by K E Osborn
Pulling up to the gates of the Miami Royal Bastards, this clubhouse is like our second home base. Hatch and his men are basically an extension like another limb. Other chapters of the RBMC aren’t close like Tampa and Miami. I guess it’s the close proximity. We’re only a four-hour ride, so when we need each other, we’re always there. We never saw being on each other’s doorstep as stepping on each other’s toes, it’s more a kinship. Family.
We’re brothers, that’s all that matters.
I’m hoping the bond we have is strong enough and what’s going to help me right now because even though the Miami prez, Hatch, likes to give me shit, he’s a damn good friend. Parking my ride, the mid-morning sun aggravates the hell out of me. The humidity slickens my skin in a sheen of sweat. I swipe my brow as Hatch and his VP, Brew, walk outside to greet us.
Hatch’s tall frame is intimidating to most people. Not me, though. I know him so well. Been through too much shit together. To me, he’s just Hatch. Spark, on the other hand, is cautious around him, always on full alert. It takes a lot to earn the respect of Spark, but Spark is on high alert around most people, to be honest.
Hatch starts laughing, shaking his tatty head of long hair as he strides up to me. He puts his hand out for me to grab. I take it pulling him in for a back-slapping man hug. “Goddamn, you’re out during the day? Has hell frozen over?”
“Quit ya bitchin’. Can we get inside before I catch a sunburn?”
Hatch grips my shoulder. “Pussy. C’mon, I wanna know what has you riding out here in the middle of the day. Must be something good.”
Tensing, I exhale. “Yeah, we’re gonna need a drink for this, Hatch.”
A serious expression now crosses his face. Hatch signals, then we all walk inside. Spark strolls a step behind me with Miami’s older VP, Brew, as we enter the clubhouse. It’s much the same as last time I was here. The main area looks like a sports bar. A couple of large televisions line the wall. A long bar runs the length of one wall, and there are tables scattered throughout. Dark wood accents give it an old feel, and the walls are decorated with Royal Bastard patches and flags which makes for a patriotic clubhouse.
We walk over to the bar, and their club girl, Tash, avoids us, her eyes firmly focused on Spark. “Hey, Spark, nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”
Spark clears his throat, resting his elbows on the bar. “It’s been too long, darlin’.”
“Jesus Christ,” I murmur under my breath as Hatch watches the interaction play out.
“Tash be a gem and get us some beers,” I ask, snapping her puppy-dog eyes away from Spark.
She bows her head, turning to grab the glasses, then starts filling. Glaring at Spark, he turns his back to Tash, so we can get down to business.
Tash slides a beer over to me. I bring it to my lips, the nectar flowing down with comfort. After the long ride, it’s good to have something to ease the tension rolling through my body.
Speaking of easing tension, Hype and Sage walk through the clubroom spotting me. Memories of last time I saw them spring to my mind—and my cock—and I can’t help but smile. They make their way over, Sage shying away as I stand gripping hold of Hype in a back slap. “Hey, brother. Things good?” I ask.
“Yeah, man, all good now. Thanks for the hideout. It was, ahh… appreciated, even though they found us in the end.”
That’s how Dash got shot, protecting Sage at our safe house. My eyes drop to her. She’s still as gorgeous as ever. “You’re looking good.”
A flush crosses her cheeks. I remember them being flushed while I was fucking her as she was sucking on Hype’s cock.
That feels like a lifetime ago.
“Good to see you again, it’s been a while,” her angelic voice resonates.
“Glad shit’s settled down for you.”
Hype pulls her to him. Sage is wearing Hype’s property patch. Good on him. I’m glad he pinned her down. She’s a keeper.
Hatch tilts his head at Hype, basically giving him the order to fuck off. He was trying to be subtle, but I caught it anyway.
Hype lifts his chin. “It’s damn good to see you, brother. Don’t make it too long between visits, yeah?”
I raise my drink. “Got it.”
