Page 15

Rio

The back room of the Devil’s Boneyard clubhouse smelled like old leather and cigarettes. I sat in the corner, trying to make myself invisible while keeping my ears open. Rebel had insisted it was okay for me to be here, but I didn’t know why. None of the other old ladies were here. In fact, Jordan had told me they pretty much were never allowed in these meetings.

Charming sat across from the Bratva man, his face a mask that gave nothing away. This wasn’t a social call. This was business -- dangerous business.

The overhead light was dim, casting shadows across the wooden table. Charming’s fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against his whiskey glass. The Bratva emissary -- a compact man with ice for eyes -- hadn’t touched his drink.

“So,” Charming finally said, breaking the silence. “You’ve come a long way just to talk.”

The Bratva man’s lips barely moved when he spoke. “We don’t waste trips, Halden.”

I fought to keep my expression neutral. Rebel had explained that all the men here used their road names. Only their families were supposed to use their real name. Halden Roberts was the man before the cut, before the presidency.

“Then let’s not waste time,” Charming replied, his voice deceptively casual. He had presence that men half his age would kill for. The gray streaking his hair only added to it. I’d never admit it to Rebel, or his wife, but the man was still sexy. “You’ve got information on Java.”

It wasn’t a question. It was the only reason any of us would be sitting here with a Bratva emissary, sipping whiskey in a back room while the party raged on the other side of the wall.

“We know where he is being held.” The man’s accent was barely perceptible, which somehow made him more unsettling. “And who holds him.”

I shifted in my chair, earning a quick glance from Charming that told me to be still. I forced myself to breathe evenly. Java had been missing for ten days. The club had been turned upside down searching for him. Every connection tapped, every favor called in. And nothing. Until now.

The emissary placed his hands flat on the table. “Your brother has managed to anger some very dangerous people, Mr. President.”

“He tends to do that,” Charming said, his tone dry. “But he’s still one of mine.”

“Of course.” The man inclined his head slightly. “Family is everything. This is something we understand.”

A patched member -- I thought they called him Gator -- stood by the door, arms crossed. His face was impassive, but his eyes never left the Bratva man’s hands. Smart.

“Who has him?” Charming asked, cutting through the bullshit.

The emissary’s mouth curved into what might have been a smile on anyone else. On him, it looked like a warning.

“The Albanians. Specifically, Besnik Vata’s crew. The Moretti family handed him off within twenty-four hours of sending you that finger.”

Charming didn’t react, but his fingers stopped their tapping. I had no idea who Besnik Vata was, but the stillness that fell over the room told me everything I needed to know.

“That makes things complicated,” Charming finally said.

“Yes.” The emissary leaned forward. “But not impossible. We have mutual interests regarding Vata.”

“Which means you want something.” Charming’s voice had hardened. “Spit it out.”

The Bratva man’s eyes flicked to me for the first time since he’d entered the room. I stared back, refusing to look away first. After a moment, he turned back to Charming.

“We need specific skills for this extraction. The location is… challenging.”

“You need Devil’s Boneyard muscle,” Charming translated.

“We need Ripper and Samurai.”

The name sent a chill through me. Samurai. I’d seen him around, always quiet, always watching. There was something in his eyes that told you he’d seen hell and brought some back with him. And Ripper… even the club members spoke his name differently.

“You’re asking a lot,” Charming said, his voice even.

“We’re offering a lot. Your brother, alive.” The emissary’s eyes narrowed. “Vata doesn’t typically return his hostages in one piece.”

My stomach turned. I’d only met Java twice, but he had kind eyes and an easy laugh. The thought of him in the hands of someone who’d make the Bratva send an emissary made my throat tight.

Charming took a measured sip of his whiskey. “What’s your stake in this? Bratva doesn’t do charity work.”

“Vata has something that belongs to us. Something valuable.” The emissary’s face remained expressionless. “The operation to recover your brother would create… an opportunity for us to recover our property as well.”

“A two-for-one deal,” Charming said.

“Precisely.”

The music from the main room swelled as someone opened the door to the hallway. The bass thumped, a counterpoint to my heartbeat. I could hear laughter, glasses clinking, the sounds of normal life while in here, we discussed what sounded like a suicide mission.

“Why Ripper and Samurai specifically?” Charming asked, his eyes never leaving the emissary’s face.

The man gave another non-smile. “Ripper because he can get into places others can’t. And Samurai because of his past. Did I mention Vata has also started trading in boys?”

I frowned. What did that have to do with Samurai’s past?

“Samurai’s not as active in missions anymore,” Charming said. “He has a family now.”

“We are aware. But…” The emissary shrugged slightly. “Of course, if you prefer to leave your brother with Vata, we understand. Family obligations can be complicated.”

