attention back to me. "I think that's a good idea."
I nodded solemnly, first at him, and then at Holly. "See you around," I said to her. She held my gaze until I pried my eyes away, turned around, and walked back to my bike.
When I got back to the clubhouse, I needed something. What exactly, I didn't know. I had the bartender pour me a double whiskey, but it left me unsatisfied. To fight or fuck. That's what I needed.
I hung out at the bar for fifteen or twenty minutes, drinking and wishing that some dumbass would come and cross me, but it didn't happen. With that off the table, there was only one option. So I chatted up a broad, a new hanger-on that I'd seen around the club lately. I hadn't hooked up with her yet, but she hadn't exactly been shy about checking me out.
Twenty minutes later, we were in my bed. She had her shirt off and I was sucking her huge tits, but I was barely paying attention. I couldn't take my mind off of Holly. Fuck. I needed to get my shit straight, and fast. But before I could get my dick wet, there was an urgent pounding at the door. A voice spoke up.
"VP! We've got a visitor."
"Tell them to fucking wait," I shot back. "I'm busy."
"It's important."
My teeth clenched and my hands balled up into fists. This was getting fucking ridiculous. But on the plus side, my dream of flattening someone's face tonight was about to come true.
"I'll be back," I said to the bimbo in my bed. "Stay here."
I pulled on my shirt, opened the door, and stormed out of the room.
It was almost three in the morning now, but downstairs was still buzzing. It looked like a fight was about to break out by the front door. It only took me a second to figure out why. Our little visitor was a fucking Reaper.
I stormed across the room, my footsteps echoing loudly. "Move!" I barked. I shoved guys aside, until I was face-to-face with the Reaper. I looked right into his eyes.
"Talk," I said with clenched teeth. I wanted to paint the walls with the blood in his brain, but I held myself back. Killing a messenger was a quick path to an all-out war.
"Message for your president," he said.
"In the middle of the night. You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
"Not my choice."
"We're not fucking bothering Ryker right now. Give it to me."
He looked around at the guys around me. I could see the nervousness under the surface.
"The girl," he said. "We're taking her out. Courtesy notice."
My blood boiled. I should've played it cool but my instincts were taking over. "She had nothing to do with this," I growled. "I know that. You fucking know that."
He shrugged, his body language betraying nervousness. "Not my choice," he said again. "She saw shit."
I growled again. "She's not what you want. You want the tape."
The Reaper looked me up and down. "She your old lady or something?"
I knew that the guys around me were asking themselves the same question.
"She ain't my old lady. She's an innocent. The tape," I repeated. "Leave her the hell out of this and we'll talk about the tape."
"Vargas also wants the tape. We'll come for that too. But the girl dies. It's about sending a message."
There was no point in arguing with this fuck. He was just a peon. And the Reapers were testing us, pushing our buttons. It was a provocation.
"Get out of my fucking club," I said coldly, without breaking eye contact.
The Reaper turned around and slipped through the door without a word. Outside, there was the sound of a bike starting up and pulling away.
"Fucking Reaper trash," said a voice behind me. "The fucking girl deserves it," said another voice angrily. A commotion of insults and arguments erupted, but it all faded into a blur in my head.
I could only think about one thing. I had to get to her before they did. But before I could react, Ryker's voice boomed out over the room.
"What in the ever-loving fuck is going on?"
10
Holly
I was disoriented when I woke up on Saturday morning. I looked around, expecting to see the wood paneling and motorcycle memorabilia that hung on Axl's wall. But instead of wood paneling, there was only the baby blue wallpaper of my room at my parents' house. And instead of the Sons of Chaos club insignia, there was my favorite Georgia O'Keeffe painting, a reproduction