Hype and Sage walk off, leaving me with Hatch. I exhale, then take a drink while Hatch watches my every move. He’s always so calculating watching every move, every signal. He might be my friend, but he’s also a president, and his first interest is the safety of his club at all times. If I’m here to bring trouble, he wants to know about it.
I better get this over with.
No more stalling.
“Right, meeting room?”
Hatch nods. “You want a full church or just me?”
“You and Brew.”
Hatch grimaces. “This sounds serious. Should I be worried?”
“Worried, no. Open-minded… definitely.”
Hatch grumbles, “If this is another one of your hair-brained schemes, Nycto, I’m not sure how many times I can bail you out of the damn shit.”
I take another sip of my beer, gesturing for us to head toward the meeting room. “Let’s just go have a chat, yeah?”
Brew rubs his beard. His eyes focus on Spark, who doesn’t react. Good man. We enter the meeting room. It’s not huge but large enough to house an oval-shaped deep mahogany table etched with the RBMC logo in the middle. The inscription looks almost like it’s been burned into the woodgrain. Every time I come in here, I always think how fucking cool this table is. The chairs are highbacked wood matching the table. They are old-school here, but it suits the place. Hatch and his guys want the club to have a certain feel, and this room is no different. One wall is a deep burgundy color, giving the room warmth that you wouldn’t normally get from a bikers’ meeting room, especially when you compare it to ours back in Tampa. This place feels like home like you’re family.
Gotta say, it’s making me a little less on edge.
Hatch sits at the head of the table, Brew taking up his VP position, with Spark and I on the other side. I bring my fists onto the table, letting out a drawn-out breath.
“Spit it out, Nycto. Whatever you’re bringing in here, it’s not good. So, hit me with it.”
I lean back in the chair getting comfortable. Hatch isn’t going to like what I have to say. He’s never been a massive fan of the way Tampa makes our profits. Working with traffickers is not the way they like money to come in, and I get it, but hell, Miami isn’t aboveboard either. They sell heroin for Christ’s sake. Hatch’s nose is just as dirty as mine.
“We did a run last night. Typical run of the mill, nothing out of the ordinary. Six packages came in. We were supposed to transport them to a location, then Andrés’ men would collect from the location drop-off. They would then be dispersed to the buyers.”
Brew sits forward, the crow’s feet around his eyes appearing more predominant in the moment. “I’m not liking where this is headed.”
My eyes meet his. Brew’s like the wise old man in this club. He’s not old, not really, but for a man in his forties, against the younger guys of the club, he stands out.
“Yeah, with good reason, Brew… I fucked-up.”
Hatch snorts out a laugh. “You, Nycto, President of Tampa Royal Bastards is admitting to a fuck-up. Jesus, I must be in the Twilight Zone.”
“I’m serious, Hatch.”
He shakes his head. “You kept one, didn’t you? A girl?”
“How could you possibly know that?”
Hatch leans forward. “Because even though you try to come off as this tough, take-no-shit, hold-no-bars kind of asshole, you care. Deep down, you damn well care. I knew one day, one of those girls would strike a chord with you. Tug at your cold, dead heart.”
Spark shifts in his seat, his gaze boring into mine.
I groan. He wants me to admit the whole truth. “Fuck! Okay, yeah, so I took her, but… she has a sister.”
“Well, this just got even more interesting,”
Brew adds.
“I took her sister, too. The woman’s unaware I have her sis—”
“You took two?” Hatch bellows sitting taller as he glares at me with so much intensity that if his stare could radiate heat, I’d be burning up right now.
“I had no choice. I couldn’t stand to see her sold. She would never forgive me if I didn’t save her sister as well. So… I… Had. No. Choice.”
Hatch stands, turning his back to me, pacing the room. “You had a damn choice right back when you got involved with Andrés. You chose this life. You chose this path for Tampa. Fuck, Nycto. You’ve put your club at risk.”
“Andrés believes the two women drowned.”
Hatch turns back to face me, his face softening. “So what? What’s the compensation for losing two of his precious packages? What’s the damage?”
