Page 5 of The Good Girl

“Death Serpents will only deal with Driller. You know they don’t trust anyone after their princess was taken. It took Driller four years to earn their trust, and they aren’t interested in anyone else coming in. I asked. Havoc, we need access to that pipeline.”

I stare at the man I thought of as a second father, one of my father’s best friends, and feel the respect I had for him wither and die.

“So you want me to take the fall for Driller, spend half a decade behind bars, and another however many years out of work—because who the fuck’s gonna hire me with a record? And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what the fuck do I get out of this? I’m losing years of my life. Me and Lola are trying for a fucking baby.”

“We’ll take care of Lola while you’re gone. And the club’ll pay you a cut to cover any lost income until you can get a job again.”

I shake my head and open my mouth to tell him no when his face hardens.

“It’s not a request, Havoc. It’s an order. I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s what’s best for the club.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you can kiss the brotherhood goodbye. You’ll be kicked out in bad standing, and every club in the country will know not to touch you. You’ll be excommunicated.”

I stand up, wanting to rip the world apart. This betrayal feels like a knife sticking out of my chest. “If I do this, you never ask me for anything again and future with Raven Souls will never be in jeopardy, no matter how things stand between us after this.”

“Havoc—” Khan starts, but I turn to look at Driller. “You’re dead to me. You don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, and if you see me, you walk right fucking past me like I’m invisible.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Havoc. Five years is?—”

I glare at Khan. “Not mine to serve. I don’t see you or any of the others stepping up to serve it.”

“None of us look enough like Driller to pull it off.”

“Well, aren’t I the lucky one?” I snap sarcastically.

“I’m still your president,” Khan says, sharply.

“And from now on, that’s all you’ll ever be, because a friend––a mentor––would never ask this of me. I’ll do it, but I need to talk to Lola first.”

“Cops are already on their way to pick you up,” he tells me, leaning back, daring me to argue. The news hits me like a punch to the gut. “Once you’re settled, I’ll bring Lola up for a visit. I’ll explain everything to her. I won’t leave her hanging.”

“No, you’ll just leave that for me.”

Chapter One

Nevaeh

Istare at myself in the mirror, frowning.

After surviving the barbecue, you’d think I’d feel more comfortable going back to the clubhouse. But nope. Maybe it’s because I know tonight’s party won’t be anything like the last one. The thought makes my stomach twist with nerves, and I bite my lip.

Focusing back on my reflection, I sigh. This is as good as it’s going to get. The pale pink twin set and the short, pleated skirt don’t exactly scream biker party, but I’d feel even more uncomfortable in a pair of tight leather pants and a tube top. All the power to those who do, but I have a little belly thanks to my love of food. I’m short, with curves—curves that anyone else would flaunt, especially given where I’m going. But I prefer to dress the way I do.

I don’t dress to repel people, but I do dress like a pastor’s daughter. It’s what I am, after all. I think of my sister in her hot pink coat, and how it caught someone’s eye and made them take a second look. That niggle has always been in the back of my mind, that I could draw the wrong kind of attention, so spentmy formative years trying to blend in instead of standing out. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized it wouldn’t have mattered what Citi wore that day. A predator doesn’t see the wrapping, only the prize.

Still, habits are hard to break and I’ll be the first to admit that I use my clothing as a shield.

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull on a pair of black over-the-knee socks before sliding my feet into my patent leather Mary Janes. Pantyhose would have been a better choice, but I hate them. Besides, my feet are always cold, so I either wear socks or carry a pair with me, just in case. Once my shoes are on and buckled, I tie a pink ribbon around my sleek ponytail and add a bit of lip gloss.

I check my watch and curse. I’m going to be late if I don’t get a move on. Grabbing my bag from the table, I toss in the essentials: a notebook, pen, lip gloss, phone, and wallet. I hesitate for a moment, looking down at my Kindle before thinking,why not?and tossing it in as well. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I head for the door but stop, remembering that car keys would also be good. I spin around and rush back to the bedroom, grabbing them off the bedside table. I blow out a frustrated breath. At this rate, I’ll be a hot, sweaty mess before I even get there.

Making sure that I have everything this time, I finally leave. I lock up and walk over to my car, opening the door and tossing my bag into the passenger seat before climbing in. I close the door, and taking a deep breath, I start the car and head toward the club. After a few miles of silence, I turn on the radio and find a station playing 80s music.

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