Brent clutched his nose. His brows furrowed together, wrinkling in the center. “The fuck, Cain? Seriously? Fuck you, man.”
“No, Brent, fuck you. All these years I had nothing but respect for your ass, but I’ve sat idle too long while you treated Rosie like shit. It’s not right, and I won’t allow it anymore.”
“Won’t allow it?” He laughed sardonically. “Wow. You’re more of a pussy than I thought you were.”
My jaw locked—teeth grinding together as a low growl rumbled in the depths of my chest. “Unless you want a black eye to go with that busted nose, I suggest you shut your mouth.”
Moving past him, I checked his shoulder and walked into the house, not stopping until I reached my room. The door rattled on its hinges from how hard I slammed it.
Pulling my old duffle bag down from the shelf in my closet, I tossed it on my bed and rifled through the drawers of my bureau, tossing everything I owned into an unorganized pile.
The way my stomach churned thinking about the likelihood of Brent being right—that Rose would take him back—was enough to make me realize there was no reason for me to stay in Ridgewood. I only moved here with him—with them—because Brent convinced me it was a good idea.
I refused to watch them repeat their toxic shit over and over, and even more so, I refused to sit back and not be the brother she ended up with.
My brother was a piece of shit, and it was high time I left him behind. Even if that meant leaving her behind, too.
For about a year, I went back to Northwood until I realized my hometown was not where I wanted to be. Realistically, I knew that before I went back, but I needed the stability of a roof over my head to figure out my next move. Moving back to my parents’ house seemed like the simplest solution, and it was for a while, but being in your twenties and living with mommy and daddy fucking sucked. So as quickly as I could, I hightailed it out of there, tossing the same duffle full of shit into the bed of my truck, and headed toward Bridge Point.
Bridge Point wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t great. If I wanted to work an industrial, warehouse type of job, I would have had everything I needed, but guess what? I didn’t. Not one bit. So after four months I, yet again, tossed my duffle into my truck and tried a new town.
Shadow Hills.
It was small, but up-and-coming. The job options sucked, but nothing a quick commute into Ridgewood wouldn’t rectify. So long as I stayed on the Shadow Hills side of Ridgewood, I didn’t have to watch Brent parade around with my girl on his arm.
Except she wasn’t my girl.
Yet.
And right now, she pretended to be Sly’s girl. It was a farce—I knew that. Her relationship with Sly was about as solid as the one she had with my brother, and I knew it was only a matter of time before she walked away from him, too.
The question remained, when she walked away from him, would she finally walk toward me?
* * *
Bringingmy elbows to rest on the long mahogany table, I clasped my hands together and cracked my knuckles, looking around at the men in front of me. Sinners Warlord—Ridgewood’s motorcycle club—wasn’t your typical club. We were small, tight-knit, and formed to help the police department rid the city of the scum that inhabited the streets. Unlike the P.D., we weren’t afraid to get our hands dirty. They had a code to abide by, one they couldn’t bend for fear of losing their livelihoods, but for the Sinners, our main objective was to make Ridgewood a safe place, tokeepit a safe place, by whatever means necessary.
Pops, the club's former prez, was the epitome of everyone’s favorite grandfather, but wasn’t afraid of putting a bullet between the eyes of any rapist, pedophile, or abusive prick who crossed his path. His primary mission in life was to protect the women and children of Ridgewood.Allwomen and children, not just the ones he knew. Pops had a moral compass and rules he required his crew to obey to keep us safe and make sure our loved ones were too. It wasn’t uncommon for clubs to fuck around on their old ladies, but for the members of the Sinners, your loyalty had to lie with the one woman you gave yourself to. Family aboveeverythingelse. Pops didn’t take lightly to women being fucked around on. As far as club presidents went, he was an anomaly.
If you stepped out of line and strayed from the rules set in place, you were out. Done. Period. Pops didn’t give second chances, and he also didn’t believe in holding you to the club if your path led you in a different direction. If you were done with his rules or his club, he’d happily hold open the door and shove your ass through it.
Everyone knew the Sinners were doing more good than harm, even so, being an MC had a certain stereotype that the public couldn’t separate from what the club was actually doing for the community. Which was fine by us. Things went bump in the night and we were the ones who added an extrabangto it before we swept the trash away.
Plus, it helped that back when Pops led the club he was golfing buddies with Chief Collier, and now that I’m prez, the current Chief of Police and I tossed back a whiskey together from time to time. Wes Duquette and I certainly weren’t friends, but being that we were both in positions of power, we knew when the city needed us to discuss town politics and could do so harmoniously.
The gruff voice of my road captain, Silas, cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to our current predicament. “Word on the street’s there’s been two college girls roofied in the last week. One at Reggie’s, and one at that new nightclub…er…what’s it called?”
“Lawless.” Preston smirked, tapping his fingers in front of his mouth. The club's newest prospect and resident party-boy was a frequent flyer at Lawless, Ridgewood’s newest and hottest nightclub. True to the name, pretty much anything went at Lawless. I hadn’t been yet, but I’d heard enough.
“But Reggies is in Shadow Hills, ain’t it?” Damon asked. “Not quite our jurisdiction.”
My lips pursed as I contemplated Damon’s words, irritation zipping through my bloodstream at his lack of compassion. “Who fucking cares if it’s Shadow Hills or Ridgewood?” I snapped, unable to help myself. “Either way, a barely legal girl was roofied and raped. The two could be connected, or they could be completely random, but I’d place bets on the former. Now the question is, what the fuck are we going to do about it?”
The men around the room grumbled and growled their agreement, while Damon’s eyes met mine, a flash of anger momentarily turning his blue eyes navy. I raised a brow, silently daring him to open his mouth.
As I suspected, he stayed silent.
Damon, the club's enforcer, was the eyes and ears of the club. He made sure the members stayed in line and that our name was kept out of everyone's mouth less they were spitting compliments. Due to the nature of his job, Damon was a stickler for rules, laws, and guidelines. Apparently, he added city limits to that list as well.
