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Chapter 2
Claire
My heart feels like it’s about to explode as I hurry away from the warehouse, along the industrial block that looks like a Middle American nightmare, looming shadows of a manufacturing boom leering down at me from the sides of the road. Ghosts of a long dead Stonebrook. It’s a shock to the system, transitioning from the fantasy behind me to the cold, hard reality ahead of me.
I feel like Cinderella. Except, instead of a wicked step-mother, I have Damien “Big Dog” Hooper, president of Satan’s Animals MC.
Rivals to the Devil’s Right Hands.
And the keepers of my debt.
Three blocks from the casino, I arrive at our rendezvous point where a black SUV awaits. The passenger door pops open and I hop inside. Behind the wheel, Cody Meyer, a giant and the enforcer for Satan’s Animals, kicks the gas and we race down the street. He takes one lascivious gander at me from the corner of his eye, but quickly returns his gaze to the road, keeping on his best behavior.
Because we’re not alone. The leather of the backseat groans as a man leans forward, sticking his head between us. His face is angular, with beady, bright green eyes and thin lips. Ben Reed. The treasurer for Satan’s Animals. And, for all intents and purposes, my handler.
I came to know Ben Reed when my brother failed to make good on a debt with their MC. John dealt drugs for Satan’s Animals, a little speed, some heroine, but mostly coke. He managed to hide it from me, even as we lived together.
That was until he racked up his unpayable debt. Rather than face up to the MC, John skipped town, leaving me behind. When Ben Reed came around with his pet troll, Cody, they informed me John’s debt passed to next of kin.
Thanks, John. You always did get me the perfect birthday gifts. Coke for my twenty-second, a trip to the strip club for my twenty-third, now a drug debt with a vicious outlaw MC to ring in my twenty-fourth.
As a bit of a flake in most jobs, I never could build up savings. But Ben Reed had a creative solution for my repayment. “You’re gonna put that sweet ass to use, seducing the enemy and playing spy.”
I didn’t like it, but that didn’t matter. I shuddered to think of the alternatives. So I accepted the assignment, picked up a new dress, and slipped into the Devil’s Right Hands’ underground casino for a bit of seductive subterfuge.
“Was it a success?” Ben’s voice sounds like footsteps in a gravel pit. A small, circular scar alongside his trachea suggests a close call with a gunshot wound. To my chagrin, he survived whatever shootout left him with a voice like sandpaper. Like a cockroach, I muse.
“Yes,” I report. “One of the members took a liking to me.”
He inspects my face, searching for deceit. “How much of a liking?”
“I’ve got him eating out of the palm of my hand.”
Cody snickers. “I’ll bet you’ll have him eating out, alright.”
Ben gives him a thwack on the shoulder and the smile vacates. “Which one?”
“He goes by the name Ajax.”
This puts a big, hideous grin on Ben’s face. “Ajax, good, good.” Then he reaches forth to direct Cody. “Hang left here.”
My house is to the right. Anxiety creeps into my stomach like a bite of a ghost pepper as the car veers left. “I thought you were dropping me off at home?”
Ben looks me in the eye. When I stare back, I get a cold feeling like there’s no soul looking back at me. “We are, sweetheart, we’re just going to stop by to share the good news with Big Dog.”
My heart plummets into the roiling chaos of my stomach. As much as I hate riding in the same car as Ben and Cody, I don’t like even being within a hundred yards of Big Dog.
But there’s no stopping this car as it travels inexorably towards the Satan’s Animals’ clubhouse. When it comes into view, a cold sweat breaks out across my brow. It’s a converted church off the county road, surrounded by cracked asphalt that once served as the parking lot for its worshipers. Now a collection of motorcycles sit out front, and within it’s anything but reverential to the almighty.
We pull up to the front door and Ben escorts me from the SUV into the clubhouse, leading me through the foyer. We pass what once was the sanctuary, where they’ve ripped out the seats to replace them with billiard tables and a bar. We enter a small back room filled with chairs and couches and there we find him.
Big Dog fills a red leather armchair and lifts his head when we enter. Big Dog came by his moniker honestly. Some six and a half feet tall by my estimate, with the broad, snubnosed face of a bulldog, he looks just like his nickname. Big, hairy paws, a frame thick with muscle overlaid with fat, but most threatening of all is his dead-eyed stare. Whereas Ben feels empty, Big Dog gives the impression that something mangled and ugly sits in place of his soul.
When he looks at me with a dull expression, like a moderately interested canine, I sense that deformed spirit inside him, careless about its own rotten state. I wonder for a moment what he’s been thinking about in this room, all alone, seated in the dark, none but the moonlight to faintly dust the space with a faint, silver glow. A spectral glimmer.
He speaks lazily, like part of his mouth is numb. “How’d you fare?”
Ben elbows my side, a prompt to speak. “Well,” I tell him. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible, so I keep my answer short.
Big Dog rises from his chair and it's like watching a mastiff pick itself up off the floor. He ambles across the room until he’s standing right in front of me, a tower of a human being, his dark eyes half-lidded, staring down at me. In the same lazy manner that conducts his speech and movement, his gaze drags down my body. When it returns, he says, “Benny here, he owns you. Don’t forget that.”
I feel the presence of both Ben and Cody over my shoulders and panic starts to crawl up from my belly. Stay calm, keep composed, I tell myself. Because if I can’t, I might vomit.
With a deep breath, I search for comfort in this moment. The first thing that comes to mind is the almost-kiss I shared with Ajax. His image appears in my thoughts, the short, dirty blond hair, the unwavering, caramel eyes, the stubble that sharpens his rugged edge. That cut physique and the swagger of his stride, the cocksure way he carries himself. What began as a flirtatious act quickly became real attraction. Debonair, suave, sexy, witty, grounded by the emotional scar of his absent parents. Trouble, put simply. Something I’ve historically had difficulty avoiding. And I can just tell Ajax is radioactive levels of trouble. Hypermasculine, but the promise of an emotional core.
A trap too delicious not to fall right into.
“We’re watching you,” Big Dog reminds me. Then, with a wave of his hand, dismisses us. Ben and Cody drive me back home where I struggle to sleep, haunted by my predicament and the budding desire for Ajax, the man I’m tasked with deceiving.
