Page 1 of Complete Me
prologue
TEN YEARS AGO
“Take me with you! Please! You can’t leave me to Mom and Dad’s snoozefest tonight!” my sister begs as she grips my bicep with both hands, pulling me to a stop. She’s two years younger than me, and we’ve been attached at the hip since she was born. She also hates being told no and being left behind when she’d rather go out and have fun with me.
“Hell no, Lena. This is no place for you, and you know it. I mean it, stay home.”
“What? Why? I’ve been to the clubhouse plenty of times before! They like me!”
“That’s because you followed me, brat. What was I supposed to do? Leave you outside the gate? You’re too curious for your own good and you know it.” Lena is notorious for sneaking out and finding trouble, and it’s been my job for as long as I can remember to keep her out of it.
When I went in for my first tattoo appointment four yearsago and met Ink, the owner of the shop, who’s also a member of a motorcycle club, an entirely new world opened up for me. One with open roads, family, and freedom. The only expectation is that your loyalty is given freely to the club, which I happen to have in spades when something is worth it. I skipped college and started my tattoo apprenticeship with him not long after, much to my father’s dismay.
A few motorcycle clubs call Washington State home, but I had never been intrigued until I was spending all my time with Ink at Heathen Tattoo.
“I wouldn’t have to follow you if you just took me with you. Reeeeeeid, c’mon!” she begs, her hands clasped in front of her, bottom lip pushed out in a pout. For a moment, I don’t see my twenty-year-old sister; I see the little girl she used to be. Her brown hair falls around her face in large, beachy waves, and green eyes that are identical to my own stare back at me, bright and pleading, and I almost give in.Almost.
But I know tonight I’ve got club business, and I’m finishing some tattoo work on a member’s sleeve. I can’t bring my sister along for that because I wouldn’t be able to watch her like the personal bodyguard she needs when she’s there. As much as it pains me to leave her behind, I’ve got to think about myself from time to time.
“Sorry, brat, not tonight.”
“Ugh. Fine. Whatever. I’ll just have to find something to do to occupy myself,” she says in a tone that is more of a threat than a statement. I roll my neck, trying to ease some of the tension she’s putting there.
“Stay out of trouble, k? Tomorrow we can do whatever you want,” I try as a way of a bribe, hoping like hell it’s enough to keep her from doing anything other than staying put tonight.
“Wait, you mean it? I can plan the entire day?” she squealsin excitement, and I can’t help but laugh at her. When Lena smiles, it fills her entire face, her eyes crinkling, lips tugging upward, all toothy and genuine. It’s the same smile that gets her in and out of trouble. She didn’t get her nickname without a reason.
“I’m good with that. We can even go to the coast if you want to.” The first thing Lena and I did when I got my license at sixteen was take the top off my old, rusted-up jeep and drive to the coast. I spent a few years before she could drive toting her and her friends around, but I didn’t mind. Anything to make her happy. I know how lucky we are to be best friends on top of siblings, and I want to always keep it that way.
“Yes! Okay, okay. I’m excited to have you all to myself! No club business?”
“No club business,” I promise.
My sister’s arms bound around my waist in a huge hug, her head resting against my chest. I wrap my arms around her in return, dropping my cheek to the top of her head.
“Be good, brat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“K. You be safe!”
“Always.”
I slide my arms into my cut at the front door,Hell’s Heathensstitched on the back, before walking out of my parents’ house and heading to my bike. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s mine and I love it. I throw my leg over my motorcycle, settling into the leather seat, my fingers flexing over the grip of the handlebars. The engine purrs to life under me as I start it up, loving the vibrations and the weight of it in my hands. The first time I was on a bike, it became part of me, gave me a freedom I hadn’t yet learned existed at eighteen. Now, I can’t imagine my life without it. It’s therapeutic on my bad days, energizing on my good, and all I need in life can be found on the back of it.
Before heading out, I take one last glance up at my spitfire sister standing in her bedroom window, flipping me off like the little shit she is. I chuckle under my breath as I pull out of the driveway, ready to start my night with my brothers at the clubhouse.
My sister and I have always been close. We were inseparable as children, and even though I’ve long since moved out of our parents’ house, I still hang out with her multiple times a week. I’ve managed to keep the motorcycle club separate from my parents over the last four years to preserve our relationship, but Lena was harder since she’s stuck to me like glue.
Unbeknownst to my parents, Lena’s been to the clubhouse a few times for some BBQs and when I was patched in, but I try to keep her from it, especially since the members are all a bunch of horny bastards and throw parties that are filled with debauchery everywhere you look.
Even if they know Lena is off-limits and they respect that fact, she thrives under their attention, and I don’t like it one bit. She may be twenty, but she’s still my little sister, and I’m not down for letting her have free rein of the clubhouse. It’s too much work to bring her with me. There’s no unwinding, it’s all big brother mode, and the need to keep her safe is front and center—even from my club brothers, whom I trust with my life.
The night air is cool on my skin as I ride through our small town of Amberwood, Washington. I love riding alone, always have, and the road conditions in this small part of our state provide me with exactly what I need. I coast through town, but as soon as the road opens up and it’s just me, the purr of my bike and the late summer air, I gun it. I’ve always enjoyed the solitude of the open road, and this evening is no different.
I lean into every curve, feeling free and untouchable. My dad is a big shot lawyer and had hopes and dreams that I would do something just as prestigious as him, and even though hisdisappointment is strong, his love for me is fierce. At least he isn’t a prosecution attorney because that would make for some tense family dinners. While all the businesses the club is involved in are legit, some of the shit we get pulled into is more seedy and questionable. Especially lately.
The dim lights up ahead signal my approach to the Hell’s Heathens’ compound. The perimeter is surrounded by a fence with a dozen or so prospects doing twenty-four-hour checks with four guards at the main gate—our only entry point at the moment. We’ve had an ongoing turf war with another club that has been flexing its strength lately, and our new president has put us all on guard and ready to be prepared for an attack.
The Iron Wolves deal in the flesh and drug trade, and they’re looking to take over our territory and push us out of business. We’re not going to let it happen. Their club is run by a monster named Damon—road name: Grim—and he runs it by instilling fear. He picks up the lowest of the low of society, preying on addicts and convicts to fill his ranks. His club is full of sick fucks, and it’s clubs like theirs that give the rest of us a bad rap. As one-percenters, they don’t live by the same rules as us. They’re outlaws.
