Page 5 of Spike's Perdition
“Who’s ready to jump again?” he asks.
“We will definitely be signing up to do more.” Kiera moves toward the desk. “Do you have any more room on the rafting trip?”
Jeremy’s fingers pound away on the keyboard as he pulls up the reservation list. “We do. I have room for a couple more.”
“Jeremy, go ahead and sign up Kiera and Jenny,” I instruct.
Jeremy wags his brows. “Corrupted a couple more today, did ya?”
“You know it!” I hand Kiera and Jenny the itinerary and a packing list for the trip so they know what to expect and can be prepared. “This is all the information you should need, but feel free to call if you have any questions or concerns.”
After everyone is stripped out of their jumpsuits and personal belongings are collected, they thank us again before heading out.
I throw myself into my chair and let out a huge sigh. “I’ll never get over the rush I feel when I jump.”
“Do you think they’ll actually show up for the trip?” Megan sits across from me at her desk.
I nod. “Absolutely, the look on her face when she jumped said it all. It was like watching a literal weight being lifted off her.”
“How about we grab the girls and go do something dangerous ourselves?”
“Like what?”
“Biker bar.”
“Biker bar?” I ask, confused.
“Let’s go to a biker bar tonight.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Come on, you like living on the edge.”
“True, but I also like the land of the living.”
Megan laughs. “Nothing bad is going to happen.
“Obviously you’ve never read a book or watched a movie. Bikers havedangerwritten all over them.”
“Exactly… this is what we live for.”
I stand. “Why not? I’ve already taken my life in my own hands today by jumping out of a plane. What’s a couple of bikers?”
CHAPTER 2
SPIKE
“I don’t knowwhat you want from me.”
I sneer at the man hanging from chains in the Confessional. He’s not our typical victim because we, as a club, didn’t seek him out for sins committed. But he’s a sinner, nonetheless.
“I want you to admit what you did,” I snap.
He points his toes in an effort to touch the floor and stop swaying, but he fails. I’ve got him strung up just high enough to give him false hope that he can somehow save himself.
“I was drunk,” he insists.
Swinging as hard as I can, I hit him in the chest with the baseball bat. The sound of ribs cracking sends a tingle of satisfaction down my spine, although I’m surprised there are still ribs to break.
