Page 23 of Blood and Trouble

Oh.

Lycan’s shoulders shook with muted laughter.

“Shut up,” I hissed.

I put my arms around his waist and locked my hands. He took off. The first corner nearly stopped my heart. I clamped down and buried my face between his shoulder blades, praying to every God that ever existed to get me to safety.

Somewhere on the second bridge, I stopped bracing. The canal opened up on our left, black and glittering, and the air smelled like diesel and rain on asphalt. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much, but instead of scaring me, it cracked something open behind my ribs. I turned my cheek against his back and watched Copenhagen race by.

When we pulled up outside the bar, I didn’t let go right away.

Lycan reached back to squeeze my knee. “Told you.”

“You told me nothing.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can thank me later.”

I doubted that.

Lycan’s version of “roughing it” turned out to be a local biker bar that I never would have ventured to on my own. Owned by the Copenhagen Royal Bastards MC, Lycan had promised the president he’d swing by to do some networking of his own. When a Bastard went to another chapter’s territory, he had to get permission to be there—always granted but with the condition of a few hours of drinking diplomacy.

I suddenly understood the dressed-down look. The entire place was packed with people wearing denim and leather, and it reeked of old beer and stale cigarettes. A motorcycle engine hung in a place of honor between the liquor bottles on the wall behind the bar, while a vintage bike painted with violet flames rested on the opposite side. People crowded around three pool tables in the back, and a band stood on the stage beyond, pelting out a heavy metal anthem I didn’t recognize.

“Hey! There he is,” shouted a man wearing a vest proudly proclaiming him as the vice president of the RBMC: Copenhagen chapter. He was about the same age as Lycan, with light skin, dark hair, brown eyes, and a gorgeous smile.

Lycan laughed and took his hand, pulling him in for a hug. “Good to see you again, Bas.”

“Happy you made it,” another man joined in. This one was older and gray around the temples. His patch read “Road Captain.”

“This is Ava Vanderbilt.” Lycan put a hand on my back to pull me in closer. “Ava, this is Bas and Thurjin.”

I held my palm out to each of them. “Nice to meet you.”

“Good of you to come,” Bas said. “There’s food in the back, and drinks are on the club.”

“What?” Lycan held a hand to his chest. “No, I couldn’t⁠—”

“I insist,” Thurjin cut in. “You’re guests, huh? We can’t have Kodiak or Jameson finding out we weren’t hospitable.”

Bas shouted something in Danish I couldn’t make out to the bartender, who returned with two shots of amber liquor and two tall glasses of beer.

“Skål,” Bas said, handing them to us as he held up a shot of his own. We clinked and knocked them back. It burned most of the way down, certainly a far cry from the Macallan I had in my suite, but I didn’t mention it.

Bas laughed at my wince and called for another. Lycan and I made our rounds through the room, greeting the members of the Danish Bastards and their “ole ladies.” I wrinkled my nose at the moniker, but Lycan assured me it was a term of endearment to this crowd.

“It’s not caviar and champagne,” Lycan teased when we made it to the food in the back. “But it’s edible.”

“It smells delicious,” I said, and truly, it did. I stuffed my plate with an oversized helping of hearty meat before taking a seat at one of the available high-tops. Lycan sat next to me, watching as I lifted the burger to my mouth and bit off a huge chunk. Grease rolled down my chin, but I moaned at the delicious flavor and sumptuous seasoning. It was different than burgers in the States, but that didn’t make it any less amazing.

Lycan laughed as I set it down and wiped my mouth with a napkin.

“What?” I asked.

He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Nothing. It’s just…it’s good to see you set aside all that moral, virtuous breeding.”

I snorted. “I grew up on a ranch. I’ve been around roughnecks before. Salt of the earth type people.”

“I didn’t take you for slumming it with the help.” He bit into a hot dog and smirked.