Her eyes scan me up and down in a clearly judgmental way, not hiding the fact that she’s doing it at all. I jerk my head back in confusion as she hums under her breath, “Yeah… we’ll see,” she mumbles, then takes off toward the front door, her red heels clicking as she goes.
I snap my head around to Nitro, and he throws his hands in the air in frustration, taking off after her. The other guys follow with a look of hesitation on their faces.
Puffing out a long breath of air, I slide my hand into my jeans pocket to feel for my poker chip. Pulling it out, I begin to flick it between my fingers as I head in behind everyone else. The eyes of my brothers are on me as I enter, and the weight of their trust and doubts follow every step I take.
This could be the beginning of something good for the club.
Or it could be the beginning of our downfall.
But one thing’s for sure…
Elizabeth Hale is about to write a story she never saw coming, and I’ll make damn sure it’s the one we want her to tell, whether she likes it or not.
Chapter Two
ELIZABETH
My eyes light up as I approach the entrance. When I was told it was a casino and hotel complex that never launched, and Defiance converted it into their clubhouse, I thought it was all bullshit. But as I step up to the front double doors, which are clearly the entrance to a casino, I can’t help but smirk. Not waiting for Sin or one of his men to try to be polite and open the door for me, I pull back the left door and step inside. They can’t try to fool me into thinking they’re not the chauvinistic animals I know they are.
Making my way inside, it’s the smell that hits me first—a mix of gasoline, old leather, and something else, something distinctly male. It’s not unpleasant, just different, heavy in the air.
The clubhouse door closes behind me, the solid thunk echoing in my ears. I expected chaos, dirty floors, grumbling men with stained club cuts, eyes following my every move, but instead, it’s mostly orderly. Not what I had in mind when I pictured an outlaw biker club.
My heels click across the floor, the sound sharp in contrast to the low thrum of conversation. The unmistakable notion of eyes following me, assessing, sizing me up as I stand in the middle of the clubroom, taking it all in.
Directly in front of me are tables and chairs, clearly for communal eating. I’m assuming if this were the main casino area, it would be where the poker tables would be located. To the left seems to be a room locked off with intense security. I take a mental note of that as Sin strides up beside me, finally catching up. He is a silent sentinel, his presence commanding the room even when he’s not saying a word. Sin nods toward thesame group of men who were outside moments ago, and who are now lounging on sofas at the opposite end of the room from the communal eating area, drinks already in hand, their laughter rising above the background noise.
He places his hand politely on my lower back, edging me toward them. “Seeing as you want the full experience… come, meet my brothers,” Sin urges, his voice carrying easily through the room.
Walking with him, I grin slightly. “Full experience, huh?”
Sin chuckles, the sound surprisingly light coming from a man as Herculean as him. He has muscles on muscles. His dark brown hair is a little longer on top, slicked back across his head in that I’m-a-bad-boy-who-will-melt-your-heart kind of way, then reminds you I’m all alpha male when my beard tickles your pussy as I eat you out. And the tattoos, don’t forget the sexy-as-sin tattoos. They’re such a contradiction, especially the ones on his face. A spider hangs from a web above his right eyebrow, and then in stark contrast, a tiny heart outline sits under his right eye—I just know there’s got to be a hidden meaning behindthat.
His lips turn up in a knowing smirk. “You’re not starting to get second thoughts now, are you, Elizabeth?” He’s clearly testing me.
Stopping mid-stride, I turn to face him, my eyes meeting his, my hand pressed against hisincrediblystrong chest. His brows scrunch as he stares back at me with those crazy, intense eyes, and I can’t help but gaze into them, seeing the mismatch in color. Each iris is a mix of two colors—light blue and brown. A very rare phenomenon that makes his eyes so remarkably stunning.
My breathing hitches as I clear my throat. “Interesting,” I mumble under my breath.
He takes a small step back, causing my hand to fall from his chest like he’s suddenly uncomfortable with me assessing him. “What?” he snaps.
A slow smile crosses my lips. “One percent,” I reply casually.
Sin folds his arms across his chest like he’s unimpressed. “You knew coming in that we’re 1%ers. Where are you going with this, Elizabeth?”
Tilting my head, I continue to keep eye contact with him. “One percent of the population on earth has sectoral heterochromia, andyou,Sin, are part of that one percent. It’s fascinating. Don’t you think?”
He rolls his eyes, grabs my shoulders, and spins me back to face where we were walking. “I don’t think my eye color hasanythingto do with why you’re here, Elizabeth. If you’re going to write a fluff piece on how outlaws have pretty eyes, then you should go write some mommy porn instead. We don’t needanythingabout my fucking eyes mentioned when you’re writing about our club. What we do, what we stand for, that’s it.Understand,wildcat?”
Letting out a small laugh, I continue to walk with him toward the other guys still sitting on the sofas. “Whatever you say, bossman.”
Sin scowls and continues to edge me over to the other men, all of them eyeing me up and down as I approach, not in a salacious way, but more in a you-come-for-our-club-we-will-come for-you kind of way.
Sin clears his throat and proceeds to introduce me to his brothers. “Nitro, my VP. Ghost, tech genius. Koa, Sergeant at Arms, Deek, our road captain, and this is Bear… he’s our wise one.” Sin points each of them out as he says their names. They each give me a once-over, some with curiosity, others with a flicker of skepticism.
Nitro is the first to speak, his eyes narrowing slightly. “So…you’rethe elusive reporter?”
Shrugging, I purse my lips. “I prefer investigative journalist, but potato, potahto,” I reply, offering a tight smile.
