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Prologue
The blonde’s perky tits bounced as she gyrated, her hips swinging seductively to the beat of the rhythmic music as she swayed, her arms reaching above her platinum head, bent at the elbows as she twirled her fingers in a come-hither gesture. A bold suggestive smile curved her too full lips that were stained bright red from the cheap lipstick she wore. With a seductive look of determination, she sauntered closer, her eyes on the man of honor.
Peter saw her obvious approach and groaned inwardly. His eyes roamed over her petite frame and lingered for a few seconds before he turned away, dismissing her before she had a chance to speak. Another piece of ass was nothing new. He was sick of the constant flaunt of attention seeking pussy in his face.
If he wasn’t so god damn tired, he might have got up and gone to his room but nights like this proved he would never escape his life in the MC. No matter how much he gave up, or how much he handed over his soul . . . he was always required to give more.
Fuck Rafe and his bullshit.
“Welcome home.”
Rafe, the club’s president, sank onto the couch beside him, his smug look of self-righteousness the same as it was a year ago before Pete was arrested. Nothing had changed.
“Thanks,” Pete mumbled, not the least bit interested in the blonde with her bouncing tits and fake spray on tan, or the countless others paraded half naked in front of him. These little ‘bunnies’ or ‘puppets’ were all the same. Just wanted to be old ladies to a club member, didn’t matter which one.
Fuck that shit.
Peter wasn’t going to be used.
“You good Edge?” Edge, the nickname Rafe had given him because Pete was always on edge, ready to snap in rage. He fucking hated it.
His leather vest with the Ravage Riders MC skull logo on the back and his name Edge stitched on the front was tossed in his lap.
“Put your leathers on man. I don’t like to see you without your cut.”
Rafe’s amused expression darted from Pete to the perky blonde as she sank into his lap. His hands cupped her breasts and pinched before he yanked her closer and slammed his lips down on hers.
“Blow me,” he instructed as the girl dropped to her knees and began to unzip his pants.
Pete knew this would happen. Rafe had been giving him shit for years trying to entice him with every slat that walked through the door. Pete didn’t care about the public display, it wasn’t the issue. You could almost always find some kind of debauchery happening every night at the MC. The clubhouse was so full of free pussy he was surprised they didn’t change the name to Cathouse or some shit. Just how things were. With Rafe as Pres, that’s how they would remain.
He ignored the smacking and slurping sounds from the blonde and focused his gaze across the room looking for R.J. His best friend had been scarce tonight. Considering what was happening next to him, he could understand why.
This shit got old fast.
Neither of the guys indulged in this lifestyle when they could help it. Their mutual problem was one that haunted both of their dreams . . . and their past. The same girl.
Rae.
Rage rushed through his veins like sharp poison, stinging and burning them. Thoughts of her always brought the same reaction. Pete’s fist clenched the red plastic cup, once full of beer, in his hand a little too tight. Good thing he already downed it. Why were these cups always fucking red? His patience was wearing thin and he was sick of the constant act around Rafe.
Alcohol was an easy escape and one he sought often.
He was an expert at getting drunk. Ask anyone.
And he had a temper too.
Pete used to be a different guy, one who gave a shit and cared about doing the right thing. A low bitter chuckle rumbled in his throat
as his best friend’s gaze caught his across the room, appearing in the doorway with a frown. R.J. glared in Rafe’s direction and ticked his head toward the exit, but Peter mouthed the word ‘no.’ He wasn’t ready to leave quite yet.
There were a few things he needed to settle before he attempted to make all his wrongs right. Not an easy choice for a man whose life was condemned, but vengeance was bittersweet, and he intended to savor the moment once it arrived. For now, he had a plan to enact, which meant taking necessary risks. Right or wrong he was determined to avenge the wrongs done to him and those he loved. Doing the right thing caused him to lose the only woman who ever meant anything to him.
Rae was gone forever because of his choices . . .
So . . . fuck doing the right thing.
He didn’t give a shit anymore.
Time was ticking, his hatred burning deep and simmering low, ready to ignite in a flame of righteous revenge. So much time had passed. Too many years to count.
No more waiting, it had been long enough. Rafe would answer for his crimes.
Five years.
Five long painful years.
An eternity.
But just like the Grim Reaper . . . death was about to seek retribution.
The name of vengeance was Peter “Edge” Harding.
