Prologue
The Callaghan curse.
Sounds like some old fucking fairytale, nothing that a man in one of the most powerful MCs in the country would have to deal with but there’s never been a doubt in my mind that someday I’d be ‘struck. My grandfather and his brothers built this MC from the ground up, started in the gun trade, and opened up a pipeline through the South until the Unseen became a fucking legend.
Didn’t stop them all from losing their heads to women that only ever fucking lost them everything.
Cuntstruck.
Infatuated with the pussy attached to an even bigger cunt, leads to nothing but fucking trouble. They didn’t even know there was another option there until my pops met my mom and felt the same fucking lightning bolt from the heavens and knew he was lovestruck.
The only Callaghan to not lose everything to a cunt, he’s proof that maybe you can get lucky.
One out of eight aren’t great odds though.
I’ve never fucking wanted to be ‘struck. Not once.
I’ve watched my cousin follow his little flower child around, desperate for her to grow the hell up and be his, the whole time I’ve watched and I’ve hated the thought of it happening to me.
Strippers and biker sluts are all I fucking need.
And all is right in the world.
Until it’s not.
Chapter One
Angel
Coldstone, Mississippi.
Not exactly the type of place I thought I’d be running away to but the last six months in the city were fucking hard. Like, terrifying and cold and hungry at night types of hard. My trauma means finding a job is fucking impossible because everywhere I try people can’t stop touching me.
I’m like a fucking magnet or something.
They just can’t stop.
I can hide my shit from people just so long as they don’t try to grab me or hug me or something. As long as they keep their distance, I’m good.
They never keep their fucking distance.
So now, I’m in this tiny rural town. The population size alone should be something keeping me the hell away from it, but Coldstone is famous for one thing. The Unseen MC was started here, the original charter still has a compound here and owns a helluva lot of businesses here and in the surrounding towns.
The strip club they own is one of the best in the country.
Men drive in from fucking everywhere to see the girls who dance and they’re known for taking care of their assets. I’m sure half the stories are total bullshit, I mean there’s no way they got into a shootout with the local cops and skinned one of them alive without the whole club being shut down, but even if some of the rumors are true then this is the place for me.
Years of dance classes have brought me here to this moment but I’m not sure my dad would be thrilled knowing what the tuition he’d paid for was getting me now.
There’s a lot of shit about my life after his death he wouldn’t be too fucking happy with.
I can’t think about any of it.
I took my last real shower last night right before I bailed on the shitty, crackhead hotel. I feel like the whole country is full of them now, full of desperate people who are looking for their next high and really… I don’t blame them. That’s the real reason I stay the hell away from even the slightest high, too aware that I’d slip so far and fast into that kind of oblivion to get away from the demons in my head.
I’ve wanted an escape for as long as I can remember.
The town is small enough that I find the strip club without even really trying.
The Boulevard.
I park up and ignore the sputtering sort of sound the old Chevy makes. If I knew anything about cars I might be worried but I don’t have money for anything maintenance related. Fuck, I’m almost out of money for fuel and food, only a couple of hundred dollar bills left that I stash in my bra at all times so I know where they are. Two hundred dollars isn’t going to get me far and the outfit I bought last night on the way over here is still stinging me but if I’m really going to dance then… I gotta fucking look the part.
I lock the Chevy and hitch my bag up on my shoulder a little higher. Deep breath, gotta make this shit happen now. This is a do or die situation, Angel. Do or fucking die. I look up at the building, painted black and freaking huge, but it’s not exactly what I was expecting. I step up to the door and the half look I get inside just confirms it.
The Boulevard is really nice.
Clean and neat, it looks like a super exclusive sex club or something, nothing sleazy or shady about it at all. The bouncer is already at the door and although he’s freaking huge he’s also clean-cut and respectful as he looks over my ID. Not once does he make a dirty comment or check me out, just looks over my license and hands it back, careful not to touch me.
Shit, this place might actually work.
“You here for a job?”
I force a smile on my face and nod. “I heard you’re looking for girls.”
He nods and keeps his eyes off of me. “Diamond takes care of the hiring and firing, she’s in the back. Speck can take you, he’s helping out here today.”
Speck.
That’s a weird name but I don’t mention it at all, I just nod and thank him quietly while he talks into an earpiece. It’s so… formal and official. Nothing like what I expect from a biker-owned club, even with the rumors of this place.
The bouncer, his name tag says Mike, shows me to a booth and leaves a sealed bottle of water with me to drink. I wait until he’s gone before I check the seal, run my fingers over the whole thing to make sure it hasn’t been tampered with in some other way, but I don’t find anything.
I don’t drink it.
I’m too cautious, too scared about even being here to risk it, but I relax just enough into the plush cushions of the booth that I don’t feel as though I’m going to vomit on my own feet.
It’s already busy here, even so early in the night. Men are everywhere but they’re respectful of the women, even while they’re having lap dances they don’t attempt to touch the women or make any terrible comments. There’s no way I want to be getting that close but it’s another mark in the ‘yes’ column for me. The longer I’m here the more I’m finding that this place might be right for me. I keep waiting to find some sign to say there’s people trafficking or drug dealing going on, but the longer I sit in the booth the more comfortable I get.
“Hey, gorgeous! You must be from outta town because I’d remember that face if I’d seen it before.”
I freeze and glance up to find a guy leaning against the booth table. He’s grinning down at me and he has dimples. Honest to God dimples. The leather vest over his shoulders that’s covered in grinning skulls and patches looks entirely out of place with his freaking dimples. He leans down to hold out a hand for me and though I’m sure he’s cute enough to other people, I cringe away from him a little before I can stop myself.
His eyes take it in but the smile barely falters on his face. “It’s all good, gorgeous, I’m just trying to talk to ya. We don’t let girls dance here unless we like ‘em.”
Oh God.
There it is.
There’s the warning sign, the bikers try out the girls before they dance because this guy is wearing one of those leather vests so there’s no mistaking he’s in the MC.