by Bella J
“It was.” Granite’s expression turned somber, eyes creased at the corners. “It was until she became my life. My home. But it’s also about more than that. It’s about all of us. You and I, Dad left us in charge of this club because he trusted us. He trusted that we would do whatever needed to be done to protect each and every member, to give them what they deserved. And what they deserve is revenge.”
I charged forward, stopping a few feet from him. “And we can give them that. Why do you have to step down for it to happen?”
He took a deep breath, craning his neck and looking up at the sky. That was one thing missing in the New York sky at night. Stars. You didn’t see any since city life polluted and pretty much ruined the air around us.
“Tell me the truth.” He looked at me. “Tell me the real reason you don’t want to be president.”
“I don’t have time for this.” I turned my back on him and got onto my Harley, starting the ignition before putting on my lid.
“Onyx.”
The sound of the engine ripped through the night, echoing far in the distance. I bit my lip, clutching the ape-hangers tight. “I don’t want to take your place because there’s not a chance in hell I’ll ever be a good president.” I glanced at him. “Not like you, big brother.”
There was nothing left to say, so I rode off, leaving Granite behind. For the first time since all this fucked up shit happened, I managed to tell the truth. Even though every word coated my tongue with bitterness, I hoped Granite would now leave well enough alone and just let me be Onyx. Vice president of the American Street Kings and brother to the president. I didn’t want to be more than that. I didn’t have it in me to be more. Everyone always said I was a loose cannon, a wildcard waiting to wreak havoc. And I never denied it. I was all about breaking rules, not enforcing them. Besides, if it wasn’t for our dad’s instructions and dying wish for Granite to be president and me to be VP, I never would have accepted the rank. I would have been happy as a pig in mud with the sergeant-at-arms tag. Or any rank that required a trigger-happy maniac like me. But the day I accepted the VP tag, it never crossed my mind once that I’d have to one day step up and take Granite’s place. He was so good at leading. Still was. His shoulders were broad enough to carry the responsibility. Mine weren’t. Responsibilities and I simply didn’t get along.
Besides, once I got that tag on my cut, I was sure the day Granite needed to be replaced…I’d be dead.
Chapter Four
Wraith
I’ve been to many bars in my life, seen a lot of the restrooms some of them have. But I had yet to find one that had a decent sink, walls without lipstick graffiti, and toilet doors without the phrase ‘John and Eve fucked here, December 21st, 2012.’ With the amount some of these holes charged for a beer, one would think they could afford a better place for a person to take a piss.
My reflection in the dirty, oval-shaped mirror mocked me. I hadn’t seen the real me look back at me since I was ten years old. All I saw was an unfamiliar face, and eyes with too much eyeliner and too little humanity. Benevolence had been stolen from me, and all it left behind was an empty vessel of fake smiles, phony laughs, and simulated words hidden within mundane conversations.
I glanced down at the spot on my wrist untouched by black ink. There wasn’t a real reason behind my decision not to have that piece of skin tattooed. Maybe I was waiting for inspiration to hit me with an image that would seal that last void on the flesh of my right arm.
Void.
Wraith.
Perfect alias.
The restroom door swung open, the hinges creaking as two women came stumbling in, drunk on their asses. It wasn’t even three p.m. on a Sunday afternoon, and already the tramps came out to play.
Their drunken laughter sent a bolt of instant annoyance to my brain. No one could ever be that fucking happy. Not even copious amounts of alcohol had the power to conjure up such ecstatic behavior. It was stupid. They were stupid.
I crouched and zipped down my mid-leg boot to secure the hidden blade. A lesson I learned a long time ago, that a woman could never be too careful. As I straightened, I gave myself a last once-over in the dirty mirror, scrunched up my ponytail, and popped my lips. The black straps of my bra showed under the gray shirt I was wearing, and the ever-increasing summer heat had forced me to wear a pair of jean shorts rather than my preferred leather pants.
The loud buzz of the bar hit me the second I walked out of the restroom, laughter and cheerfulness spreading like a fucking infection. Most of those smiles plastered on unfamiliar faces were alcohol-induced, people trying to pretend they were happy, that life was treating them well. But it wasn’t. And even if life threw you a bone every now and then, you’d pay for that motherfucking bone with blood some time or another. Guaranteed. Life favored no one. Some people were just better at pretending than others.
Approaching the bar, my tequila was ready and waiting for me, the bartender standing with a huge grin on his face. “Still one on the hour, every hour?”
I took the shot glass and held it up, smiling back at him. “No lemon.”
“No lemon.” He placed a new beer on the counter and wiped his hands before tending to other customers.
The shot of tequila was instantly forgotten the second I swallowed. Alcohol had lost its ability to sting and burn my insides years ago. I couldn’t even remember the last time I cringed after drinking a shot.
The sound of roaring engines came from outside, a rolling thunder of power vibrating through the bar. I closed my eyes, loving the echo of what some people would interpret as noise, yet I appreciated as music. There was nothing quite like it, the low rumble of a Harley engine. Put a few of them together, and you had yourself a fucking melody.
