Page 35 of The Biker's Vow

“I’m so sorry,” I cry as Creed shoves me under the cool spray of the shower in the motel room he rented so we could get cleaned up. The rest of the club is making use of the inground pool while they wait. I feel terrible for throwing everyone’s schedule off.

I know they wanted to get to Anarchy tonight.

“It’s okay, beautiful. Shit happens or, in this case, puke.” He chuckles, but I’m not laughing.

My head is throbbing and all I want is to take a nap in an ice-cold room.

“Not so sexy now, huh?”

“I’d still hit it even with the puke.”

“Ew.”

“Just telling it like it is.” He squirts shampoo on the top of my head and starts lathering it up. The gesture is sweet, reminding me of the first time I took a shower with Smoke. Minus the throw-up.

Creed is attentive and doing all the things a boyfriend would minus the part where he's my boyfriend. He's different than I expected. Of course he loves to flirt and doesn't hide the fact when other women are around. He's been nothing but kind and respectful. He's always checking to make sure I'm comfortable before we mess around.

I figured he'd be more of a take what I want type.

Maybe he's usually that way and simply taking extra care with me this time around.

Chapter Thirteen

Anarchy, California

“Kingpin.” Murder lifts his chin, stretching out a hand to shake the hand of the President of the RBMC Nashville chapter. A man with a reputation larger than life. No one fucks with Kingpin without suffering the consequences. He’s been a damn good ally to us over the years.

“How’s that songbird wife of yours?”

The smirk that crosses his features at the mention of Eve says it all. The man is smitten with family life.

The waitress who has been serving us our beer rushes over with another glass and refill on our pitcher as he takes a seat opposite side of the table from me. East, our VP, wasn’t able to make the ride to Anarchy. Out in California. Every June Kings of Anarchy MC hosts a rally.

This is my first time making the ride. Thought I’d be making it with Ember, but shit happens, and plans change. I shake out of my own thoughts and listen in on the conversation happening.

“Give us a minute,” Murder rumbles.

I shove off to the nearby bar but can overhear their conversation if I listen hard enough since I’m practically standing behind Murder watching his back just as Irish is looking out for Kingpin. You can’t miss him with his striking red hair nor mistake his accent.

“Fuck. I can’t scratch my balls without that bastard trying to stick his hands down my pants,” Kingpin mutters and Murder chuckles.

“He’s a joke. Never was fit for his title. Someone should have put him down already.”

A sly grin crosses Kingpin’s face. “You know me. I always have a backup plan. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

“Indeed.”

Those rumors I’ve been catching wind of aren’t merely rumors. Prez is meeting with Big Daddy sometime this weekend to talk about options and what a patch over could mean for all of us. There’s been some whispers that our Cloud Nine problem has been a fucking attack on us from a national level. Something that doesn’t sit right with any of us. That after all these years, our loyalty and patches have meant nothing to a certain individual. Why else would he try to destroy not only our city and reputation, but our club.

All in the name of greed and power.

Piece of shit. I’d do us all a favor and take him out if I could get close enough.

Pussy motherfucker didn’t show up like he was supposed to. Gave some bullshit excuse. No doubt knew what would be waiting for him if he did.

Their conversation shifts to motorcycles and titties.

---