“It’s always an eye for an eye in these stories, no?” he said softly to me.
As my limbs came back online, I struggled to my knees. “Who?” I croaked out, but I already knew. I just needed to hear it before my mind shattered into a million pieces.
The man smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant expression. There was a flash of huge black wings splaying either side of his shoulders, gone so quickly that I wondered if I’d seen it at all. But when I drew my eyes back to his smiling face, I knew I had.
“You can call me Luc,” he said softly, and then he disappeared.
1
Cain
I couldn’t help but look at the girl in the passenger seat, my hands flexing around the steering wheel as I drove down the freeway too fast. Judas was going to murder me; just put a gun to my head and paint my brains all over the Clubhouse walls. Wouldn’t do much, but fuck it would hurt.
The girl, woman, whatever, slid her eyes to me, catching my gaze with her own violet ones. I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the bump of her stomach. Nah, Judas would take one look at her round belly and let me off the hook. He might be pissed that I’d agreed without consulting him or the rest of the guys, but he was a sucker for a woman in distress. We all were, after what happened to…
I snapped down my mental walls on that thought. This wasn’t the past. We weren’t who we were any longer. We were better able to protect the more vulnerable. Better able to close ourselves off to that emotional bullshit. I took the turnoff, pulling up behind a bar and strip club. On the other side of the lot was the Clubhouse. It had its own bar, with a bunch of rooms out back. That’s where I’d take the woman. I’d get one of the Prospects to clean it something fierce, because let’s face it, it had seen more bodily fluids than a fucking spank bank, but she’d be safe here.
A former customer had dropped her off like an abused puppy at Pestilence Tattoos, my shop in town. The redhead, Hope was her name, had come in once before looking like she’d been beaten half to death, and I’d wanted to rip the head off the pretty-boy she’d come in with, despite the fact that he had a real fucked up vibe that made the hair on my neck stand on end. But Hope apparently remembered, so when this woman, Serendipity, needed a place to stay, why not send her to your friendly local tattooist with a bad attitude? I don’t know why she decided I was the safe option, considering I had so much blood on my hands that I could have painted the town red, but she’d taken one look at me and decided I was the good guy. She was wrong; I wasn’t a good guy. But I’d never turn away a woman in trouble.
I couldn’t fathom how Hope knew that, but she’d picked the right person.
I’d always been a sucker for a battered woman. Even before I’d joined the MC. Back when I was little and my father used to smack around Mom, it had broken something inside my head. Now, the idea of a man hitting a woman made me snap. I’d put my father in the ground, and joined my local chapter of the Punishers Outlaw MC. Then I’d loved a woman who’d had her life ripped away from her in the most brutal of ways, and my heart had died. Now, all that was left in my chest was the black lump that pumped with the near-demonic need for vengeance against those who would use women and children as pawns.
I wanted to punch myself in the head to chase away any thoughts of Laura. She was dead. A ghost. The only thing keeping her alive now was that guilt that infected my soul like the plague.
I got out, grabbing the woman’s bag. Serendipity. Not the woman, I chastised myself. What kind of backwards, new age name was that anyway?
“Come on, we’re gonna have to pass you staying here by the Pres, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I hope I sounded more self-assured than I felt.
Serendipity looked around, her eyes flicking between the stripclub and the Clubhouse, and all the motorcycles in between.
“You’re a biker?”
I raised an eyebrow as I passed her the tote bag with her stuff. “Will that be a problem?”
I desperately wanted to get on my bike and ride away from all the shit that seemed to be bubbling up inside me at the appearance of this chick, but I had to get her settled first.
“Cain, what the actual fuck, man?” Solomon appeared from nowhere, which was basically his superpower and his most annoying trait. I winced and turned, transforming my face into a menacing scowl.
It must have been a pretty good one because the woman backed up a step. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Some piece of ass came in, said this one was being stalked by some guy who knocked her up and what? I was just going to leave her there to be murdered by some psychotic asshole like–”
“I get it. Judas isn’t going to be happy though.”
Yeah, tell me something I didn’t know. I nodded at Solomon, and he smiled at the woman. Serendipity. Shit, I had to start calling her by her name in my head. Solomon was a lady killer, and I was fairly sure he’d have her on her back with his face between her thighs before the night was through. He was tall, with golden hair like some kind of hair care model. Hell, he probably could have been a model if he wasn’t such a cold blooded murderer. He had tattoos up and down his arms, most of them compliments of me, and I was a badass fucking artist. He had a few scars, most from before our time at Damnation MC. “Hey, Sweet. I’m Solomon. And you are?” He gave her that Hollywood smile, but she didn’t smile back.
“Sera,” the woman said quietly, her eyes taking his measure. Not as a man, but as a threat. Whoever was stalking her had really done a number on her. “And Hope isn’t a piece of ass. She’s an angel and you won’t speak of her that way.” She was frowning, her eyes blazing intensely and I swear to fucking Satan, I got harder than a rock.
I looked over at Solomon, who had a shit eating grin on his face and a growing bulge in his pants, but I wasn’t surprised. I liked my women feisty. Solomon just liked them breathing.
“No last name, Sera?” Solomon basically cooed. Geez. Women actually fell for this shit?
She shook her head. “Not for you.”
I grinned, the expression reaching my eyes. Fuck yeah. Apparently, the woman was immune to Solomon’s ability to charm a nun out of her panties. Solomon just grinned, smug bastard. Of course he’d see it as a challenge.
I thumped him on the arm. “Don’t get excited, Douche. Still gotta pass it by Judas.”
Solomon waived me away and grabbed Sera’s tote bag. “Let me take that for you,” he murmured. “Come this way. Judas is in his office. I’m not missing this for anything.”
I rolled my eyes and waved Sera forward, following up the rear. Despite the fact she had to be three or four months pregnant, the woman was too thin. She had a big round baby belly, but I could see she was nothing more than skin and bones underneath her clothes. Her body was all but wasted.
Solomon pushed through the doors of the Clubhouse, and all conversation ground to an awkward halt. There were dozens of people in that bar, patched members and their old ladies, some sweet butts that were on their knees beneath tables. I placed my hand on Serendipity’s lower back, trying to ignore the heat coming from her skin and the way her spine was beginning to curve into an amazing ass. She flinched but didn’t step away, so I kept my hand there as I directed her past the bar to a long hallway down the back. At the very end of the hallway was the large room where we held Church. Just up from it was a heavily fortified door where Judas’ office sat.