Page 12 of Blood

CHAPTER5

MEET THE KING

Isit at the bar, nursing the same glass of wine I’ve had since I came in an hour ago. My mood shifts as a chorus of giggles pours in from the door. A group of women walk in, dressed in outfits that would make a hooker blush. One pulls away and heads for the jukebox.

“Ray, bring us a jug and a round of shots. We’re celebrating,” a blonde orders the bartender, her red nails tapping against the bar top. She gives me a once-over before dismissing me as nonthreatening.

“I’ll bring it over, Maggie.” She follows her friends to a table in the center of the room, swaying her hips as she walks. They’re all fake. Fake blonde hair. Fake tits. Collagen lips. They look like triplets straight from the pages ofPlayboy. Another group files in as some old rock song croons from the speakers. Trepidation thunders in my chest as a sea of bikers fills the bar, Kings of Sin patches adorning their chests.The enemy. Her killers.

This is what I came here for. I imagined this moment. The reality? I’m facing a pack of wolves, holding my breath and hoping they don’t catch my scent. I’ve been coming in here every night for a week, but this is the first time any King members have shown up, barring a couple of old timers who came in yesterday to watch a game.

“What’cha drinking, sweet-ass?” My palms begin to sweat. A man leans on the bar next to me, his eyes on my tits as if the fabric of my shirt is nonexistent.

Sweet-ass? Really?I’ve been around the club my whole life. Being on the other side of things is different. I’m an outsider. No one would ever call me that at home, not without catching a right hook from me or a blade from Tyler. “I’m fine, thanks.” I hold up my glass, showing him it’s full. I’m polite but keep my voice steady and confident. Show weakness, and he’ll bite.

“Yes, you are fine.” The filthy grin is criminal. A cheeky glint lights his eyes. He’s handsome. Age lines crinkle around his eyes, showing a life of either laughter or scowling. Probably both. Black oil covers his hands, his knuckles healing with old scabs.

“Leave her alone, Dodger.” A petite girl with a bright-blue pixie cut smacks his arm as she passes, taking his beer bottle with her.

“Maybe she wants company,” he calls after, his gaze never leaving me.

“Not your company,” she hollers back. I watch her over my shoulder. Her ass sways in a pair of shorts complete with tights and tennis shoes. She’s the only other woman in here dressed as casual as I am in my jeans and a tee.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” he asks with a husky groan.

I slap my hand on my thigh and scoot forward on my stool. “I say, I need to pee.”

White teeth beam at me from his broadening smile. “I can get on board with that.”

Ew.

I pick up my glass and slip from the stool, making a quick getaway to the ladies’ room. His chuckle chases me through the throng of people.

I push open the door, stuttering in my step at the blue-haired girl standing in front of a mirror, applying lipstick. It breaks in half against her mouth drawing a line down her chin.

“Dammit,” she snaps, throwing it into the sink.

“Here.” I rummage through my purse and hand her a tube I carry with me. “Sinful red.” I wink, going to the sink and washing my hands. The walls are covered in peeling and torn photos of Hollywood starlets from the twenties.

“Thanks.” She quirks a brow, watching me in the mirror as she cleans her chin and then applies my shade.

“I’m Kitty.” She smacks her lips together then blows the mirror a kiss. Turning to me, she runs her gaze over my attire—jeans and a vintage Metallica concert shirt. I didn’t come here to get noticed. My plan is to make friends and get an in without having to whore myself out. I would never fuck a King member.

“Princess, but my friends call me Rogue.” It’s risky using my given name. If we keep tabs on their club, they no doubt do the same with ours. Though, Bear had no pictures of this woman here, Kitty or any women in fact.

“Well, Rogue.” She tosses the lipstick in my direction, and I catch it mid-air. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Following her back out to the bar my nerves shudder. More members have arrived filling the space. “So, Kitty—is that short for kitty cat?” I ask, my brow raised, once we’re seated at a table a stone throw away from the giggling triplets.

“Fuck no.” She places a finger in her mouth to fake gag. “I got the name because I always clean up at the card table.” She beams, lifting her shirt to show me a pair of aces tattooed on her rib cage. “That kitty is always mine.” Filling our glasses from a jug of beer, she takes a hearty gulp. Watching her take everyone’s money is something I’d love to see. I bet she leaves many brothers with a bruised ego. “So, what brings you to a bar like this all alone?” she asks, cutting to the chase.

I expected the question.

I give the room a once-over and offer a nonchalant shrug. “Logistics. I’m staying at the motel on the corner,” I tell her, taking a swig of my beer, letting the heavy liquid give me the courage I need to get through this.

“Passing through or staying?” she asks, playing with a strand of blue hair.

“I haven’t decided yet.” I survey the room. Leather cuts glare at me from every corner. I take them in, searching in the hopes of finding one missing their top rocker, the one I keep in my pocket, so I can make them choke on it when I find them. My heart kicks up, sounding more like a war drum, and then it stills. The atmosphere shifts, a higher authority garnering everyone’s attention. Penetrating dark eyes cut through the room, holding me hostage. I’m spellbound. The barest of throbs between my legs warms my stomach.

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