The bastard was playing Charming, and we all knew it. But that didn’t make the play any less effective.

Charming’s jaw tightened. “When would this happen?”

“Three days from now. The location requires careful timing. Tides. Guard rotations.” The emissary reached inside his jacket, causing Gator to tense, but he only removed a small flash drive. “All details are here. I suggest you review them quickly.”

“And if I refuse?” Charming asked, though we all knew he wouldn’t.

The emissary stood. “Then we pursue our own interests alone, and you continue searching for your brother with the same success you’ve had for the past ten days.” He straightened his perfectly tailored jacket. “Which is to say, none at all.”

The silence that followed felt like a physical presence in the room. Charming looked at the flash drive, then back at the emissary.

“We’ll need both Ripper and Samurai with us,” he finally said, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. “But I’m coming too.”

The emissary raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

“It is now.” Charming stood, suddenly seeming taller, his presence filling the room. “Java is part of this club. Samurai and Ripper are my men as well. I don’t send family into the fire without walking in myself. Take it or leave it.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. The emissary studied Charming, reassessing. Finally, he nodded.

“Acceptable. But only you. No other additions.”

“Agreed.” Charming didn’t offer his hand to shake. Neither did the emissary. Some deals weren’t sealed with handshakes.

“We will contact you tomorrow with the meeting point.” The emissary moved toward the door, then paused. “Mr. Roberts. If you are planning anything… creative, I should warn you that my organization has contingencies in place.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Charming replied.

After Gator opened the door and closed it behind the departing emissary, the room fell silent again. Charming stared at the flash drive in his hand, his expression unreadable.

“Get Shade,” he told Gator without looking up. “And find Samurai.”

“I know where Shade is,” Rebel said. “I’ll go get him.”

I watched as my man walked out of the room, leaving me behind.

“What about Ripper?” Bones asked.

Charming’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I know exactly where Ripper is. That’s not the problem.”

As Gator left the room, Charming finally looked at me. “You didn’t hear any of this.”

I nodded. “I was never here.”

“Smart girl.” He downed the rest of his whiskey in one swallow. “I’m sure Rebel is pissed.”

“Because you’re going?” I asked.

“Because he’s not.” Charming set his glass down with a sharp click . “And because I’m about to ruin Samurai’s fucking day.”

He seemed older suddenly, the weight of the decision visible in the set of his shoulders. I hadn’t been with the club very long, and I had no idea what Samurai had been through, but if I had to guess, he’d lived in hell before coming to the club. It seemed he’d finally found peace. Taking that away, even temporarily, wasn’t something Charming would do lightly.

“But you’ll get Java back,” I said softly.

Charming’s eyes met mine. “Yes. We will.” He stood up. “Now go find your man.”

I walked out, letting the door click shut behind me. In the hallway, the music was louder, the bass pounding through the floor into my bones. Normal life, oblivious to what had just happened. In three days, Charming, Ripper, and Samurai would be walking into what sounded like hell to get Java back. And Rebel would be here, furious at being left out of the action, and wanting to go save the boy he’d watched over.

As I moved toward the main room, I caught sight of Rebel leaning against the bar, his cocky smile in place as he joked with one of the Prospects. He hadn’t noticed me yet. I took a moment to watch him. Since Shade brushed past me, it seemed he’d been found. And for whatever reason, Rebel had remained out here. Maybe he really was pissed about being left out.

But part of me was glad he would be here with me. All we could do was stand on the sidelines and hope they all came back alive. And that’s why I was glad he wasn’t going. If I got the news he hadn’t made it, it would gut me.

* * *

The main hall of the Devil’s Boneyard clubhouse pulsed with energy, a living thing fueled by music, booze, and bad decisions. I worked the bar with practiced efficiency, mixing drinks and handing out beers without missing a beat. Charming had said the Prospects always manned the bar, but I’d wanted to do it on the nights I came here with Rebel. Since we’d met here, it seemed appropriate. Unlike the other old ladies, I wouldn’t avoid this place. I belonged here more than the club girls did.

None of the old ladies liked coming here during a party. I could understand why. The mostly naked women roaming around and trying to latch onto any man in a cut wasn’t a pleasant sight. Not that I begrudged them the chance at finding a moment of fun or happiness with one of the guys. As long that man was single.

“Two shots of Jack,” barked a Prospect. His cut was still too new, the leather not yet softened by time and road grime.

I poured without looking, sliding the glasses across the bar top. “Ten bucks.”

“Put it on my tab.” He grinned. The brothers drank for free, but Charming had said I could charge the Prospects if they asked for anything other than beer.

“Don’t have tabs. Have cash?” I raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge me.

The Prospect’s smile faltered. Another patched member -- Magnus -- clapped a heavy hand on the Prospect’s shoulder.

