining.”

He smirked. “Aye, it was.”

Having him back still felt unreal. He’d been released from The Federal Detention Center in Miami just over a year ago after serving a a dime for trafficking narcotics across state lines. The Feds had tried to flip him but he’d kept his mouth shut. Our Road Captain was fucking loyal.

Killer opened his mouth to say something else when a high-pitched whine cut through the room, rattling the windows violently.

“The fuck?“ Reign muttered, already pushing off the sofa. My brows were in my hairline. The fuck was right.

Shoving off the counter, I jogged out the front door right behind him and Killer.

Just as the shop door closed behind me, four crotch rockets whizzed by, the riders wearing dark hoodies and full-face helmets, making it damn near impossible to get a read on who the fuck they were as they blew through the intersection.

Mother fucker. My jaw tightened.

“Who’re these feckin’ clowns?” Reign growled.

We stood there watching as the bikers sped down the Boulevard until they disappeared from sight.

I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t know.” But that was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?

Killer pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear. “You see that shit?” he barked, pacing back and forth along the sidewalk.

I couldn’t hear his voice but I knew Zero was on the other end. The club’s IT man took the club’s security serious. Knowing how serious, I’d bet a month’s worth of wages that he was probably already pulling up footage from the traffic cameras while simultaneously hacking into every private feed on the street. When it came to the club’s safety, our new tech man didn’t fuck around.

Zero had the club’s entire operation wired inside and out with top-notch everything. Cameras covered every angle of our businesses, the clubhouse, and other key spots around town.

“Yeah, full-face helmets,” Killer confirmed, drawing my attention. “Couldn’t get plates. Fuckers were too fast.” He paused, listening to whatever Zero was saying on the other end of the call.

“Right. Let me know what you find. Later,” he replied before ending the call and shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Think it’s the same punks from last week?” I eyed Killer.

“Maybe.” He nodded.

Fuck. I didn’t buy into coincidences. It was too convenient. First messing around by our warehouse by the docks and now this? Naw. This was no coincidence. Whoever these fuckers were, they were intentionally making their presence known.

Reign grunted from beside me. “Chief ain’t gonna like this.”

No. He definitely wasn’t.

Before we could pick it apart anymore, a sleek white sedan pulled into the lot at the side of the building and parked.

We watched as the door opened, and out stepped my next client.

Reign whistled lewdly at the pretty little brunette wearing tight jeans and a low-cut top that showed off her best assets. She reminded me of one of those bitches in the shampoo commercials when she flipped her shiny hair over one shoulder and sauntered toward us with her eyes locked on me.

My lips twitched.

It wasn’t anything new for chicks to throw themselves at bikers. Some wanted a walk on the wild side, some had daddy issues, and other’s wanted a hard fuck they couldn’t get a home.

“Damn,” Killer murmured.

“Hey, Rage,” she purred, shifting her weight, making sure I noticed the curve of her ass.

“How ya’ doin’, darlin’?” I scraped my teeth across my bottom lip, not even trying to hide that I was checking out her tits. She and I both knew what she was really there for.

Reign smirked, already backing up toward his bike. Killer did the same, exchanging a knowing look with him before they bumped fists.

“We’ll catch you at the clubhouse,” Killer said, amusement lacing his voice.

“Have fun, mate,” Reign added with a wink before they both mounted their bikes and rode off.

Whatever.

I turned my attention back to the pretty little thing staring up at me with hearts in her eyes. “Becky was it?” I asked, draping my arm over her shoulders.

“Brittany,” she corrected.

Yeah, whatever. It didn’t really matter.

Ushering her inside, I kicked the door shut behind us, twisted the lock with a satisfying click, and flipped the sign to ’Closed’.

When she looked up at me again, her eyes hooded.

Yeah.

She knew exactly what was about to happen.

The Jacksonville Saints clubhouse was rockin’ by the time I rolled in that evening. Friday nights brought out patch members, prospects, and hang-arounds. Judging by the packed parking lot, tonight was no exception.

