by A. E. Fisher
Our eyes were glued to each other, unable to look away. Both of us were wrapped up in my illusion of timelessness, as I reveled in the feeling of her helpless beneath me. Until the soft sound of glass dragging across wood had reality crashing back on top of me—and the realization that she had been too quiet.
I only had a second to see that twitch in her smile and feel the emptiness of my other hand before she swung.
Oh no.
I didn’t have time to move out of the way as the whiskey bottle came crashing down on my head.
I cried out in shock, my hands automatically lunging up to my head as the pain splintered over my skull before I could even think of the consequences.
Free of my weight and hands, Anna used it against me, her foot pulling loose from my thighs and her heel coming down hard on the back of my knee. It caved and my body staggered to the side as she jumped up from the bar. Her heels clacked against the wood floor like the crack of fire as she spun and fled as fast as she could across the room, out the door, and into the car lot before I could even think to reach for her.
“Fuck,” I hissed, trying to shake the faint ring in my ears. I felt liquid run down my neck and reached to touch it. It wasn’t blood, thank fuck, but it was the expensive whiskey she’d managed to get her sticky fingers around.
“She doesn’t hold back.” Lamb’s voice replaced the fading ring in my ears, but its hint of amusement grated on my nerves just the same.
“Bitch could have killed me,” I growled, my boots crunching on the glass fragments as I sat on the stool. I immediately noticed the direct contact of my ass on the seat and felt my anger spike. “Fuck. She still has my wallet,” I snapped, shoving myself out of my chair before collapsing straight back in it as my head throbbed in anguish.
Lamb handed me a small rag to wipe away the whiskey as I fought the faint dizziness, ready to go after her ass, when Pipe came storming through the door. I let out a growl of frustration, the rag pressed to my throbbing skull, clean hair now going to be sticky from my whiskey wash, as I saw Pipe open his mouth.
“Prez, we’ve got a visitor, and I don’t think you’re going to like who it is.”
“I’m not going to fucking like anyone at the moment,” I growled, registering the concern etched onto Pipe’s younger face. I threw my hands in the air, my eyes straying to Lamb’s face, who flashed me a smirk before looking over to where Pipe was still standing stiff as a board. Newbie hadn’t seen many visitors in the year of prospecting he’d done so far; he would probably be concerned over our delivery guy. Then again, Pipe was a sturdy fucker and it took a lot to unsettle him.
I turned toward my vice president. Lamb’s eyes scoured him, cataloging his tense behavior, before setting down whatever bottle of booze he’d been reorganizing. Not a good sign. “Who?”
“Charon.”
Chapter Two
Anna
“Fucking bastard,” I grumbled, still feeling the sore ache across my back that the bar and his heavy ass had left. I grabbed the wallet out of my passenger seat and stepped out of my car, locking it behind me.
I walked up to the county jail, pawing my way through the wallet. I took whatever money was left and slipped it in my back pocket, calling it damage compensation for my wrist, before taking out the platinum credit card. I scoffed at the name written on it—Nikolay Nosov—knowing it wasn’t his real name. It was a children’s author in Russia, a famous one, too. Any idiot would know if they googled it. But Wolf was a simple man and wasn’t the type to think too much into a fake name.
“Good evening, Miss Anna,” a rough, aged voice greeted, causing me to look up.
An older man stood with the door opened wide. His light sandy-brown hair was beginning to thin around the crown of his head, and dark rings hung heavily under his eyes. His uniform was ironed and his tie loose around his neck, the collar undone by only one button; and his shoes, although black and recently polished, had a dusting of dirt on the top. His badge straight, but his pocket was weighed down by a pack of nicotine gum peeking out the top. “Sheriff Jennings,” I returned with a grin.
“Please,” he scoffed. “With the amount of time you’re here, you might as well call me Jerimiah.”
“Does that mean you’ve finally warmed to me, Sheriff?” I gave him my most charming smile, ignoring his comment about his name. I never called him by his name, no matter how many times he told me to. I didn’t want to become too friendly and do things in front of an officer that I really shouldn’t do. Stuff I otherwise did regularly.
“Sure. If you stop hanging around those troublesome boys,” he grumbled, also brushing over my use of his title.
“You know I can’t do that," I said on a laugh. “Those boys fill my pockets as much as they do this town’s.”
The sheriff chose not to acknowledge that comment, living to interfere with those boys’ lives as much as his pride would allow. They didn’t mind, though; it reminded them that just because they belonged to this town, it didn’t mean they owned it. Well, most of them. “Now, get inside, I ain’t gonna stand around like a doorstop all day. I got places to be.”
“Yes, sir.” I took his offer with a mock salute, earning me a playful eye roll, and stepped through the open doorway, where I spotted June, the fed-up, fifty-something receptionist, waiting for me with a tired look on her face, as usual. Sheriff Jennings was just about to close the door when I called out, “Best hide the smell of those cigarettes before you go see your wife, Sheriff.”
“And you stop stealing Wolf’s card before he finds out,” he threw back, letting the door shut behind him, chuckling as he went.