“Pay the lady, dipshit. She ain’t here for your broke ass to practice flirting.” Magnus’s voice was gravel and whiskey.

The Prospect fumbled for his wallet, dropping a crumpled ten on the bar. I snagged it and turned to my next customer without acknowledging him further. That was the trick with these guys. Never let them think for a second that you were impressed.

The music switched to something with a heavier beat that vibrated through the floor and up into my bones. The lighting was all wrong -- too bright in some places, too dark in others. Bodies moved on the makeshift dance floor, leather cuts mingling with tight dresses and worn jeans. Club girls circled like vultures, their eyes constantly scanning for the highest-ranking member not currently occupied.

I grabbed a beer from the ice-filled trough behind me, popped the cap against the edge of the bar, and handed it to a gray-haired member I’d seen several times but never spoken to. Even though I’d been around the club a while now, and interacted with most of them, I was still learning everyone’s names and faces. The club was larger than most people probably realized.

“Thanks, darlin’.” He nodded, eyes appraising me like I was merchandise. “You’re Rebel’s woman, right?”

I stared him down. “I’m Rio.”

He laughed, a phlegmy sound that suggested decades of cigarettes. “Got some bite to you. Good. He needs that.”

I didn’t respond, just moved to the next customer. I wasn’t here to discuss my relationship with anyone, especially not some old man who thought he had the right to comment on it.

From the corner of my eye, I tracked Rebel as he lounged against the far wall, one boot propped against it, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. That was Rebel -- always looking casual while missing nothing. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and even from here I could see the cocky half-smile that seemed permanently etched on his face. Dixon Morreli, aka Rebel, had earned his road name a hundred times over. He answered to no one but Charming and even that was questionable on some days.

And somehow, against all odds, he was mine.

“Earth to Rio,” a woman’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You gonna serve me or just stare at your man all night?”

I refocused on Clarity, one of the old ladies who’d actually been decent to me since I arrived. She was Scratch’s woman, had been for years from what I gathered.

“Sorry,” I said, not meaning it. “What can I get you?”

“Tequila. The good stuff, not that paint thinner you’re serving the Prospects.” Her lipstick was perfect despite the late hour, her eyes sharp and knowing. Scratch sat at a corner table, and I knew she’d only come because he was here. She couldn’t stand the club girls.

Jordan had talked about Clarity in a few chats we’d had over the phone since I’d decided to stay. The woman I saw now didn’t seem to fit with how she’d described her. I wondered if she was trying on a new look or attitude, or if I was just misremembering. I hadn’t really interacted with Clarity much, other than a brief hello when we passed each other.

I reached under the bar for the bottle we kept hidden from the general crowd. As I poured her shot, she leaned in.

“Word is Charming had a visitor earlier. Bratva?” Her question was casual, but her eyes were intent. Why did I get the feeling she was testing me?

I shrugged. “Didn’t see anything.”

She studied me for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Smart girl. But if you hear anything about Java…”

“I’ll find you,” I promised, though I had no intention of sharing what I’d overheard. Charming had made it clear the meeting was confidential, and I wasn’t about to betray that trust three hours later.

Clarity knocked back her shot, then placed a twenty on the bar. I noticed her grimace and realized that wasn’t the type of drink she usually ordered. Yep. She’d been testing me. “Consider that a tip for putting up with all this crap.”

She smiled and disappeared back into the crowd. I pocketed the cash.

As the night progressed, I kept up with the orders, pouring drinks with increasing speed, exchanging barbs with patrons, and earning respect one smart retort at a time. The buzz of alcohol in my system -- just enough to take the edge off -- made everything seem sharper and duller simultaneously. The noise, the smells, the constant movement swirled around me like I was standing in the eye of a storm.

Rebel hadn’t moved much, though different members had stopped to talk with him throughout the night. His position in the club was solid -- not leadership but respected enough that even senior members sought his opinion. I watched as he laughed at something Gator said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his whole face transformed by genuine amusement.

Then I saw her.

The club girl wasn’t particularly remarkable -- bleached blonde hair, only wearing a bra and panties, makeup that had started sliding south hours ago. But the way she moved, weaving drunkenly through the crowd with singular focus, her eyes fixed on Rebel, set off every alarm in my head.

I tracked her progress while mechanically filling a beer glass from the tap. She stumbled slightly, caught herself against a chair, and continued her determined path toward my man. The possessiveness that surged through me was primal and immediate. I didn’t think -- I reacted.

“Hey.” I shoved the half-filled beer at the waiting brother and vaulted over the bar in one fluid motion. The man shouted something, but I was already moving through the crowd, shoving bodies aside without apology.

