Page 4 of Inglorious
One night, I was singing karaoke in a bar with some friends, and I was spotted. The agent signed me. After I checked he was genuine, I auditioned for and won a small part in a play on Broadway. My voice had been noted. Over the next three years, the parts grew larger until I was the headlining name. The critics loved me, and reviews were always positive.
The following three years were perfect. Until a new producer was brought in and everything became political. That ended with me screaming in his face about his bullshit policies, and I up and left. Naturally, it was reported in the media, and I thought I’d tanked my career. Instead, I was offered a spot in Vegas, and I snapped it up. No politics, no shit, no backstabbing bitches, either.
And I’d been here for three years.
Hell, I was twenty-nine and had an amazing life. A headliner in Vegas, a dance school, and a naughty little secret. Every Tuesday night, I hit a high-stakes poker game and usually came out a winner. So, I’d a fortune tucked away for a rainy day.
Life should have been roses, but it wasn’t, because I’d lost Seth. Seth had been ten years older than me and a member of a motorbike club. He’d left home at sixteen, and despite my parents’ efforts to stop Seth seeing me, they’d failed miserably. They were too scared of what Seth had become to fight him.
Seth and I had a close relationship, and he was proud of my independence and my breaking free. Then Seth got involved in a fucking war that wasn’t his. Of course, Seth naturally stepped up. Defend the innocent—his personal rule. That cost Seth his life, and I was bitter as fuck. I blamed Roman, too. Seth joined the Unwanted Bastards MC because his friend Roman had been a member.
It had been a dirty club when Seth was patched in, and he warned me to stay away. I’d done precisely that after what happened at the Unwanted Bastards. Since I fled South Dakotaat nineteen, I’d never stepped foot back until six months ago for Seth’s funeral. Now, somebody from South Dakota was here.
I knew exactly who Drake Michaelson was.
Drake was freaking famous in that state. The president of an MC who’d married a billionairess and had eighteen damn kids. Some of whom were renowned themselves. Nope, Drake fucking Michaelson could stay the hell away from me.
I entered Linc’s apartment and headed for the spare bedroom where I usually stayed if we were having a night in. Motorbike clubs had no part in my life, not after they stole Seth from me.
???
I was sitting at my desk, reviewing the newest applications for my dance school, as I typically only accepted the best, when my secretary slash personal assistant appeared.
“Nanci, there’s a man here demanding to speak to you,” Fay said.
I sighed. Shit, I knew exactly who that was. Whelp, I’d managed to delay Drake Michaelson for about sixteen hours.
“Send him in, Fay, please,” I replied.
Moments later, Drake Michaelson walked into my office. His jeans fit him well, his tee was black, and he wore his cut, naturally.
“Nanci,” Drake greeted.
“Drake.”
“Sorry, somehow I seemed to have missed you last night,” Drake stated, and I cocked my head. Drake leaned against the wall, all cocky, easy male arrogance. He was as handsome as ever, and as Drake aged, he kept his good looks.
“Drake, whatever it is, I’m not interested. Seth is dead, end of story,” I said, hoping to cut him off. I might as well have tried catching the wind.
“Inglorious is in a bad way,” Drake stated, his eyes observing me.
“Not my problem.”
“No?”
“Nope. The Unwanted Bastards have nothing to do with me, not now that Seth is gone.” I allowed my pain to show, and Drake winced.
“Nanci, we all lost people,” he replied.
“Other than the RCPD, nobody lost as many as Unwanted Bastards!” I shot back, and anger flashed on my face.
“That’s true, Nanci, and I’m sorry,” Drake said.
“It wasn’t Seth’s fight! That was your war. Fury was a former member of Rage. Your fucking club killed my brother!” I yelled at Drake.
Now I had a chance to say everything I had bottled up, and I let rip. I didn’t care that hurt and guilt crossed Drake’s face.
“Rage MC had no right asking Unwanted Bastards to fight for them. Everyone who died, their deaths are on Rage MC. You didn’t do your fuckin’ jobs properly when you cleaned the club. You allowed Fury to slip through your fingers and didn’t chase him down. That’s on you, Drake, not my brother—or the rest of those who perished. If Fury had been killed when shit first kicked off, so many would be alive today!”
