I’ve never thought aboutthe other side of the bed. It’s always empty, and I prefer it that way.
Cold sheets mean I’m not getting distracted.
It means my head is on straight, and I’m focused.
Peeling my eyes open, I’m struck by a beam of sunlight shooting through the window. The blinding glow has the previous night flooding back.
She floods back.
I can still hear Emery’s perfect moans leaving her gorgeous lips. I can still see her body arching in pleasure. I can still feel her tearing open the first time I thrust into her.
I’ve never taken anyone’s virginity because it’s fucking reckless. It’s one thing to be memorable in bed; it’s another for it to mean something. I’m careful to make sure girls don’t get attached. I make a point of not meaning anything to anybody.
But the moment I sank into Emery and her eyes filled with tears, that silent promise to myself was forever altered. She handed me a piece of her body with the kind of trust I don’t deserve.
Not from her.
A girl who sees through all my bullshit.
Who isn’t scared of the target my cut puts on my back.
It’s confusing as fuck. And scary considering I sense I’m not the only one with things I’m not saying.
There was distance in Emery’s eyes all night. Secrets she’s clearly keeping. She refused to get too personal, like she thought she’d wake up and the universe would rip the world out from under her.
I’ve never cared enough about a woman to figure her out. Never thought much about anyone outside of my club and myself. But as I roll over in the oversized king bed, that’s what I intend to do.
I’m going to figure out what makes Emery smile. What makes her tick. I’m going to figure out why she gave her virginity to some biker she met at a casino.
I want to know why she hates the color red and why she told a strange lie about peanuts. I want to know everything.
I reach for her, and my smile grows. Until my palm lands on cold sheets, and it disappears entirely.
The bed is empty.
Emery is gone.
It should be a relief. After all, one-night stands are what I do best.
Grabbing her pillow, I flatten it over my face and breathe in the lingering scent of her orange blossom perfume. I drown my lungs with her smell. Like maybe once it’s gone, I’ll be able to let her go.
5
Soul
Ten Months Later
There’s only one thingmore chaotic than a patching-in party, and that’s when one of our members earns his rank. Venom is passed out on the pool table, thoroughly wasted and missing most of his clothes since he came back from his room with a couple of patch bunnies.
As he should be. Becoming the new tail gunner of the Las Vegas Twisted Kings is something worth celebrating, even if it hurts that we’re filling a position that was previously held by Mayhem, a long-standing member of the club.
Mayhem was taken out in a shower of bullets on the compound, officially escalating the war between us and Rick Zane, the casino owner who owns half of Vegas. Now, trouble is looming, and trust between our brothers is more important than ever. Which is why Venom is taking Mayhem’s place.
In Venom’s short time with the club, he’s done more than most. Whether it be running toward gunfire or taking a knife to the gut, he’s earned our respect. It’s why so many of the guys trust him to watch their old ladies in times of trouble. He’s been stabbed, shot, and on the brink of death, playing the hero. He has absolutely no sense of self-preservation, which is, I guess, why he gets along with me and Chaos so well.
I look around the clubhouse. The party is finally winding down from the one that raged well into the morning. Rank celebrations always draw bigger crowds. Everyone shows up. Members, prospects, patch bunnies, old ladies. The clubhouse was packed to the brim, and just because it’s quiet now doesn’t mean it’s over. The second people sober up again, they’ll be back at it.
Most members have passed out or disappeared to their rooms for the time being, but the ranked brothers still hang around, as is our place when we give out a patch.