The girl reached Rebel before I could intercept her. I watched her press herself against him, one hand on his chest, the other sliding up to touch his face. Her lips moved, saying something I couldn’t hear over the music. Rebel’s expression didn’t change, but he didn’t move away either.

Red filled my vision. I grabbed the girl’s shoulder, spinning her around to face me.

“What the fuck?” she slurred, eyes struggling to focus.

I didn’t waste time with words. My fist connected with her jaw, sending her staggering backward into a table. Glasses crashed to the floor. The music kept playing but conversations around us died as heads turned toward the commotion.

The girl touched her face, shock momentarily overriding her drunkenness. “You crazy bitch!”

I grabbed her arm, my fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and dragged her toward the exit. She tried to resist, her feet scrabbling against the sticky floor, but she was too drunk and I was too angry for her to stand a chance.

“Rio.” Rebel’s voice behind me, a question and a warning all at once.

I didn’t stop or look back. “Got this.”

No one moved to intervene as I hauled the struggling girl through the door and onto the clubhouse porch. The cool night air hit me like a slap but did nothing to dampen the rage pounding through my veins.

I slammed her against the wall, her head bouncing off it with a dull thud . She tried to claw at my face, but her movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. I stepped back just enough to give myself room, then swung again, harder this time. My knuckles crunched against her cheekbone. Her eyes rolled back, and she slid down the wall, unconscious before she hit the ground.

I stood over her, breathing hard, my hand throbbing. Part of me wanted to kick her while she was down, but I reined it in. She’d gotten the message. No need to overdo it.

I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe blood off my knuckles, unsure if it was hers or mine. Didn’t matter. What mattered was that everyone in that clubhouse was about to understand exactly where things stood.

I left her crumpled where she lay and walked back inside. The music was still playing but had been turned down a notch. Every eye tracked me as I strode through the room, past Rebel, and back behind the bar. I could feel him watching me, could sense his tension without having to look.

I grabbed a bottle of whiskey, took a long pull straight from it, then slammed it down on the bar top. The sound cracked through the relative quiet.

“Rebel is hands off,” I announced, my voice carrying easily in the hushed room. “Next bitch who touches him loses more than consciousness. We clear?”

The silence held for one beat, two. Then someone -- Gator, I think -- chuckled. It broke the tension, and the room gradually returned to normal volume as conversations resumed and attention shifted away from me.

I busied myself cleaning up the area behind the bar, not looking up when I sensed Rebel’s approach. He leaned against the counter, waiting until I finally met his eyes.

“That was interesting,” he said, his voice neutral, but his eyes dancing with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

I shrugged. “She was drunk.”

“So are half the people here.”

“She touched what’s mine.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “That right?”

“Don’t act surprised.” I reached for another bottle, needing something to do with my hands. “I don’t share.”

Rebel caught my wrist, turning it to examine my bruised knuckles. His thumb gently traced the broken skin.

“Should get some ice on this,” he said.

“It’s fine.”

“Didn’t say it wasn’t.” He released my wrist but stayed where he was. “You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

I finally looked at him directly. “Yes, I did.”

His expression softened almost imperceptibly. To anyone else, he would have looked the same -- cocky, slightly amused, untouchable. But I could see the shift, the acknowledgment of what I’d just done and why.

“Finish up whatever you’re doing,” he said, straightening up. “Then we’re going home.”

The promise in his voice sent heat curling through me, a different kind of fire than the anger that had driven me minutes before.

“Could leave now,” I suggested.

Rebel’s smile turned wicked. “Nah. Let ‘em all sit here thinking about what I’m gonna do to you later. Build the anticipation.”

He walked away before I could respond, returning to his spot against the wall. But something had changed. Clarity was looking at me differently -- with newfound respect. The club girls kept their distance from both me and Rebel. And the patch members nodded to me as they approached the bar, acknowledgment in their eyes that hadn’t been there before.

I’d crossed a line tonight, made a public declaration of territory and relationship. In the strange, tribal world of the MC, I’d staked my claim and backed it with violence. It wasn’t how normal relationships worked. But then again, nothing about life with the Devil’s Boneyard was normal.

As I poured shots and opened beers, I felt a new kind of power thrumming under my skin. I belonged here. I’d earned my place. And everyone in this room now knew exactly where I stood.

With every passing minute, Rebel’s eyes grew darker, his posture more tense. Anticipation built between us like an electrical charge. By the time I was ready to leave, the air between us was practically crackling with it.

I didn’t say goodbye to anyone as I walked toward him. I didn’t need to. He pushed off the wall as I approached, and without a word, we headed for the exit together, his hand possessive on the small of my back.

Behind us, someone whistled. I didn’t turn around. Let them talk. Let them wonder. I’d made my position crystal clear tonight, and that was all that mattered.