Page 1 of Ruthless Sin

Chapter 1 - Angel

I shouldn't be here.

Every instinct screams at me to leave, but the whiskey in my glass keeps me glued to this barstool. The new joint, Crossroads, sits on the wrong side of town – neutral territory that's slowly being consumed by Outlaw territory.

But I needed somewhere to blow off steam, somewhere Dad and his overprotective bullshit couldn't find me.

The amber liquid burns as I take another sip, my fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass. Being Hellfire's daughter comes with its perks, but tonight, all I can think about are the chains. Twenty-one years old, and he still treats me like I'm made of glass.

Sure, I earned my cut in the Iron & Blood MC, but what's the point when I'm sidelined for every major run?

The door swings open, letting in a gust of cold air that makes the hair on my arms stand up. My heart stops when I spot the leather cuts adorned with the Outlaws' patches. Two of them – both built like brick walls, covered in tattoos that crawl up their necks like poison ivy.

Fuck.

I keep my head down, grateful for the dim lighting and the baseball cap pulled low over my eyes. My hand instinctively slides into my jacket pocket, fingers wrapping around my brass knuckles. The familiar weight of them is comforting, but I know I'm outnumbered if they recognize me.

My phone sits on the bar, and I grab it, trying to keep my movements casual. Opening my messages, I find Ruthless's name and type quickly:

'Need you at Crossroads. Now.'

Three dots appear almost immediately. 'Why the hell are you there?'

I bite my lower lip hard enough to taste copper. Ruthless has been different since Dad pulled him aside a week ago. The heated looks we used to share across the clubhouse have turned cold, and the way he used to find excuses to be near me has been replaced by careful distance.

'Please,' I text back, my fingers trembling slightly. 'Two Outlaws just walked in.'

'Jesus Christ, Angel. Stay put. Don't draw attention. 15 minutes.'

The Outlaws settle at a table behind me, their rough laughter making my skin crawl. I force myself to breathe normally, to look natural as I take another sip of whiskey. The bartender catches my eye, and I shake my head when he gestures to my almost-empty glass.

I need to keep my head clear.

My phone buzzes again. 'Does your old man know where you are?'

I roll my eyes, anger flaring in my chest. 'No, and don't you dare tell him.'

'Fucking hell, Angel.'

That's all I get back. I can practically hear his growl of frustration, can picture him running his hand through short dark hair the way he does when he's worried. At forty-three, Ruthless has earned his name and reputation, but there's a gentleness in him that shows up when he looks at me – or used to, before Dad got in his head.

One of the Outlaws laughs particularly loudly, and I flinch. They're talking about some deal going down next week, but I force myself not to listen too carefully.

Still, my training kicks in, and I note details without meaning to: the younger one has a fresh cut above his eye, and the older one's voice has a distinct rasp.

Twelve minutes. That's all I need to stay invisible for. I can do this. I've been around bikers my whole life and learned to fight dirty before I learned to drive. But two against one isn't odds I like, especially not when they'd love nothing more than to use Hellfire's daughter as leverage.

The older Outlaw's chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, and I hear his heavy boots approaching the bar. My pulse thunders in my ears as he stops right next to me, close enough that I can smell leather and cigarettes.

"Another round," he calls to the bartender, then turns slightly toward me. "Haven't seen you here before, darling."

I grunt, tilting my face away. The brass knuckles are cold against my palm now, and I'm calculating angles, thinking about the fastest way to the door.

"Not very friendly, are you?" He leans closer, and I can feel his eyes trying to catch mine under the brim of my cap.

The rumble of a familiar bike cuts through the night outside, and my body relaxes slightly. The Outlaw notices, his attention drawn to the sound. I use the moment to slide off my stool, keeping my movements smooth and controlled.

"Thanks for the chat," I mutter, tossing cash on the bar and heading for the door.

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