Rider tossed back his tequila and stood awkwardly. “Going to crash.”

I quickly signaled to Pit behind the bar to get the f**k out to.

As soon as I heard the door slam shut, I turned back to Ky and let the aggression being kept on hold fly loose. “Y-you and me are b-b-brothers, best f-friends, loyal ’t-t-til the f**kin’ end, but you quit this shit now. I-I-I’m not l-liking wh-where it’s h-headed.” I stood up, towering over him, but the stubborn motherfucker never broke eye contact.

He laughed without humor. “So what? Gonna make her your old lady now? Or your new club slut? Lois out, new Amish bitch in? That how it’s gonna be? She gonna be sucking on that c**k daily too? She gonna have your back when you’re shot or when you f**k a whore just because you f**kin’’ feel like it? Never happening. She won’t deal with club life. Cut… and… run… Don’t sacrifice the club for a piece of pu**y.”

Fisting his cut, I slammed him down against the table, empty glasses shattering on the wood floor. “Y-you better sh-shut your f-f-f…” I gritted my teeth and managed to push out, “F-fuckin’ mouth! Don’t f-forget who you’re t-talking to!”

Pushing me back, he spat, “Right.” Ky straightened his cut and, giving me the finger, walked to the door, then suddenly stopped, hands clenched as he looked back over his shoulder. “You act different around her, man. I’m saying your girl in there will f**k… you… up… You’re obsessed with the bitch, losing your damn mind if you think she belongs here. Christ, let’s be honest. You lost your damn sanity age eleven when you met her and never let this f**ked-up goddess-worship thing go. I’m your best f**kin’ friend, not just your damn VP. I remember how meeting her changed you all those years ago. She’s not gonna be the perfect angel you fantasized about, Styx—she’s flawed and majorly f**ked up by the looks of things. You’re puttin’ her on an unattainable pedestal for you. Don’t be a f**kin’ selfish prick and put her before the club, your brothers.

“She won’t deal with what you do, things you do, things you gotta do for the club. Let her go. Club first, remember. Nothing else comes close. I’m f**kin’ watching out for you, brother. I’ll always have your back no matter what.”

With that, he turned and left the compound, leaving me alone in the deserted bar, my messed-up thoughts my only company.

Fuck!

I slammed back another tequila, then another, and on the fifth, I smashed an empty bottle against the wall. I knew my VP was right. She’s probably best outta this f**ked-up life… but I wanted her gone ’bout as much as I wanted a shittin’ hole in the head. I’d just found her again, but it was too f**kin’ late. I’d found her too goddamn late. Hades’d already pulled me into Hell. She didn’t deserve to go down with me. She deserved a clean man—that so ain’t f**kin’ me.

Sitting back down at the table, I scanned the empty room, staring at the pictures that had the bitch so scared so many hours ago. I tried to imagine seeing them with innocent eyes—eyes that had only seen good, eyes that didn’t belong following the example of the underworld’s dark lord.

Some sick feeling wound tight in my gut, and I knew I’d not be getting any sleep tonight. My head was far too busy.

I needed my smokes, a tall bottle of Beam, and my music.

Chapter Eight

Styx

I picked up my first guitar at six, my old man telling me the only things I’d need in life were my Harley, the love of an old lady, and my Fender. The code I’ve lived by all my life. Had my Harley, MC brothers, had money, had my guitar—didn’t have an old lady, and Lois weren’t ever gonna be it. Twenty-six, bagged lots a’ sluts, no old lady prospects, but a constant pair of wolf eyes constantly haunted my dreams since the age of eleven.

Talking always came hard to me, but singing and playing… fuckin’ natural as breathing, and no problems pushing out the words. I’d never felt more comfortable than when I had my guitar in hand, the lyrics flowing out my loose throat like the f**kin’ wind.

I strummed at the strings of my Fender acoustic, growing more and more pissed at my situation. Switching seamlessly from Cash to Waits—needing the comfort of dark and painful melodies—I took a pull of my smoke, dropping it in the ashtray, feet propped up on the table, when an old song spilled from my lips.

“Well, I hope that I don’t fall in love with you,

‘cause falling in love just makes me blue.”

I sang with my eyes closed, shutting out the world for a while, my fingers dancing on the strings. I zoned the f**k out, only to see Jane Doe smile shyly at me in my mind. Feeling a burn in my chest at the image, I opened my eyes and, f**k… She was there on the sofa to my right, knees bent, arms wrapped ’round her long, perfect stems, head resting on top, wolf eyes staring… like I’d f**kin’ conjured her to life.

I instantly stopped playing, hands freezing on the strings, unable to look away from her. She just stared, a slight blush to her sallow cheeks.

Shifting forward and lifting up my Fender, I turned away to put it down. But when I was halfway to putting the guitar back on its stand to my right, the sound of her deep breathing made me look her way. She slowly opened those full, pink lips, the tip of her wet tongue peeking out, and whispered, “Again.”

I swear my heart missed a f**kin’ beat.

She was talking.

Edging forward, I tipped my chin, urging her to repeat herself.

A deep blush crept up the entire length of her face and she swallowed, shifting slightly, long black lashes fluttering like f**kin’ butterfly wings.

“Again… please, play it again. I very much enjoyed hearing your voice.”

What the hell was that accent?

That button nose of hers scrunched and I knew what was coming. Fuck! And there it was, the tiny twitch betraying her nerves. I couldn’t look away. Christ, I never took my eyes off hers, holding her gaze while I grabbed my guitar, sitting back, taking a deep breath, thinking over the words, picking up where I left off.

“…And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you.

I can see that you are lonesome just like me, and it being late, you’d like some company…”

Tears glistened in her eyes as I sang each line, a pleased smile ghosting her lips. Fuck. To see that look on her face or hear her talk again, I’d sing “Over the f**kin’ Rainbow” soprano, if she wanted.