Page 1 of The Trust We Broke
PROLOGUE
FOUR WEEKS EARLIER
“Ineed an escort,” Butcher, the club president of the Iron Outlaws, barks down my ear.
I laugh as I tuck my phone beneath my chin. “You burn through all the club girls, finally?”
I wink at Isla, one of the club girls who is just getting dressed, and reach for the packet of cigarettes I keep on the table next to the bed in my clubhouse room. Nothing chills me out more than a lazy morning of fucking and getting my pipes drained.
“Fuck you,” Butcher says. “Not that kind of escort. A club one. Greer’s been asked to go give a statement to the police. With all the bullshit with the Midtown Rebels, I don’t want to ride her there without knowing someone has my six.”
“One second, Butch,” I say. I gesture for Isla to get out of my room. Those fat lips that were wrapped around my cock half an hour ago pout, but she does as I say, gathering up the clothes she hasn’t yet put on.
One day, that girl will realize she isn’t getting a husband here because we all see her as she is: a disposable cum bucket who has fucked just about all of us at some time or another.
She’ll realize she should get out of here. Go get a job as a receptionist or something.
I sit up when she’s gone. “Why do the cops want to talk with her?”
“Because she stitched up a Rebel prospect.” Butcher stops there, but I have a strong feeling there’s so much more to this story than he’s telling me.
“‘Stitched up’ as in, with a needle and thread, or ratted him out to the cops?” The woman is an accomplished surgeon, after all.
“The former. They think he told her something pertinent.”
“Did he?”
There’s a pause. “The escort?”
“Leave it with me, Butcher. You wanna go immediately?”
“Affirmative.”
“You at your place?” I ask, throwing the covers back and grimacing at how sticky all the lube is.
“Yeah. I’ll be taking Greer in the truck.”
“I’ll tell everyone to meet there. We’ll split around the truck so you’re in the middle.”
“Thanks, brother.”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah. No problem. Just go easy on those brakes so no one runs into the back of you. I know how heavy footed you are.”
“Fuck off,” he says, but there’s humor to it.
He hangs up, and I take a quick shower and get dressed before placing calls to the rest of my motorcycle club brothers. As Butcher’s vice president and right hand, it’s up to me to step up when he’s distracted by other business.
And Dr. Greer Hansen appears to be quite the distraction. Sure, she saved his life. But I see Butcher changing. Hard to pinpoint what it is, to be fair. But there’s something. And it’s notjust that the doc is a pretty little handful with long white-blonde hair. I think they ease each other, somehow.
I make the necessary calls and rally everyone so they are headed to Butcher’s home. When I pull up the drive, Smoke, our surly road captain, is chatting to Wraith, the club’s sergeant at arms. Both are sitting astraddle their bikes like a study in contrasts. Wraith was named because of his ice-blue eyes and long white curls. Smoke is more tanned and gnarly after summers spent smoke jumping. His hair is as dark as Wraith’s is light.
Jackal and Shade, two nomads who’ve been assigned to the club temporarily, pull up behind me. They go everywhere together. Jackal, with long black hair, being the more talkative of the two, and Shade, happy to sit back in the shadows. I’ve watched the two of them spar in our gym, and they’re vicious fighters.
Catfish, our club treasurer and secretary, and Taco, one of the last patched-in brothers, ride in side by side. It appears Catfish has taken Taco under his wing. Adapting to the responsibilities of a patched-in brother takes some adjusting to, and I’m glad Catfish has stepped up.
Atom is the last to arrive. Between running his family ranch, being the club’s enforcer, and being head over heels in love with Prez’s daughter, Ember, the guy is an expert in not wasting a single minute of time.
Butcher steps out of his cabin with Greer. He takes her hand and, like a gentleman, helps her down the steps. And from the knowing smile she gives him, they both know she was more than capable of making her own way down the stairs.
