Page 26 of Whispers of Fire

What petrifies me is that, contrary to them, I don’t feel a thrill at the idea of it.

“Thank you, guys,” I sign with a warm fake smile, one I know no one will be able to see behind the perfect facade. I just give up because there’s nothing more to say. Despite being my friends, they don’t understand my struggle because it involves thinking about… more.

About more than what we were raised for.

They hug me and we leave the girls’ bathroom and head to our first class of the day.

Chapter 7

Vox

What a fuckin’ morning.

Just as I was about to finally crash in my bed, catch a few hours of sleep before hitting the club, my phone starts ringing.

"Ares," I grunt, my voice rough, like gravel scraping against pavement. It's been a hell of a night, driving from Chicago to get back to Rose. I still feel her vanilla scent in my house like a reminder of a treasure that will forever remain out of reach.

Damn it. So much for keeping her at arm’s length.

I snatch up the phone, my tired voice edged with a hint of annoyance as I growl, “What's up?"

“There’s a shipment arrivin’ at the warehouse, need you there. I’m off to Chicago to deal with O’brian.”

“Thought you had found an arrangement.” Hence why he only pierced one of O’brian’s knees with the electric drill.

“We did, just gotta see if the arrangement looks good before closin’ the deal,” he says, chuckling. Looks like the arrangement they found is the daughter of O’brian that they are giving to Ares. That’s how a lot of conflicts are settled in our world. I can only hope she's tough enough, cause’ once Ares gets his hands on her, there's no telling what he'll do.

When people think I’m a psycho it always makes me laugh, because compared to Ares, I’m a fuckin’ saint.

“Alright, be there in twenty.”

Hanging up the phone, I quickly throw on some clothes, my mind already shiftin’ into work mode. Haven’t slept enough but club business can’t wait.

Despite the exhaustion weighing down every muscle in my body, I get up and head to the door. As the vice-president of the club, I know my role. There's no room for hesitation or second-guessing. I grab my keys and head out, the roar of my Harley Davidson echoing through the quiet morning streets.

Pulling up to the warehouse, I spot some of the club's members unloading crates from a truck. Ares strides towards me, his frame covered in tattoos towering over the others.

“Vox," he grunts, "Carter is dealin’ with one of Jameson’s guys, Novac, in the basement and I’ve ordered Specter and Havoc to empty the truck.” He shows me, waving his chin at our new prospects and the truck pulled over in front of the gates. Jameson has a large part of the south of the country and he’d sent a few guys to sniff around our clients, which we don’t fucking like, so we’re going to send a message, letting them know they shouldn’t fuck around with the Raven Sons.

"Gonna give Mendiaz a call, get him over to pick up the snow," he growls, usin’ our code for the cocaine we're moving. Mendiaz, prez of the Mexican cartel, is one of our best customers, never causing any damn trouble.

“Carter’s been at it for hours, told him you would take over for the morning after dealing with Mendiaz,” he says casually, because torturing is something we are so used to in our world that we talk about it like normal folks talk about the weather.

I nod, “Sure.”

"Solid, okay, then I’m out," Ares replies, tossing the keys to the warehouse doors before swinging onto his Harley. The roar of the engine fills the air as he revs it up, ready to hit the road. I turn my attention to the other guys and enter the warehouse, the clanging of metal echoing off the walls.

I step into my office. Contrary to Ares’s, filled with paper and stuff I have no fuckin’ clue where it comes from, mine is tidy as fuck. Every item in its proper place. I even put equal distance between the pens on my desk. Makes me feel at peace when there’s too much chaos in my head.

Removing my cut, I carefully put it on my chair. My leather jacket is my second skin, meticulously maintained and never neglected, a symbol of my loyalty and commitment to our club. Even during fights, I never let it touch the ground.

Only true bikers know how fuckin’ valuable it is.

I take my phone and call Mendiaz. We settle the details of the delivery quite fast which gives me more time to go into our basement. I knock two times on the door, letting Carter know that I’m here to take over for him. He usually likes to stay from beginning to end with his hostages, but he’s capable of forgetting to eat and sleep and when that happens, he fuckin’ loses it.

I mean, more than his usual sociopath self.

Opening the heavy metallic door, he grunts, “Was about time, Vox, I’m fucking hungry,” showing me a guy hung by the wrists from the ceiling.

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