Reign A Romance Anthology - Nina Levine Page 0,8

drill. We’d done this before, except last time, he was me, and I was the little bastard Cooper thought was hot shit and running my mouth. “If you can keep hidden from Huntsman and his men until the sun rises, you move on to the next stage of the recruitment. If you get found, start fucking walking home.”

It was easy to tell who took this seriously and who was simply there to flex their physical attributes.

It was all in what they felt was important.

I walked through the room, carefully looking over the different things they shoved inside their bags. Some went for food, others focusing on clothing and colors that would keep them camouflaged. But it was when I got to my good friend Cooper that I had to stop and raise my eyebrow.

He was wearing even less than when he’d been dragged from bed, having stripped down to a pair of boxer shorts and a wife-beater—no shoes, no backpack, no stashes of food, or sand-colored face paint.

“What’s that?” I asked, looking down at the object in his hand.

He grinned, holding it up for me to see.

A plastic straw.

A single plastic straw.

“What are yo—”

“Five minutes, soldiers. You better start hiding,” Regan screamed from the doorway, causing Cooper to leap up and disappear out into the darkness, straw hanging from his mouth. And all I could do was watch him go.

“You think the asshole with the attitude has it?” Rip asked, sliding in beside me and following my shocked gaze.

“Maybe.”

Just fucking maybe.

5

Zoey

“I need to speak with Drake,” I told the young kid standing at the gates to the MC compound.

The place was intimidating, to say the least, with its tall wire fences, the hulking Harley Davidsons that sat proudly in a perfect row, sparkling devilishly. The building was impressive—an old factory which had been renovated and modernized with amazing detail. But I guess that’s the kind of impressive shit you get when you own a building company.

“Drake’s not here,” the kid responded with a shrug.

I shook my head. “No, you don’t get it. I need these plans approved like… now, or the builders are going to start building shit we don’t need, and it’s going to cost the company money to take it all down and start again.”

I’d actually managed to alter some of the plans. They weren’t perfect, but they were a lot more appealing, and I was sure they would add value where the designer before me had lost it.

The kid screwed up his nose, his foot tapping for a second before he seemed to get a lightning bolt to his brain. “Huntsman can approve the plans.” He reached into a small shed next to the gate, and seconds later, they began to ease open. “He’s inside.”

I raised my brow. “And who is Huntsman?”

The kid paused for a second, obviously fighting a smile. “Huntsman is Drake’s dad. The owner of the company and the club president.”

So he was the big man on campus.

Someone it would do me well to get to know and to impress if I was hoping to keep this job as something permanent.

“Thanks,” I called back over my shoulder as I made my way to my car and climbed inside. This was good. This meeting was going to be important.

I pulled through the gates, my stomach twisting as I watched the young kid shut them behind me. I was now inside a biker compound, locked in, with a group of men who weren’t known for their good deeds. I’d know the company was owned by the club since my first day on the job. Drake had made the connection clear. He laid it down, and you either accepted that part of him, or you walked away.

His dedication and loyalty were something I actually found a relief. You learned a lot about someone by seeing what they stand for, what they fight for, and what part of themselves they believe to be non-negotiable.

For Drake, that was his family—something we had in common.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my handbag and the folder of plans and climbed out of the car, making my way toward the single club member I could see. “Excuse me?” I called as I got closer.

The young man paused, catching a glimpse of me over his shoulder before climbing to his feet. He pulled a dirty cloth from his back pocket, using it to wipe some of the black mess off his hands, though the more he scrubbed them, the more obvious it became