Shit. What was I going to do now?
The ride from Carson City had driven a need deep in my bones to stop and stretch my legs and grab a drink for my parched throat. I was as dry as the Great Basin and that shit wasn’t how I wanted to end my day. I’d taken this ride with Bodie Whitman, one of my Royal Bastards brothers. He insisted that I never rode alone and if I hadn’t relented Rael, Mammoth, and Hannibal would have followed anyway.
As pres, I never rode solo.
Made getting a little peace and solitude hard as hell.
We’d been riding for two hours and I was lost in my thoughts, edgy and restless in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. My Reaper was feeling my need for drink, pussy, or a good fight. I didn’t care which as long as my dick or my fists got a workout. Hell, I’d take both.
It was days like this when I thought of the past and my early time in the club surfaced. Eighteen years since Keys and Lockjaw died and I still had nightmares about their murders. I didn’t say shit to my club about it, but I didn’t think it was a secret. Weakness was something I never showed, even to my brothers. Mammoth, Papa, and Exorcist were the only ones that had stuck around long enough to remember those days. None of us spoke about it but I knew it hit each man hard. Same with the memory of my pops.
Raptor was a loyal brother and none of them forgot that. Maybe it was one of the reasons I was voted in as pres without argument. Keys held sway when his last wishes were known but so did the fact that I was born into the club. Those dark days were a blur now, covered in anger and sin. I probably would have ended up a lot worse off if it wasn’t for Mammoth, Ex, and Papa. They didn’t let that shit fly. I had my ass kicked a few times before I accepted my position and from that day on, I was the ruthless asshole we all needed me to be.
Hot Nevada wind blew with an unforgiving and relentless consistency. The bandana I wore up over the lower portion of my face was printed with white skulls over solid black and I felt the sting of the heat and sun on the back of my neck for far too long. I spotted a sign for the Blacktop from Hwy 95 and we took the next exit, following the offramp to the bar.
I’d seen this place a few times but never stopped before now. The building was old and had the look of a dive bar but there was a chance there was a hot waitress and plenty of booze. All that I needed. Bodie parked his bike next to mine and close to the entrance where we could keep an eye out for trouble.
There weren’t any other motorcycles, so I wasn’t expecting anything to go down but preparing for confrontation was part of my life. I didn’t live this long by being careless or stupid. A gun was hidden in the waistband of my pants and under my long white t-shirt long ago stained by the dirt of travel. I had a knife in the pocket of my jeans and a heavier blade inside my cut. Hidden in another pocket was a set of brass knuckles and another Glock. I could see some hard time just from what I was carrying if the law decided to give me trouble.
They didn’t though. Las Vegas to Carson City was the territory of the Tonopah chapter of the Royal Bastards MC. No one fucked with us, not if they wanted to keep breathing. I didn’t have a problem with the law when they steered clear of me and my club. Fuck with me though, and I could make their lives a living hell.
Entering the comfortingly dirty establishment, I walked straight for a booth in the back where it was dark enough to ensure a little privacy, not that we needed it. I was used to the stares tossed our way. The Royal Bastards had a reputation for being hard-ass motherfuckers and that shit was like icing on the proverbial cake. I ate it up and never got sick of seeing the respect and fear in their expressions.
Bodie slid across from my seat as we both looked around the interior, marking every exit and entry point in the bar. It was second nature, and we did it so fast that neither of us noticed. Hard lives led to even harder choices. Always prepare for the worst. Never be taken by surprise.
I learned that the hard way all those years ago.
A pretty young waitress approached and asked for our order. I was just about to flirt with her when my gaze landed on the bar straight ahead. My jaw dropped slightly and then slammed shut. Blinking rapidly, I tried not to betray my reaction.
Holy fuck.
There she was. I finally found where she’d been hiding for eighteen long years.
My angel. Dropped straight down from heaven with a crooked and chipped halo. She was a lot older now and that was good because I wasn’t into underage pussy. No one in my club was allowed to do that shit. I set the example and expected them to follow it. Never once heard an argument about it either.
Blonde hair was tossed over her shoulder as she laughed and joked with the other bartender. Sucking in air through my teeth, I let out a low whistle a few seconds later. No pure angel could ever be that fuckin’ sexy and downright fuckable. No devil would ever be as dick-hardening or temptingly exotic.
She stood about five-foot-nine inches tall with a heavy fall of platinum hair that cascaded down her back, dangling just above the curve of her mouth-watering ass clad in a pair of jean shorts so tiny and small I was sure that the denim was gonna split open any moment. An hourglass shape of full, womanly curves begged for my fingers to caress every single inch. Her thick thighs could lure a man between them and trap him before he knew what hit him, locking him into a pleasure filled promise of passion and endless ecstasy. I’d stay buried there for hours and never come up for air.
A fuckin’ goddess that owned the room with every flash of that full-lipped and seductive smile. Her features were flawless — radiant skin that glowed under the low lighting and was tanned to a light golden color; perfect cheekbones, high and dusted with natural color; eyes so fucking blue they beckoned like the ocean’s crystal-clear waters. I could drown in them even from a distance.
It took three seconds to claim this hypnotic angel as mine. Two seconds for my lip to lift in a snarl and become hostile at the thought of any other man touching her or looking her way. One second to know I was hooked, ensnared on her line, and begging not to be released. A heartbeat to realize I’d kill to sink between her thighs and have her ride me and my bike.
Half a single breath to rise to my feet and head in her direction.
Bodie’s chuckle faded into the background as she placed a drink on the bar’s smooth surface and lifted her head. A smile that fucking dazzled lifted the corners of her lips and I couldn’t help but think she’d done so just for me. If I had any doubt that she was the same girl I’d met eighteen years prior, the one who haunted my dreams with her perfect and pure aura, I was positive now that this little blonde bartender was it. Her aura pulsed with an amber glow that brightened considerably when our eyes met.
And in that moment, I was struck like lightning.
The room spun as I clutched at my chest and she ticked her chin in my direction. “You lost, handsome?”
Fuck no. I was home.
“You tell me, angel, ’cause I think I must have stumbled straight into heaven.”
She smirked at my comment and plopped a glass right in front of me. A shot of Jameson was poured and gently pushed in my direction. “You’re a smooth talker.”
Picking up the glass, I tossed back the Irish whiskey and then smiled, nice and slow as I leaned in and turned on the charm. My hand reached for hers and she hesitated but didn’t end up pulling away as my fingers rested gently on top of her own. “When does your shift end?”