SANGRE: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 6)

by Chiah Wilder

  “I’m really sorry, guys, about being late. I totally forgot we were rehearsing today.” Isla jumped up on the stage.

  “No worries. Shit happens. In two hours we should get through our set,” Gage said. Isla nodded, picked up the microphone, and waited for the first song to begin.

  Almost two hours later, she placed the microphone back in the stand, sweat glistening on her face. “That was a damn good rehearsal, guys.”

  “Fuck, yeah,” Arsen said. Jac mumbled in agreement, and Gage high fived her.

  She jumped down and went over to the bar and picked up a stack of napkins, wiping them over her face. Jim set a bottle of beer in front of her, smiling. “You sounded damn good up there.”

  “Thanks.” She picked up the bottle, tilted it toward him, and then took a long drink.” Anxious to see Sangre again, she pulled out her phone and began to tap his number.

  “We need to talk,” Benz said from behind her.

  “There isn’t much to talk about. You’re the type of guy who just can’t be faithful. I knew that when I caught you with those two fans back in LA. We’re better at being friends than we are at being in a relationship. The truth is, we shouldn’t have gotten back together after we broke up the first time. I need so much more than what you can offer me, and you need so much more than what I can offer you. It’s okay.”

  He jammed his hands into his pockets, and she saw a muscle jump in his jaw. “This is bullshit and you know it. You’re not even going ballistic like you did the last time. You been fucking that asshole biker, haven’t you?”

  Isla rolled her eyes while shaking her head. “You’re mad at me because I’m not flipping out about finding you screwing Lexi? Seriously? I gotta get going.” She looked down at her phone again.

  Benz grabbed her arm and shook her. “If I find out you were fucking behind my back, you’re going to be more than sorry.”

  She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “So now you’re threatening me? You really are an asshole, you know that? I’m out of here.” She jumped off the stool and pushed past him. “See you all later,” she said to the band members on stage, and then walked out the front door.

  Mark’s familiar car was parked in front, and she leaned against the brick wall and tapped in Sangre’s number. As she waited for him to pick up, out of the corner of her eye she saw someone approaching her. Mark was out of the car in less than a second, walking around the front of it and coming over to her.

  “Hi, Isla,” Lexi said.

  I can’t believe this bitch has the nerve to say anything to me. Ignoring her, she turned away and smiled when she heard Sangre’s voice.

  “Are you finished?” he asked.

  “Yes. Did you get everything done that you needed to?”

  “Yep. I’m leaving now.”

  “I have to go home first because I need to jump in the shower. I always get so sweaty after a good hard practice.”

  “No problem. I should be there in about twenty minutes or so. See you then.” Isla slipped the phone into her pocket.

  “Is everything okay here?” Mark asked, his gaze fixed on Lexi.

  “Yeah. It’s just”—she waved her hand at Lexi—“this bitch wants to talk to me and I don’t want to talk to her.” She glared at the woman. “Why are you still here?”

  Lexi shifted from one foot to the other as she tugged at her pearl necklace. “I just want to explain things.”

  Mark shoved himself between her and Isla. “Move on, lady.”

  Isla took a few steps forward and stared at her. “There’s nothing to explain. You want Benz … you can have him. I’m so over him.”

  Lexi’s eyes widened. “Just like that? I thought you guys were tight.”

  She laughed dryly. “Sorry to spoil it for you, but you actually did me a favor. I don’t have anything more to say to you.”

  “I didn’t mean to do it. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s fine. It really is.”

  Before Lexi could reply, Mark stepped in front of her. “I told you to move it on outta here. I meant it. Go.”

  With slumped shoulders, Lexi turned away and went into the bar. Isla shook her head and smiled at Mark. “Thanks. Sorry to involve you in my drama.”

  He folded his massive arms against his chest. “It’s my job.”

  “Sangre said he’s coming soon. I can just wait in the bar if you want to take off.”