“One girl was worth 100, the other 150.”
He grunts. “I’m assuming you mean thousand. So, a quarter of a million combined? You can’t afford that.”
Brew huffs while folding his arms over his chest as I shake my head. “No. I can’t.”
Hatch lets out a mocking scoff. “So that’s what this visit is about. You need money? Why not give the girls back? You put up this front of a heartless monster… prove it.”
I stand, my lip curling as I stare at him. “I’m not giving Eva back.”
He smirks. “Well, well, she has a name. You actually care about her. This isn’t just some fucked-up game for you.”
I let out a frustrated groan as I turn, pacing the room. “I have enough to cover half. I understand if Miami doesn’t want to be dragged into this, Hatch, but I’ve come to you for help personally. If you’re not going to give it, then I’ll find it elsewhere.”
Hatch throws his hands in the air. “And where else you gonna go who’s gonna listen to this and not kick your damn ass? Sit down, dickhead. Let me talk to my accountant. I’ll have him transfer the funds to your account, but… it’s a loan. I need it back, with interest.”
I spin back to face him. I knew he’d come through for me. He always does. Just like if Hatch ever needed anything from Tampa or me, we’d be there for him.
It’s just how it’s always been.
We’ve known each other for fucking ever. We prospected around the same time, so when Miami and Tampa got together, Hatch, Hype, and I were always the ones standing outside the fucking bars in the motherfucking rain, watching the bikes, cleaning the mud off, doing the bitch duty.
We went through a fucking lot together, back then, and even more recently.
We have each other’s backs.
Always.
“Thanks, man. This means a lot.”
Hatch grips my shoulders. “I hope she’s worth it, brother. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re about to bring down on your club, just understand Miami doesn’t want any part of it. I’ll help you with this cash, but you know I hate this trafficking bullshit.”
I dip my chin. “I hear you. Thanks for the cash, brother. I owe you one.”
“You owe me 125K plus interest, but it’s what I’m here for. I got your back. Well, most of the time. Now get out of my clubhouse.”
“Not without a fucking beer first. It took us four hours to get here. Where’s your hospitality, brother?”
“Fine! Let’s go drink,” Hatch offers, and we walk back out into the clubroom.
Though my mind has now shifted back to Eva.
How’s she doing in my bedroom all alone?
First thing I’m doing when I get back is to go check on her.
Maybe because I’m worried, or maybe it’s withdrawal.
Either way, I know she’s bad for me.
Because I’m willing to risk everything for a woman I’ve only just met.
Chapter Eight
EVA
I am so tired.
But I can’t sleep.
I have no concept of time. Is it day or night? I have no idea because there are no windows, no natural source of light to give me any kind of clue.
Nycto’s been gone for hours. After what happened earlier, I have no idea if he’s even coming back.
Then there’s Ivy. My gorgeous, precious sister. Nycto said she was gone. Sold. I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. The thought is crippling me as I cuddle into a pillow that smells like Nycto.
All leather and sandalwood.
It’s strange because I want Nycto to come back for so many reasons.
The most obvious—so I can talk to him more about Ivy, but also because it’s lonely and boring in here on my own.
But there’s also a part of me which is completely intrigued by him.
He’s hard to read.
So alpha, yet there’s a softness in him. Something he tries to hide, and I don’t know why. I guess I’m going to have to pull him out from behind those walls he builds like some kind of fortress.
That is if he ever comes in here again.
Rolling on my back, I stare at the ceiling, the gray stucco reminding me I’m in some kind of bunker or vault. I don’t know where the hell I am, or why on earth I’m here, but Nycto, for some weird reason, chose me. It’s something I still don’t completely understand.
But when he’s around, something shifts. The air between us becomes thinner. My skin prickles and tingles. I don’t want it to. Hell, this man is part of the reason my sister and I were stolen from an underground damn nightclub in the first place. But honestly, I can’t control the way my body ignites when he’s around me, the way my heart beats faster in his presence.
Is it from fear?
