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Judging by all of their expressions, it was clear the guys knew her then-boyfriend had done this, even if Dealer had asked.

“It’s nothing,” she lied and moved her head to the side, breaking his hold on her.

The three bikers stared down at her, all of them towering over her five foot five frame. When they didn’t make a move or say anything else, she sighed. “It’s nothing, really. Can I just see Mayhem?” She’d talk to her brother about the trouble she was in and see what he had to say.

After that, Mayhem would talk to the guys, because there were no secrets in the club. That was a part of their code, of their rules. She’d come here for help, and even if she was coming to Mayhem, she knew all the guys would be involved.

Mayhem would let the club in on the major fuck-up Claire found herself in.

“You want to talk to Mayhem, okay, but don’t bullshit us on the fact you’re fine,” Dealer said, his voice hard, gravelly even.

“Yeah, that bruise and cut on the side of your face ain’t nothin’, sweetheart,” Dirty said, a toothpick between his lips, the cigarette now gone.

“Come on.”

She turned and followed Shorty, who was making his way up the driveway, across the parking lot, and toward the front doors. The sound of music and laughter came from the clubhouse the closer she got, louder with every foot she put in front of the other.

Her heart was pounding, her head felt light, and she knew she had to stay strong.

Shorty opened the front door, and they all walked in. Cigarette and pot smoke slammed into her and was so thick it was like she walked through a second door. The sound of rock music blasted around her, the raised voices and laughter filling the air.

Glasses clanked together, men hollering, sweet-butts moaning and giggling, and crude and foul language being spouted off reminded Claire of all the times she’d spent partying with the club. This was the norm, familiar, and as reckless and wild as it was, it was what Claire was used to.

There were stripper poles put up in the corners, with couches situated around them. There were pool table, and a custom built bar, and all the other shit that allowed these guys to wind down after a hard night of work, memories came back full force.

The sweet-butts were everywhere, half-dressed or not at all, tits and ass all up in everyone’s view. She saw some familiar faces, but a lot of unfamiliar ones, too.

It was clear nothing had changed.

Ash was behind the bar serving up drinks, and although he was a Patch and usually the prospects were the ones doing the “bitch” work, Ash always liked making the alcoholic drinks.

The room was packed as she tried searching out her brother. But Mayhem was nowhere to be found. There were just too many people partying, too much smoke in the room, it all seemed like a blur.

She glanced toward the hallway, and everything in her stilled. Her body froze as she stared at the one man she’d tried to forget for the last two years, tried to put behind her.


Motherfucking Big.

He stood there, his stance arrogant, and his totally over-the-top caveman attitude pouring from him. He stood next to a few club girls, the bitches giving him the “fuck me now” eyes. Claire couldn’t blame them, though. Big was quite a man. He was all man, actually.

There was a small square mirror being passed around, the white powder on top cut into thin lines.

It was no secret the club liked to party, and that meant drinking copious amounts of booze, smoking weed, and even partaking in a little nose candy.

A couple of the other club members, Woods and Stone, came up to where Big and the sweet-butts were hanging, and while she watched the guys snort a line of coke, she told herself she’d left this place, left the man she’d loved, because things could have never worked out.

She’d wanted one thing from Big, and that was all of him. She’d only wanted him. He was just too hardcore to settle down, it seemed, She’d had to accept that or live her life pining after a man who might have loved her but who had a lot of other shit on his plate.

She watched as he leaned forward slightly, Stone holding the mirror. Big had a rolled-up bill he was using to snort up the white powder. Drugs weren’t her thing, never had been, but she didn’t care if anyone else did them, especially not these men.

These bikers didn’t abuse them but instead used them to let loose, relax, and get rid of the demons they carried.

Being in an MC wasn’t all partying and booze. No, they did things that had their souls darkened, their entire beings tainted. They partied and enjoyed themselves, but they also took care of business. Nothing stood in their way when it came to club dealings.

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