  “I don’t leave until my boss says I can. I’ll be in my car.”

  Isla went back into the bar, and when Benz saw her he wrapped his arm around Lexi while staring at her. She went over to the counter and slid on one of the barstools.

  “You want another beer?” Jim asked.

  “No, thanks. But a bottle of water would be awesome.” As Jim knelt down and rummaged through the cooler, she placed her chin on her hand as she stared at Lexi and Benz’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Benz was nuzzling her neck, but it seemed to Isla that Lexi wasn’t all that into it. She had a strained look on her face, and her body looked stiff.

  “Sorry that Benz is being such a jerk,” Jac said, sidling up to her.

  “We’re through,” she said softly.

  “It’s probably for the best. Even though Benz is my bandmate and friend, I never thought he deserved you.”

  Warmth spread through Isla when she heard his words. Jac rarely got involved with any of the band’s drama. Other than being an awesome bass player, he rarely spoke and when he did, it was only a few words or grunts. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for that.” He lifted his chin at her and sauntered away.

  The roar of a motorcycle made her insides tighten as happiness and a huge dose of excitement zinged through her body. Sangre!

  “Here you go,” Jim said placing a bottle of water in front of her.

  “Thanks.” She brought the bottle to her lips and took a sip. The front door burst open, and Isla watched Sangre swagger—his tight jeans fit just right, and the tattoos danced on his flexing biceps. Her heartbeat increased the more she took him in, and delicious flashbacks of him pounding into her as he held her down with his powerful arms made her squirm on the stool as desire ribboned through her.

  His smoldering gaze caught hers as he came toward her, and an intense heat sizzled between them. She met him in the middle, and he wrapped his tattooed muscles around her. “I love the way you feel,” he whispered into her hair.

  Acutely aware of Benz in the room, she gave Sangre a quick peck on the cheek and pulled away. “I need a shower.” She didn’t want to hurt Benz. She wasn’t the vindictive type like he could be. Even if Sangre hadn’t come back into her life, she and Benz wouldn’t have made it. The fact was that Benz was a much better friend than he was a boyfriend. She walked into their relationship with eyes wide open, knowing that he’d never stayed faithful to any woman he’d ever been involved with. Somehow, she’d thought it would be different with her. He’d pursued her so ardently that she figured he’d be so happy they were finally together, that he wouldn’t need to screw around. She’d been wrong, and it was okay. Breaking up with him was like a thousand pounds had been lifted from her heart and soul. It was liberating.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Let me grab my microphone.” She whirled around and went back to the stage. Gage had wrapped up her mike neatly as he always did. He’s so thoughtful. What a sweetie. Melody has a keeper for sure.

  “Are you taking off with your new ‘boyfriend’?” Benz’s voice was hard and sharp like glass.

  “I’m leaving with my friend. It looks like you won’t be lonely. I’ll see you at the studio tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Fuck, Isla. No one can hold a candle to you. Let’s stop all this before we both have major regrets.” Benz scrubbed his face.

  “We’re still friends. I’ve jumped off the roller coaster. I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’ll be on time. Promise.” She yelled, “Goodbye” to the other band members and walked out of the bar.

  “Isla, wait!” Le
xi called after her. The clacking of her heels reverberated on the sidewalk.

  Isla handed her microphone to Sangre who put it in one of the saddlebags. She turned to Lexi. “I’m done talking to you. I told you that.”

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m done with Benz,” she said, her eyes traveling up and down Sangre’s body.

  “Fuck off, Lexi.” Isla settled down behind him and linked her arms around his waist. The engine fired up and the cams drowned out Lexi’s reply. Turning her head away, she looked out at the street and the neatly mown grass banks surrounding the various storefronts bearing a façade of brick or stucco.