“It’s not like I ever try to hide it from him,” I scoffed at the closed door before turning on my heels and walking over to the desk. June held out her hand to me, not bothering with a conversation we both couldn’t give a shit about, and I handed her Wolf’s card before heading toward the gate.
It was left open. The quick whispering ended as I came to a stop in front of the boys’ jail cell. “Gotta say, I’m tempted to leave you in here this time, my selfless and brave musketeers.”
Jax pulled out a huge grin, his face a mask of mischievousness and completely absent of guilt. His body was covered in all sorts of tattoos from the neck down that peeked through several holes in his shirt, and his dark, normally mussed hair had upgraded to wild.
Pretty groaned, looking more ragged than I’d ever seen him, a defeated look on his beautiful model-hot face, his pale blond hair dyed with a tint of... was that blood?
And poor, little newbie Mint kept his lovely pale green eyes behind pinched lids as he stayed curled up and groaning on the metal detention bench. I think it was Mint’s first real night out with the infamous party animal we called Jax, and I had to feel sorry for him. Not everyone could drink his moonshine and live to tell the tale.
“Should’ve come out with us.” Jax laughed, rising and stretching from his bench seat. “It was fun.”
“Fun isn’t the word I’d use,” I scoffed, still staring at the new recruit and spotting the tiny bald patch on the back of his head.
“Fucking nightmare is the word I’d use,” Mint snapped, taking his sweet time sitting up on his bench, only to groan and drop his head in his hand at the movement. “Not that I can remember a fucking thing.”
Pretty just sighed, rising from his seat on the opposite bench next to Jax, and came up to the bars. I looked him up and down, noting the tears in his shirt, a few scratch marks faint on his cheek, and the missing belt. All in all, he was in his normal state after a night with Jax.
“I don’t know why you haven’t learned your lesson yet,” I said, despite knowing how much of a charming and persuasive bastard Jax could be.
“Just get me out of here. Please,” he pretty-pleaded, and I could read in his eyes that he had all but given up fighting Jax. Pretty had just turned twenty-four, which had been their excuse for celebrating last night, and of course, gave Jax a reason to break out the moonshine. He ha
d become a new recruit when Lamb brought him in like some ragged stray when he was nineteen, and since then, he’d had enough time to learn that no matter how many times he said “never again,” there would always be an again.
I shook my head, taking pity on the poor man, and waved my hand down to June, who pressed the buzzer to open the door. It gave a horrifying screech as I swung it open, and even Jax recoiled at the sound.
Recovering from it quickly, the tall, inked, and tanned southern boy swaggered out the door with Pretty limping behind him. It took Mint a minute or so longer to gather himself before he got up to walk past me.
“Don’t think your old military superiors would be happy to know their soldiers can’t keep track of their shoes.” I laughed as I saw his feet, his toes poking out the holes in his socks, covered in grit and dirt. Mint looked down at them, only just noticing, and sighed, unable to bring himself to respond. He just walked out the door and into the car lot.
I followed after them, picking up Wolf’s card on the way out and putting it back in his wallet before slipping it into my back pocket as I pushed through the door.
All of them stood gathered around my car at a door each. My little red Volkswagen Beetle looked tiny surrounded by the towering masses, even while temporarily incapacitated. I walked to the front, seeing Jax and Pretty squabbling over the front passenger door. I watched, unamused, as Jax kicked Pretty in his gimp leg, sending him staggering back.
Pretty was more than ready to punch him back in his handsome face when I swaggered up between them. “Mint, you’re in the front.”
Pretty and Jax both frowned at me.
“Would you rather walk?” I warned, not in the mood to deal with their sibling-like squabbling as I eyed up Mint, who looked ready to throw up. I wasn’t even going to pick them up, until I pissed off Wolf—and almost knocked him out. Still, it wasn’t my loss if they had to walk.
The two read as much in my gaze and didn’t say another word as they climbed into the back seats before Mint dropped into the front. I slipped into my front seat and rolled down Mint’s window. “Your head isn’t allowed in this car,” I warned. “This thing is a bitch to clean, and I won’t hesitate to bury you alive if you throw up in it.”
Mint scowled at me, about to open his mouth to no doubt bitch at me with his poor attitude, when Jax poked his head up front. “I’d listen to her, brother. Should have seen her when I took Pretty and Hunter out last time.”
“Fuck’s sake,” he hissed but leaned his head out the window.
I didn’t realize all it took was a hangover from hell to get Mint to talk so much.
“Don’t sound so smug, Jax,” I said, looking through my rearview mirror to see him with his arms folded behind the back of his head. He was squashed up next to Pretty, who seemed determined not to talk to him. “The only reason Wolf isn’t picking you up is because he probably has a concussion.”
Jax laughed. “What’d you do this time?”
“I think that’s the least of your problems.” I gave a dark chuckle. “Wolf knows you fed him your bullshit moonshine last night. I’m handing your fine ass over as soon as we get back.”
His smile fell off his face, and I almost laughed at the fear that replaced it. “Shit,” he breathed, not even able to latch his narcissism onto my compliment of his ass. “You can’t let him at me when you’ve pissed him off first!”
