Page 12 of Diary of a Biker Queen

I didn’t want to be scared of him.

And yet, I was.

I’d seen death. I’d had a hand in one myself. I hadn’t expected Lynx to be some sort of squeaky-clean, upstanding citizen who had never gotten his hands dirty. Men like that weren’t part of biker clubs, weren’t ex-prisoners, weren’t working for Mafia dons.

But I’d never seen someone lose control like Lynx had. And I’d never been so close to someone accused of being a serial killer with a lynx-shaped calling card he carved into his victim’s skin.

That was a whole new level of fucked up.

Reaper gave me a look that was clearly meant to say: Everything is going to be okay.

But I really had no idea how it could be.

5

LYNX

Dear Diary,

I finally found something that felt like family. Naturally, I’m the biggest threat to it.

We all piled into the club van, and I didn’t miss the way Reaper made sure the two of us were sitting in the back row together. We were both big guys, so even though the row technically sat three, nobody tried to sit between us.

He waited until War got the van going and the radio and chatter amongst the others drowned out our murmured conversation.

He let out a long breath. “It happened again?”

I glanced over at him. “Who—”

“Nyah.”

Of course she did. She sat squished between Dax, who instinctively leaned toward her in the middle row, and Luca, on her other side, leaning as far toward the window as he could get. He seemed like he’d rather throw himself through it than sit that close to her but he didn’t have much choice because Hawk and War had taken up the only other two seats in the front.

She peeked back over her shoulder at me and then quickly looked away.

I shifted back in my seat to talk to Reaper. “I can’t even remember most of it. You know I never fucking can. One minute I’m telling Luca’s old man that I’m not fighting. The next I’m covered in blood and the guy dead at my feet has lynx marks in his back.”

Reaper closed his eyes. “Just like that time on the inside.”

I shrugged. “I can’t remember much of that either.”

But Reaper did. He’d been the one who’d found me in one of the prison storerooms with a homemade shiv and a dead body. He’d been the one who’d covered up the marks I’d carved, so the prison guards couldn’t link anything back to me. We’d both been grilled for days over it. He’d done time in solitary, the guards trying to mentally break him into giving me up.

But he hadn’t.

Reaper was the loyalist of friends.

It was just a shame for him he’d picked up such a defective one in me.

Reaper sighed heavily. “You need to talk to Doc when we get back. Join his group.”

I snorted. “His Murder Squad?”

A smile turned up the corners of Reaper’s mouth. “Only X calls it that. The rest of us just call it a support group. Somewhere to go when that urge inside you starts whispering too loudly.”

That was the thing. With me, it didn’t whisper at all. It went completely dormant, until it took over my body completely. And by the time it did that, there was no amount of talking or support groups that were going to stop it.

“Maybe,” I told Reaper.