  Sangre pulled away from the curb, and soon the warm air cocooned around her as they rushed past people, houses, and cars. Sangre veered the bike left, and they were soon in front of her house. Streetlights radiated pools of golden yellow on the sidewalks; here and there, illuminated windows cast slivers of paler light across the lawns, and glinting stars danced in the inky sky.

  “Do you want to park inside the garage?” she said, pushing the button on the remote. He rode up the driveway and shut off the engine.

  Soon they were wrapped in each other’s arms kissing up a storm. Isla had taken a quick shower, and when she came into the living room, the sight of Sangre sitting on the couch—boots kicked off, feet propped on her coffee table, and folded arms adorned in tat sleeves—it was more than she could stand. She ran over and pounced on him like she used to do when they were kids, only now they weren’t, and what once brought on a wrestling match now brought on a major kissing session.

  As his hand slid under her top, her insides churned with burning desire for him. I guess we’ll be eating in.

  And that suited her just fine.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Carrie Nolan tapped her pink-tipped nail against the steering wheel as she glanced at the clock in her car: 10:00 p.m. Why did I agree to meet at this hour? Normally, she conducted business during the day, but when she got the call that the Deathriders wanted to book a show at the community center, she was beyond ecstatic. Having a big national band book a show in Alina was rare, and with a large concentration of heavy metal fans in the area, she knew landing the contract with the band would be a huge feather in her cap.

  For the past eight years, she’d fought and scratched her way from working the ticket booth in a music venue to owning her own talent buying business. She was now the number one promoter in Alina, and the ones who used to turn their nose up at her when she started putting on local shows, now called her to book shows at their establishments.

  She chewed on the cap of her pen. I wished I would’ve booked Iris Blue. I screwed up on that one. When she’d read about Isla Rose’s breakdown and return to Alina, she’d thought the singer was just taking a break from the music scene until her band signed with a label and they headed back out to tour. When she’d heard they had booked a performance at Trailside, she called their manager right away, but Kent had told her he’d already committed to the two shows in town. I can’t believe I blew that one, and I knew Isla when she was Jordan. Well, she didn’t actually know the singer, but they were in the same grade in high school, and she saw her perform in all the musicals. She wished now she would’ve taken the time to get to know Isla. Since she’s out of seclusion now, maybe I should call her for lunch. It wouldn’t hurt to befriend her for future contacts. Carrie pulled out her notebook and scribbled—Call Isla for lunch—and stashed it back in her tote.

  Outside the wind had picked up, shaking the trees and rattling along the warehouses’ rooftops. Why did I think this was a good idea? She looked around the desolate area, cursing herself for agreeing to meet so late at night in the middle of nowhere. The message she’d received had told her the band wanted to find a warehouse and use it for the concert. She’d found the owner of the one she was parked in front of, and he agreed to rent it out for a low sum. When she’d relayed the message to the manager, they’d agreed to meet at the closed factory.

  During the day, the area looked like any other, but under night’s cover, it looked ominous—like one of those abandoned mental institutions that were so popular in horror films. She shuddered. You’re letting your imagination run away. Stop it. She started tapping the steering wheel again and grew more and more agitated listening …

  … for something. Anything.

  The wind moaned loudly, and then a flurry of rain pattered against the car windows. She jumped and cried out when the clash of thunder roared as jagged lines of lightning lit up the sky momentarily. Inhaling and exhaling several deep breaths, she willed herself to stay calm.

  Then she saw it.

  The dark outline of a form fleetingly illuminated by lightning.

  Someone’s out there. Watching me.

  Scared out of her mind, she slowly turned her head, but she couldn’t see anything through the streaks of water running down her window. “I bet it was a deer or something,” she said under her breath. There were lots of wild animals around the area, especially in desolate places.

  Another boom made her cry out. Then a spectacular light show.

  And the figure again.

  But this time is was closer.

  Her heart pounded in her chest; her hands curled in nervous energy.

  There is someone … or something out there.

  I have to get out of here.