“He hits you because he loves you,” I teased, turning on the engine and pulling my car out onto the road.
“Does that mean the reason you gave him a concussion is because you wanna ride Prez’s dick?” he taunted, his classic grin back on his face.
“Not as much as I want to snap yours off right now,” I retorted.
“Jeez, woman. You always get defensive when it comes to Wolf.” Jax laughed. “Has Prez finally gotten under your skin?”
“Shut the fuck up, Jax,” Mint hissed. “Don’t need to hear your voice all the way back.”
Fellpeak was a small town, so the journey home took only five minutes.
“Don’t be such a spoilsport just because you can’t handle your booze,” Jax argued.
Ten minutes if you walk.
“That shit ain’t booze. It’s fucking poison,” Mint snapped back.
Not to mention, it was nice weather considering it was fall.
“Shut up, both of you,” Pretty growled.
“Oh, fuck off, Pretty. You drank that shit, too. Don’t go barking up my ass,” Jax groaned.
The breaks screeched and the car jerked forward as it came to a sudden halt. The smell of burning rubber filled my nose as I pried my stiff hands from the steering wheel and turned in my seat. Mint had his door open, his body leaning out of the car, throwing up, while Jax and Pretty both pinned themselves against the back seats, their eyes looking anywhere but mine.
“Walk.”
“What?” Jax jerked up in his seat.
“Get out,” I repeated, slow and careful, making sure to punctuate each sound. “And walk.”
Pretty was out of the car in seconds, and although Jax hesitated for a moment, I saw him slowly open the door and step out before they both came around to the passenger door and helped Mint to his feet.
The second the passenger door was slammed shut, I put my foot on the gas and drove away, not giving them a second glance.
It was only another two minutes or so of a peaceful drive before I came up to the compound gates and spotted all the brothers gathered out front. Aaron, or as the brotherhood had christened him, Pipe, stood guard by the gate, but instead of watching me drive up, he had a super focus on the crowd of brothers.
“Pipe,” I called out to him. He didn’t respond at first, but the second he recognized my voice, he spun like his heels were on fire, and his eyes bugged out when they landed on me. And not in a good way.
“Fuck, Anna,” were the first words out of his mouth, and I immediately knew that whatever was going on wasn’t good.
He moved to open the gate, and I saw Wolf’s head come up from the crowd the second my car came to a stop, and two familiarly bright green eyes were staring down at me before I could even get out.
“What’s going on?” I asked as Hunter’s large, freshly-tanned hand came around my bicep. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?”
He began to lead me toward the clubhouse, his green eyes flickering back down to mine. “I got back ten minutes ago. Got a message from Lamb to get here as soon as I could.” He frowned down at me. “I thought you were the one who told him I was back?”
“Lamb’s got his own connections that are a hell of a lot faster than mine,” I retorted, feeling that little spike of annoyance I always got when Lamb beat me to information. I was connected, sure, but Lamb was on another level, and despite how much I loved the sly bastard, he had also become somewhat of a rival of mine. “But that’s not the point.” I returned to the topic. “What the fuck is going on over there?” I pointed to the crowd.
As we passed, I managed to see through a gap in the crowd and spotted a man sitting on a bike in the center, knowing he wasn’t one of ours. He wore his leathers, but he was facing me, so I couldn’t see the colors on the back. All I could make out was a patch on his front, but it was too far for me to read it. Through the gaps in his coverings, I could see dark skin and hair. He was leaned back, comfortable as he looked up the great wall that was Wolf, who seemed to dwarf the man on the bike, despite seeming tall himself.
As if sensing my gaze, his eyes cut straight through the crowd and met mine. Even from the distance, I could see the bright, molten gold against his dark skin, the sun’s light reflecting off them in a way that made them seem as if they were almost glowing.
“Charon?” I breathed. My whole body jerked to a stop, breaking Hunter’s grasp on my arm. A deep tremor raced down my spine at the sight of him. This man was not welcome. Not in my world. Not on my compound. And certainly not near my boys.
Charon was president of the Grim Reapers.
The president of the club that just unofficially took over our neighboring club, the Hell’s Runners. They were like the big boss of the western states, including Oregon, and were shrouded in legend and mystery. And despite Charon being the face of the club, there was even less known about him than any of the other members—the ones we knew existed, anyway.
Charon and his club had also been participants in a plot by the Hell’s Runners that had nearly killed Mallory, one of the few women I actually liked and Hunter’s wife. Not to mention, she had a three-year-old son who almost became an orphan because of it.
He came into our MC family and stirred shit that almost killed a woman, destroyed a man, and orphaned a child. There were few times in my life when I lost my temper. And there was probably only one other person on this earth who could stop my rampages. But that person wasn’t here right now, and the one thing I couldn’t stand was someone hurting those I held dear.
Never again would anyone get away with hurting my loved ones.
Never again.
Hunter must have seen something on my face, because his eyes darted between me and the gathering group and his foot took a long step forward. I moved one slow step back, my gaze never moving away from that man.