Page 66 of The Biker's Forbidden Virgin

Me, Rumble, Spike, and a few other guys are about three miles away from the Hands of Hell clubhouse. Thankfully, there's a small pub where we can stay until we get word that Nisa is okay.

"Come on, Prez, we might as well kick back a few while we're here." Rumble tries to get me to come with him to the bar. I don't want to kick a few back, but it's a better possibility that one of the HOH bastards might see me here just pacing back and forth. At least inside, I have a reason for being this close to their turf.

"Yeah, just a few." I grumble and follow him inside.

The group of us find a table that can seat all of us, and I slouch into the first chair I find. I'm not used to this. Having to sit on my hands when I know someone in my family needs help. The alpha asshole in me wants to go straight to that clubhouse, kick the door in and find my woman.

I have to stay focused. Have to stay level-headed. This information is exactly what we need in order to get Marc right where we want him. He's too arrogant not to make a mistake. I just don't want to have to wait around for it to happen.

The fact that he's sending a woman in to do a job he doesn't want to do is proof enough that he's nothing but a weak pussy. I don't know how he got to where he is in the underground running things the way he does, but I'm more than ready to put him in his place.

"She's going to be fine, Leo." Spike leans forward and speaks to me.

My tension is so intense, I literally feel the urge to lean over the table and rip his face off. I have to grab hold of the edge of the wooden surface to keep me seated. He's only trying to help. They all are.

"You wouldn't be saying that shit if it was your ol' lady in there." I grumble back at him.

"Maybe not, but all I can do is tell you what I see from the outside. She's strong. Nisa is going to get this done, and we'll be one step closer to getting rid of that piece of shit, Marc. Once he's gone, you won't have to worry about this shit ever again." Spike shrugs a shoulder before he puts his hand up to call the waitress over.

The bar is loud. Music thumping, bottles clinking, voices blending into a thick haze of noise. My brothers are loose, knocking back drinks and trading war stories, but I can’t settle.

Not with her over there.

Nisa is alone in the Hands of Hell clubhouse, surrounded by men I wouldn’t trust to feed a stray dog, let alone keep their hands to themselves. Every minute that ticks by is another minute where something could go wrong.

I check my phone for the hundredth time. Nothing.

I grind my teeth and press the communicator connected to the in-ear headset so I can reach Tella. When I ask him the status, he answers back right away but I swear it sounds like he's annoyed. I don't care. I'll hit him up every five seconds if it means that I keep Nisa safe.

He’s still holed up near the property, keeping eyes on the clubhouse for me. It’s not much, but it’s the only thing keeping me from walking out of here and riding straight into enemy territory alone.

"Nothing so far. No movement. No sign of trouble." Tella replies and goes radio silent again.

I don’t buy it.

Something about this whole thing seems off. What the hell could Hands of Hell have information wise that Marc is so desperate to get? I'm sure he's got other people who could tell him all he needs to know. Why does he need Nisa in there now?

My thoughts clear for a second as a tall blonde woman walks up to us. Her hips bouncing seductively from side to side. All the rest of the guys stare at her like she's fresh meat, but I'm just waiting for her to come over and do her job.

She finally slides up to our table, pulling me fully out of my head. She’s got bright red lipstick, tight jeans, and a practiced smile that lingers on me longer than it should.

“What can I get you boys?”

The guys rattle off their orders, whiskey, beer, another round, and I toss up two fingers for the same. My stomach’s too twisted to drink, but I need to blend in, need to pretend like I’m not seconds away from losing it.

The phone vibrates in my hand.

Tella.

Her voice comes through broken, static-drenched. “Shit—something’s—wrong?—”

I shoot up so fast, my chair screeches against the floor.

Every head at the table turns toward me.

“Get up.” My voice is sharp, cutting through the noise.

“What the hell, Prez?” Spike frowns, but when he sees my face, he stops questioning.

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