  More lightning streaks, but this time she didn’t see anything. Could it have been the trees? It was so dark and rainy outside, she couldn’t trust her eyes to see anything correctly.

  Suddenly, bright headlights came toward her, and she covered her eyes with her hand. Then her phone beeped. She looked down and opened the text.

  Manager: Sorry I’m late.

  Carrie: We’ll have to meet another time. I’m already on my way home.

  Manager: No, you’re not. I’m here. My car is facing yours.

  Annoyed, Carrie pulled down her visor but it provided little relief from the blinding lights.

  Carrie: Is that you with the bright lights on?

  Manager: Yes. Come to my car so we can go over the details and sign the contract.

  A shiver shot through Carrie. Suspicion niggled at the back of her mind. Something feels off about this. She turned on the ignition.

  Carrie: Let’s meet another time. The weather is getting real bad.

  Manager: If that’s what you want. The band wanted a contract by the morning. I have been dealing with other promoters.

  She thrummed her fingers on the dashboard. It won’t hurt to meet now.

  Carrie: I’ll just take the contract and review it at home then we can meet up in the morning.

  Manager: Perfect. I’m coming now.

  She turned on the windshield wipers and watched as the person got out of the car and ran over to her, an umbrella covering all features. She unlocked the door and the person slid in, the face still obscured.

  “Here,” the voice whispered. A hand gave her a yellow folder.

  She turned on the overhead light and opened it. Confusion rushed through her as she frowned. Inside, there wasn’t a contract; rather, there were clippings from Jefferson High when she went to school there. The articles were reviews of her performances in choir, and there were also photographs of her over the years, the most recent one from the day before. Icy fear wove through her, strangling her nerves.

  “What is this?” she said in a barely audible voice.

  “It’s all about you.” The voice sounded hoarse like the person had a cold or something, but it also sounded familiar.

  Where have I heard that voice?

  “I’ve been following you for a long time, Carrie Nolan. You always thought you were better than me. Remember how you laughed at me in high school? I wonder who’s going to laugh tonight. I have a feeling it’s going to be me.” Again a low voice, but this time anger and cruelty laced it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know who you are. Get out of my car.”

 
The wind howled around them as hail beat down on the roof of the car sounding like gun fire. Carrie’s mind whirled as she tried to figure out what to do. If I run outside, the hail will get me, but it’s my only chance.

  As if anticipating her move, the person grabbed her hands. The hood slid off, and under the overhead lights, she could now see the face more clearly.

  “You!” she gasped.

  Then the person broke the light and the car was plunged into darkness. Before she could react, the “manager” went into a frenzy: punching, scratching, stabbing. She screamed as she saw her own blood splattering across the windshield, the dashboard, and the steering wheel.

  “No! Please no!” she cried, reaching forward to stop the knife.

  But the sharp blade came down again, slicing through her, puncturing her dress and her flesh. The blade kept coming again and again, even after she stopped fighting.

  I’m dying.

  Then blackness descended over her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You’re in another relationship,” Army said, sitting down beside Sangre at the bar. “You always get that stupid look on your face in the beginning.”

  “Not in the mood, dude. Fuck off.” Sangre turned away from him.

  “Again, so soon? Man, you are a glutton for punishment,” Crow added as he elbowed Army, who sniggered.

  “Chains,” Sangre called out, ignoring Army and Crow.

  “Yo,” Chains replied sauntering over.

  “You got the real estate info?” Sangre asked.

  “Yup. I got it in my room. Are you gonna be around for a while?”

  “Nah. I’m going over to my parents’ for dinner. I can get it from you in the morning.”

  “Are you staying the night at your mommy and daddy’s?” Army said in a little boy’s voice.

  Sangre stood up and faced him. “I’ve had enough of your shit. You’re fuckin’ sick in the damn brain, dude. You should ask Breanna to recommend a good shrink. I’m trying to talk club business here, so either shut the fuck up, or I can do it for you.”