I smirked to myself when I noticed all the curious eyes stare out the windows. One would think a bar like this would be used to motorcycle crew visits on a Sunday afternoon. After all, this place was the farthest out of town with a decent menu and reasonable prices. On a sunny day like this, it was every biker’s wet dream.
The doors opened, and I could hear their shit-kicker boots hit the concrete floor. Not even the eighties rock song playing on the jukebox in the corner could hide the sound.
I didn’t turn around. Didn’t pay them any attention. The entire bar was already making them feel like gods as they walked in.
The bartender held up a hand. “Yo, Granite. What can I get you, man?”
“The usual.”
“And for the lady?”
I took a quick glance over my shoulder at the lady in question—a petite blonde who practically disappeared at the side of the mountain she was walking next to.
“Screwdriver for the lady.”
The man had the kind of voice that could silence a room with a single fucking syllable. Deep, low, husky, and intimidating as fuck. Around here, everyone knew who he was. You didn’t need to see the skull and American flag patch on his cut to know he was the president of the American Street Kings. His reputation preceded him—the King who once ruled the streets of New York before the Pythons started moving in on their turf.
I turned my attention back to the beer I was nursing when I heard a familiar voice behind me. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I turned in my seat, staring at the man across the room. His sky-blue irises swept my way, an amused grin appearing on his face when he recognized me.
He rubbed his fingers across his beard as he sauntered closer. “You again.”
I nodded. “You remember me.”
“How can I forget?” He stopped a few feet away. “You were the date I didn’t go on a date with.”
“That makes no fucking sense.”
“And neither did our date.”
For a small eternity, I held his gaze, those pretty blues of his not even blinking. I’d be a fool not to have noticed how dangerously attractive he was with his dirty blond hair all disheveled, and unruly beard all manly and buff. Not to mention those broad shoulders and six-foot-three of
pure muscle and testosterone. It would be hard to miss a man like him—especially with those pretty ‘fuck-me’ eyes.
He grabbed a beer from the waiter and stepped in next to me. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this all on her own?”
“What makes you think I’m on my own?”
He shrugged. “No man in his right fucking mind will leave a woman like you alone and unattended in a bar like this.”
“Oh, my God.” I rolled my eyes. “Does that line even work?”
“Sure does,” he replied unabashedly.
“Well,” I took a sip of my beer and swallowed, “if a girl is dumb enough to fall for that, she deserves to get played.”
A low laugh rolled over his lips, a sound that demanded my attention be turned to his mouth. His lower lip was heavier, the corner of his mouth twitching. There was a visible line through his beard on the side of his chin, the remnants of what I guessed was once a scar on his face.
I glanced down at the tag on his cut. “Vice president, huh?”
“Yup.”
“So, you’re a King?”
He closed his eyes as a little moan rumbled in the back of his throat. “God, I love it when a woman calls me her king.”
“I did not say you’re my—”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“Stop.” My lips quirked up, unable to hide my amusement. “You’re an ass.”
His brows drew together. “First I’m your king, and now I’m an ass?”
“Oh, my God.” I took a sip of my beer to mask the smile that was threatening to appear. The last thing this guy needed was to see that I was entertained by his egotistical humor.
“Which crew do you ride with?”
“What makes you think I ride with any crew?”
He shrugged. “With a ride like yours, you have to be.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t ride with a crew. I’m what you would call a free rider.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, believe it.”
With his elbow on the bar, he leaned to the side, eyes studying me, and his mouth pulled up in a smirk. “So, where did you disappear to the other night?”
“I went home.”
“I tried to follow you.”
“You followed me?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Tried. Tried should be the word we’re focusing on here.”
“I’m sorry, I’m too busy being freaked out by the word followed to focus on any other words coming out of your mouth right now.”
The confident smirk remained on his face, and he wasn’t the least bit concerned that I’d take him for a stalker rather than a potential lay. “We were on a date. I had to make sure you got home safe.”
“Yet you failed.”
He shifted closer. “I can promise you it wasn’t due to lack of trying.”
I cocked a brow. “Onyx, is it?”
“Yup.” He pretended to look around, thinking. “Um, it’s something with a…wait, don’t tell me.” He snapped his fingers. “Poltergeist.”
“Wraith.”
“Same thing.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m starting to regret saving you from walking around with gonorrhea right now.”
His face lit up, and he laughed. “I guess I owe you one.”
“Yeah, you do.”
With a wave of his hand, he called the bartender over. “Let me guess. You’re a tequila girl.”
“What gave it away?” I stared out in front of me, not looking at him.
“I can figure out a lot of things about people solely by looking at them.”
I swallowed, a sudden discomfort forcing me to clear my throat.
“Well, that, and the three empty shot glasses in front of you.” He motioned to the bartender, indicating he wanted two of whatever was in the empty shot glasses.