Or because he excites me more than he terrifies me?
Those drugs he laced me with must have been pretty fucking powerful to make me think anything of him other than the asshole he obviously is.
The door handle on the door begins to rattle, making my head snap to it. I scurry up the bed, sitting right at the top. Bringing the pillow to my chest for comfort, my eyes fixate on the door. I have no idea who’s about to come through or what they want.
I’m scared it’s not Nycto.
I want it to be him.
Because if it’s anyone else, I’m not sure how they’re going to treat me.
The door opens, a small amount of light from outside shines through. I lean a little to try and catch a glimpse. It must be daylight as a strong frame comes into view. With it, my insides clench. Sunglasses frame his face making him look like something from a Top Gun movie. My stomach clenches in delight as he enters carrying a tray. He closes the door behind him, striding over to me.
“Eva,” his voice is low, raspy. It’s like he’s having trouble even saying my name.
I sit forward on the bed, lowering the defensive pillow from my chest. Nycto slowly brings the tray over, placing it on the mattress in front of me, then sits down beside it.
“You brought me food?” I ask, looking down at the Cuban sandwich and chocolate milkshake sitting nicely on the tray.
“You need to eat.” His tone is more demanding than considerate as he takes off his sunglasses. He looks tired, the dark circles around his eyes give him a worried appearance. I won’t let his demeanor lull me into some false sense of security, though.
I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “So, you can poison me? I don’t think so.”
He groans with a huff. “Always so fucking feisty. Fine, here.” He picks up the sandwich in his huge hand, brings it to his delectable lips, then takes a large bite. Placing the sandwich back on the plate, he chews a few times, swallows then sticks out his tongue. “And for good measure.” He picks up my shake, sucking on the straw. “Ahh…” He lets out a contented sigh like he’s enjoying himself. “Delicious. Now you try.”
I turn up my nose. “It has your germs on it. I don’t know where your mouth’s been.”
“I know where I’d like my mouth to be,” he murmurs so low I only just hear it.
“Excuse me?”
“Eat your food, Eva.”
Anxiety rolls through me. “Why? What’s going to happen to me?”
He jerks his head back. “Nothing. I want you to be healthy. I don’t need you starving yourself in here for no good reason. You don’t like the Cuban sandwich… I’ll get you something else.”
My stomach growls as I peer down at the giant meal begging to be eaten. I lick my lips, dying to take a bite. My hands instinctively move to the sandwich, picking it up. A sliver of mustard slides down my pinky, but it doesn’t bother me as I bite down right where Nycto took the first bite. I don’t even care about our mouths practically having touched by proxy right now.
The ham, pork, and swiss cheese taste like heaven. As I chew, the tang of a pickle tingles on my taste buds.
Nycto smiles. “There… wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I swallow, then take another bite right away. I didn’t realize how hungry I am. “This is delicious,” I mumble with my mouth completely full. Crumbs of Cuban bread fall from the corners of my mouth as I talk.
Nycto truly has the face of an angel but the aura of the devil himself. His lips push up in the corner, scrunching one eye, making the brown glisten in an even more attractive way. His lips part slightly—it’s seductive, a little arrogant like a true Casanova. “Trixie’s training at culinary school. So, we get all her fancy dishes here. Not that a Cuban sandwich is fancy, but she knows how to make them real good.”
Tensing a little, I can’t help but wonder who this Trixie is.
Is she his sister?
His girlfriend?
Hell, I know nothing about Nycto or the other people here. Wherever here is.
Nycto senses my apprehension as he slides a little closer. Damn, he’s too good-looking!
“Trixie’s a club girl. Our head club girl. She’s been here since she was sixteen. We’re paying for her to go to culinary school. She wants to open her own restaurant one day. With us helping her, she’ll be able to achieve that goal.”
Taking a sip of my milkshake, I let it sink in.
The club girl is here.
He’s a biker.
I must be at his clubhouse.
“Is this clubhouse big?” I ask, attempting to ask the right questions to try and figure out where I am.