Page 1 of Jolt's Vengeance

PROLOGUE

Three Weeks Ago…

Jolt

The neon lights of Vegas blur into a kaleidoscope as I stroll down the Strip, hands shoved in my pockets.

Another night, another bar. The steady thrum of my boots on concrete matches the pulsing bass spilling out of every club I pass.

I'd kill for some company right about now, but all the other prospects in the club are tied down these days.

I pause outside a dingy-looking joint, eyeing the faded sign.

It’s not like a lot of the other bars around the city.

It gives me more alternative and rocker vibes than anything else.

Hell, it’s good enough.

As I push through the door, the smell of stale beer and desperation hits me like a freight train.

Perfect.

I’m certain there’s going to be plenty of women to fuck around with tonight.

The bar is dimly lit, a haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air.

I push through the crowded bar, the bass thumping in my chest as I make my way to the counter.

The bartender, a tattooed guy with gauged ears, nods at me as I approach.

I tap my fingers on the sticky bar top. "Jameson. Neat."

He slides the amber liquid my way, and I down it in one smooth motion.

The whiskey burns a path down my throat, settling warm in my gut.

I signal for another, knowing damn well I'm going to get what I want here tonight.

As I wait for my second shot, I scan the room.

The place is packed with college kids and twenty-somethings, all looking for a good time—just like me.

My eyes linger on a brunette in a tight red dress, but I quickly look away.

No need to make my intentions too obvious just yet.

I'm hyper-aware of the fact that I'm not wearing my cut tonight.

It's a deliberate choice I always make when I hit the bars solo.

The last thing I want is some chick throwing herself at me just because I ride.

That shit's raunchy as hell, and I've got no problem getting girls any other time.

"Fuckin' patch bunnies," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head.

If I wanted that kind of attention, I would've stuck to the clubhouse.

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