He laughs, a sound like broken glass. "Your brother owed us fifty grand, sweetheart. But don't worry—we've got other ways to recoup our loan.”
The words don't make sense at first. Fifty thousand dollars? How could Jason possibly?—
"I'll get a job," I whisper. "I'll pay you back, I promise. It might take a while, but?—"
"Oh, you'll definitely be working." His eyes rake over me like I'm livestock at auction. "Pretty little thing like you. You a virgin? I bet you are.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I nod because lying seems pointless.
His grin is pure evil. "Then you'll fetch a real good price."
Chapter 1
Fury
The whistles and catcalls hit me the second my Italian leather shoes touch the bottom step of the clubhouse staircase leading into the common area.
“Look at Mr. GQ Magazine over here,” Mayhem calls out.
"Well, fuck me sideways," Fuzzy shouts from his spot at the bar. “Somebody cleans up mighty nice.”
“All spit-polished and buffed to a shine,” Jinx adds.
"Fuck off," I growl, flipping them off. These assholes have been giving me shit for weeks about my new look. Can't blame them—seeing their VP dressed like some bigwig prick probably scrambles their brains.
They ain’t lying.
My silk tie is perfectly knotted. My beard's been trimmed down to a precise shadow along my jaw, and I've traded my usual leather cut for a bespoke Brioni suit that screams money and power.
I look rich, soft, and entitled. Everything I hate.
I cross to the bar where Chaos sits nursing a whiskey, watching with amusement as the brothers give me shit.
"You good?" he asks quietly, sliding a shot toward me.
I down it in one swift motion, welcoming the burn. "As good as I can be, considering."
Chaos nods, understanding in his expression. “Two and a half weeks now. Anything useful?"
"Not yet. But I'm getting close to the inner circle. Maybe tonight."
For eighteen days now I’ve been donning this undercover persona with one mission—intelligence-gathering on Los Cuervos, the Colombian cartel infiltrating our city.
In order to take them down, we first need as much intel on them as we can get.
"Stay smart," Chaos murmurs. "Don't get made."
“Yep.” I nod, standing to my full height. “That’s the plan.”
“That's a beautiful ensemble you're wearing, Dean,” Mama Pat calls from across the room, eyeing my suit with approval. “Don't get blood on it."
The brothers laugh again, but there's truth in her words. If I get made as Renegade Kings VP while undercover, blood is exactly what will spill. Mine.
I climb out of the Maserati like I own it instead of having borrowed it from one of our more cooperative business associates, and toss the fob to the valet. I slip him a hundred-dollar bill like it's nothing.
"Take care of her," I say, the words rounded at the edges with the hint of a New York accent I've cultivated for this persona.
Tonight, I’m not Dean Tianello, Vice President of the Renegade Kings MC. I’m Vincent Torrino, transportation magnate with lots of money and few morals.