Our clubhouse was the crown jewel of Saints territory. The two-story saloon sat on prime beachfront property at Jacksonville’s edge. Chief’s old man had snatched it up during the city’s expansion boom back in the 70s, before waterfront real estate prices went insane.

As I stepped inside, I cast a quick glance toward the bar. Cueball caught my eyes and lifted his chin. The prospect didn’t have to be prompted. He reached into the well behind the bar, pulled out a bottle of Bud, popped the cap off, and set it on the bar for me.

Good fucking man.

The crowd parted as my way through towards the bar. In one long pull, I drained the beer he’d sat out for me.

“Want another?” He chuckled.

“Fuck yes.”

Shaking his head, he dug into the well and sat another on the bar in front of me.

“Thanks.”

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Reign boomed from across the room.

I turned just as he threw a dart, sinking it dead center on the board.

Killer threw his arms up in the air. “You’re killin’ me smalls!”

Reign smirked before his eyes came back to me. “Your client give you a five-star review?”

I chuckled, thinking about Becky bend over my desk as I railed her from behind. “Bitches like me. What can I say?”

Dread, the club’s treasurer, let out a deep laugh, shaking his head. “Ain’t about likin’ you. Them bitches just wanna be able to say they got fucked by a Saint.”

“Either way, they keep coming back,” I shrugged, taking another swig of my beer.

“It’s all fun and games until one of them bitches turns into a stage four clinger.” Truer words, but still.

“Hate the player, not the game.” I taunted as I grabbed a dart from the table.

Killer grinned. “So you say until you end up with your tires slashed.”

I barked out a laugh, shaking my head.

Hell to the no.

That was Morpheus’ gig. The VP had a bad habit of fucking crazy bitches who thought a roll in the sheets was about more than getting off.

The bitches I banged knew the score.

Lifting my beer to my lips, I scanned the room and spotted Chief coming out of his office with a curvy brunette right behind him, wiping her mouth as he zipped up his fly.

I smirked into my bottle.

Since divorcing Tonya the Succubus last year, Prez has been fucking anything that moves. Not that anyone could blame him. Tonya was a frigid bitch.

“What’s got you assholes laughing so hard?” The man himself asked, reaching for the pitcher in the center of the table and pouring himself a glass.

I grinned, settling back in my chair. “Just thinking about the time that crazy bitch who worked at Heaven’s Door slashed Morpheus’s tires.”

Chief raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah, that was a fucking mess.”

A mess? That was putting it lightly.

Killer grunted. “She was hot, but damn, was she fucking nuts.”

Our VP had a thing for strippers. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. He had a thing for women with long legs and big tits. The shaking their ass part didn’t really matter.

Reign snorted. “Aye, Calista was her name. I’ll never forget it.”

I snorted. None of us would. Morph banged Calista in the office on a Friday night. The next night he’d set his sights on a different dancer and Calista went all Carrie Underwood on his ass, slashing his tires and taking a crowbar to his brand new paint job.

Chief let out a deep laugh. “He was pissed as hell. Tried to find her, but she took off. Pretty sure she moved to Texas.”

I took a swig of my beer, shaking my head. “Morpheus has a fucking type.”

Dread nodded. “Yeah, his type is bat shit crazy.”

Chief leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from amusement to serious. “Speaking of crazy, we need to discuss what happened this afternoon.”

Killer straightened up, and Reign’s laughter faded. I set my beer down, giving Chief my full attention.

“Zero pulled some footage,” Chief continued. “They’re definitely the group that was out by the docks.”

Killer’s eyes narrowed. “We any closer to finding out who they are?”

Chief released a long sigh. “Not yet. Zero’s still digging.”

I wasn’t concerned. He’d find something soon.

“But enough business,” Chief decided. “It’s Friday.” He gestured toward the bar where Trixie was making eyes at me, her top cut so low it was a wonder her tits stayed contained.

I sipped my beer as Trixie sauntered over, pressing herself against me. “Hey, handsome. Wanna go upstairs?”

My dick perked up behind my zipper. Trix was my go-to girl. Always warm and always willing.

“Sure, darlin’,” I said, sliding off the stool. “Lead the way.”