Page 2 of Blood

I slip my hands into the pockets of my jean shorts and give him my best sweet-girl smile. I pissed him off by not submitting to his requests, but I’m an ol’ lady, not a club slut—I will not be sucking his dick and stroking his ego just because he’s horny.

“Which Bear will I be getting today?” I ask.

Bear is the club’s sergeant at arms. His road name comes from the contradiction of his personality. On any given day, he’s either a mother bear, taking care of us all, or a bear with a sore head, tearing everyone a new one.

Tyler pushes a hand through his hair, swipes up a half-empty bottle of Jack, and takes a deep swig. “You have him wrapped around your finger. You always get mama bear.” He scoffs. I’m almost at the door when he calls out. “Come back, though, yeah? I need to feel you tonight.” He throws himself onto the bed and grabs his crotch to rearrange his junk before tipping back the bourbon.

I don’t know why everyone gets drunk the night before their wedding. Hangovers are an idiot’s game. Feeling like shit and puking is not how I want to spend my wedding day. I hope he keeps drinking. It gives him a limp dick. He won’t be able to feel it later, let alone use it.

“Can’t wait,” I mutter under my breath, righting my clothing and slipping out of his room.

* * *

It’s rowdy at the clubhouse tonight, with the energy amplified. It’s been a while since we’ve had a wedding. Mine has been on the table for some time, but I made Tyler wait until I finished my veterinarian degree. I didn’t want to end up knocked up and drop out. He talks about getting me pregnant as soon as we’re married. Being a mom isn’t something I’ve really thought about, but I’ve wanted to be a vet since I was a kid and a monster figured it would be funny to strap a firework to my cat’s tail and set it off. His family didn’t find it funny when my daddy burned down their house.

The familiar twinge tightens my chest at the thought of my dad. Thirteen years since his death, and I’m still raw. Everyone tells you that time heals wounds, but it’s a lie. Time only slows the bleeding.

Mom tried her best to pick up the pieces after his death, but she was useless even before he died. She was a teen mom when she had me still trying to raise herself. That’s why Harley and I are so close. I practically brought her up.

I rap my knuckles on Bear’s door, surprised to hear his deep, aggressive voice call out, “Better be fucking good.”

I hide my grin. His mood will shift when he sees it’s me. I push the door open, and the smell of bike grease and sweat hits me in the face as I cross the threshold. Bear’s mammoth figure dwarfs the desk he’s curled over. Whatever is on his screen has him transfixed.

“Isn’t porn beneath you?” I jest, sitting my ass on the edge of his bed.

His head whips up, the chair beneath him straining from the sudden movement. “Rogue,” he beams. The lines on his forehead iron out. A flood of warmth expands in my chest. His pet name for me is the same one my daddy used. Dad used to say that I was nothing like my namesake. I was more like him, a rule breaker.

“No one is above watching porn. You know you’re in a clubhouse, right?” Bear mocks, frowning.

“Yes, do you?” I raise a brow. Every other brother is out in the main room getting drunk. The place is full of women desperate for the chance to spend the night with a Devil, and here he is, in his room, leaning over his computer like a teenage boy.

“It’s not porn. It’s business,” he says dryly.

Bear is constantly dealing with business. If it weren’t for him, this place would probably collapse. He’s old school and rose through the ranks during my father’s era, when Tyler’s dad was the club president. Tyler was too young to take the baton at the time, and Bear knew it, but brothers like tradition and loyalty. Tyler had been raised to take over the club, it was just…no one had expected it to happen so soon.

A sudden sound screeches from a machine on a small table beside the bed. I mimic the sound involuntarily, gripping my chest and almost falling off the mattress. A smile curls my lips as Bear’s deep chuckle reverberates through the room. “Sorry, Rogue. It’s a printer, not a bomb.” Lights begin flickering from the machine. After a couple of seconds, it spits out what looks like photographs. “Pass them over, will ya?” He turns back to his computer and taps on the keyboard.

“Who are they?” I hand over the first couple of images of a group of men standing outside what looks like a bar.

“Kings of Sin members,” he grunts, disdain coloring his tone. My stomach knots at the mention of my father’s killers. A buzzing beginning behind my eyes.

“Why?” I ask, blowing out a shaky breath staring down at the images.

He takes them from me, then jerks his chin toward the printer as it deposits more pictures into the tray. “We need to know the members and their ranks. I keep a record.”

That’s smart.

“Their president was killed last night,” he says with a somber grunt. My head whips up. I feel the erratic pounding of my heart in every vein. Tyler didn’t mention anything about it.Why didn’t he tell me?

“Us?” I ask, a tremor snaking over my skin. The buzz behind my eyes turning to a thump.

“No,” he states, his voice hard, shutting my brain down before it can even run with the possibility or the repercussions if one of ours had killed their president.

The Kings of Sin have grown exponentially over the last decade. Compared to us, they have more chapters, wealth, and connections. To make a move on their president would be suicide. The rift between our clubs will always be there—there’s too much pain to wash away—but there haven’t been any violent attacks in years.

“Rogue, don’t start overthinking,” he warns, jabbing a finger at the printer.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” I say sheepishly, handing him more pictures.

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