For some unknown reason, relief settled in the pit of my stomach. The mere thought of anyone figuring me out wasn’t exactly comforting.
I gathered my composure and relaxed a little into the seat. “That could have been any liquor.”
“No. It was tequila.”
“How can you tell?”
He shifted closer, his broad shoulders and tall frame boxing me in. “I observe. See, even though there are no traces of lemon, lime, or salt, by looking at you, I can tell that only the best will do.” He leaned his head to the side, those blue irises scrutinizing every contour of my face. “And everyone knows tequila is best.”
Oh, he was good. He was really good. And if that mastered charming act of his wasn’t enough to seduce, the woody scent that wafted off him would surely do the trick.
I licked my lips, the movement catching his attention. The chair swiveled as I turned it slightly so I could come as close to him as possible, and I crossed my legs. His jaw set, lips slightly parted as his eyes met mine.
I leaned toward him, shifting in my seat so I could bring my face closer to his. I inhaled deeply, and the vein in his neck started to throb faster.
“Your smell, it’s woody. Spicy. Cumin, maybe? And there’s something citrusy, something fresh and…enticing.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and my lips twitched. I pulled back a little so I could look into his eyes. “Let me guess. Armani Code, is it?”
He pressed his lips together, his gaze not letting go of mine for even half a second. The summer heat and cigar smoke filling the bar couldn’t stop the space between us from becoming palpable. Intense.
I shot him a smirk. “See, I’m good at figuring out people too. And judging by your expensive taste in cologne, it’s clear only the best will do for you.”
The edges of his mouth turned up, the first sight of a devilish grin. The blue hues in his irises seemed to darken as he kept staring at me. Seconds passed without us saying a word, and I could practically hear his fucking heartbeat.
The slight tap of his finger on the counter filled the silence between us, and he pursed his lips before straightening and grabbing his beer. “I’ll see you around.”
I tipped my beer bottle his way. “I guess you will.”
With a grin on his face, he walked off, and I turned in my seat. “Onyx,” I called.
“Yeah.” He glanced at me.
“Next time you follow me, try to keep up.” I winked, and he bit his lower lip before turning back and heading over to where the rest of his crew sat.
The guy might be an asshole, but somehow, he made assholery look good.
Chapter Five
Onyx
“Who’s your friend?” Manic tipped his beer toward the bar.
“Someone I met the other night.”
“She’s good looking.”
I shot him a warning glare when I caught him ogling her. “Take those manwhore eyes of yours off her.”
“She your old lady?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll keep my manwhore eyes on her, fuck you very much.”
If I was able to slice through his skull with my eyeballs, I would have done it right that instant. Fucker might have a grotesque mark on his face, but the ladies loved him. It was like that scar was a fucking chick magnet.
“She ride with anyone?” Granite placed his arm around Alyx’s shoulders.
“She says she doesn’t.”
“A woman as fine looking as her?” Manic chimed in. “I find that hard to believe. If she’s not riding with anyone, she has to be fender-fluff.”
“Do you want a piece of glass in your eye?”
Manic smirked all open mouthed while chewing on some peanuts, and Dutch slapped him on the head. “Stop fucking with the guy, would ya?”
I settled in my seat, throwing warning glares in Manic’s direction every ten seconds. The annoying-as-fuck smirk remained on his face, making it clear his new goal for today was to piss me off.
“It’s been weeks,” I said to Granite. “When is Ink going to start joining the club on
rides?”
“The man’s a little preoccupied, with Neon’s rehabilitation and all.”
“That guy does not catch a clue, does he? Neon doesn’t want him.”
Alyx reached for her drink. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“What? The woman has been begging him to leave her the fuck alone for weeks now.”
“Yeah, but I get the feeling it’s like this inside game between them.”
“Like what? He chases her like a dog with his tail between his legs, and she kicks him in the balls every time?”
Alyx chuckled. “Something like that.”
“Fucking masochist, if you ask me.”
Manic slammed his empty beer bottle on the table and whistled to a waitress for a refill before turning his attention back to me. “So, Onyx. You decided whether you’ll be the new boss yet?”
With a snarl, I kicked my boot into his shin. “Shut the fuck up.”
“What? Everyone here’s thinking it. I’m just the only one with the balls to ask.”
Alyx got up from her seat, shooting us a knowing smile. “I need to use the restroom.”
Granite’s old lady caught on quick, knowing we didn’t discuss crew matters in front of women…until Manic.
“Dude, seriously?” I stared at him in disbelief.
“Onyx is right. No talking shit in front of the ladies.”
Manic held his hand up in surrender. “My bad. But I’m serious, though. Onyx, what’s your deal, man?”
I chugged down the rest of my beer, and the waitress came around just in time for me to place the empty bottle on her tray. “Can a guy not get drunk in peace without discussing crew shit?”
“Nope.”
“You’re lucky I actually like you, or I’d be wiping that smirk off your face with my fist.”
Manic straightened. “Dude, look at this scar and tell me if you think that would actually get me to shut up.”