AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Because he knew that was the only way to get back a little of the dignity that Rafe had stolen the night before when he dropped him with one fucking punch.
“This is the only warning you get. I might not have the skills in a ring, but I don’t need them,” I told him, slapping his cheek playfully. “Because you can’t fucking outrun a bullet, sweetheart.”
Standing, I stepped back, and his buddy, who had been smart and stayed the hell out of it, rushed in and helped Hunter off the floor. The two of them awkwardly hobbled back across the gym and out the front doors.
I turned to Rafe and lifted my chin. “You good?”
He swiped at his nose while still glaring at the exit. “I could have taken them.”
Blue slapped the kid around the head, and Rafe pulled back. “What the f—”
“It isn’t about whether you could have handled it yourself,” I informed him, even though Blue was trying to send the same message with a dark glare that could have melted steel. “It’s about letting assholes like him know that you have people behind you… the club behind you. We don’t carry that weight on our own. We share it amongst our brothers so it becomes lighter.”
He grabbed the towel he had discarded on the floor and wiped his face with it. “Does that mean you’re going to let me prospect?”
“You come over to my place for lunch later, and we’ll talk about it.”
Rafe was already nodding. “Yeah, for sure.”
His eyes had changed. The anger was gone, and I saw hope sparkling in them. That was what this kind of offer could do for a person who needed it.
A person who didn’t have a family or people in their life who supported them, protected them, loved them. I knew that feeling because, at one time, years ago, I had been in his place, needing someone to take a chance on a young kid who had no one and nowhere to go.
My life started deep within a religious cult called The Valley. They had a compound not far from Detroit, with homes built far out in the countryside where they could brainwash and indoctrinate without being caught out and questioned about their practices.
A woman’s purpose was to cook, clean, and breed.
Young boys started physical labor jobs from ten years old, working for little to nothing in pay, while The Valley and their businesses made millions.
I was fifteen when they tried to make me watch my thirteen-year-old sister marry a man four times her fucking age. A man who had children older than her. I stepped in to try and stop them. In return, I was driven out of the compound and left on some fucking back road in the middle of the countryside with no food, water, or money and told never to return.
I suspect they thought I’d die out there, but I’d been determined not to let them have the satisfaction.
It was almost four days later that I heard the roar of motorcycles and met the man who would change my life.
Rook. President of The Exiled Eight MC, Detroit.
He gave me a ride out of there.
And I never looked back.
Here’s hoping Rafe would seize this opportunity because it would only be offered once.
Chapter Three
SHAY
“Sorry I’m late,” Calli called as we busted through the front door of her dad’s place. “The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers was blaring from the backyard, and I couldn’t help but smile as several deep, out-of-tune voices sang along.
I followed Calli into the kitchen, leaning back against the counter as she dropped the grocery bags she was carrying and wrapped her arms around the large biker standing in front of the stove, pressing her cheek to the back of his leather cut. A tattooed arm reached back, wrapping around her. For a second, she closed her eyes and smiled.
“Hi, Daddy,” she greeted, giving him a tight squeeze and stepping back, shoving his shoulder. “Now get out of the way and let me finish the eggs.”
“I’m quite fucking capable of cooking eggs, Calliope,” Bishop grumbled, though he still stepped away and let her take his place. He folded his arms across his chest. “Where have you been?”
Clearing my throat, I raised my hand. “Sorry. It’s my fault. There was an incident at work, and Calli came to pick me up,” I rambled, swallowing hard when Bishop turned his penetrating gaze toward me. Bishop was the kind of man who, if I hadn’t met him personally, would make me cross the road when I was walking down the street. He was at least six foot with broad shoulders, a mess of tattoos, and a thick beard.
But the permanent scowl on his face sent my heart beating erratically like I’d had too many cups of coffee that morning.
