It turns out, I don’t need the tie to feel suffocated. Being in the confines of designer clothes while inhabiting the same space as these vile, disgusting men with too much money and too few moral boundaries makes it equally as hard to breathe.
Still, I would do anything for the club. Wicked Riders MC took me in, gave me a purpose, and became the family I never had. Growing up, I fought for every meal. Literally. As soon as I figured out how to earn money on my own, I ditched mydruggie parents along with their shitty trailer and participated in underground fighting rings at fourteen.
Reaper, who is now the Prez of the entire MC, found me bloody, broken, and filled with anger when I was in my twenties. He picked me up, dusted me off, and set me on a different path. With the help of my brothers, I’ve been able to channel my anger into becoming one of the club's top enforcers. Fifteen years later, and it’s still the best decision I’ve ever made.
The lights in the tackily decorated ballroom dim, signaling the start of this disgusting ritual. Most of the other men in the room take their seats and focus on the stage at the far end of the room. I hang back, slinking along the walls and noting every detail, down to the kind of doorknobs, and if they have locks on them.
Surveying the room, I can make out a few faces that I recognize, even in this low-light setting. There are some real estate and financial moguls from around our small Colorado town, as well as some bigger players from Denver. I make a mental list of everyone I recognize, vowing to myself to destroy their careers, if not end them completely.
Beyond that, I also study what’s going on behind the scenes, in the wings of the stage, and in the areas slightly obscured or blocked off with ropes. My brothers and I already know a lot about this auction house, including the fact that our rival MC, Sons of Destruction, is an equal partner in this venture. They are looking for a permanent location, but for now, it’s been more of an invite-only traveling circus of horrors.
This is supposed to be a recon mission, but the longer I stay here, the harder it is not to set off a grenade in here just so we can eliminate these fuckers from the gene pool altogether. My two closest and most trusted brothers, Wraith and Rogue, are waiting outside, ready to back me up if things go sideways. However, I was reminded several times, in several ways, by ourpresident and in no uncertain terms that we’re to get in, get the info, and get out. That’s it.
When the spotlight lands on the curvy angel on stage, I know I’m going to risk everything to get her to safety. I don’t know who she is, only that she belongs to me now.
My head screams at me to keep my cool, to stay hidden, and obey orders. But my heart… Well, I never thought I’d give my heart a say in anything, but then again, I’ve never been in the presence of a redheaded goddess with golden eyes.
While my head wars with my heart, my fingers are working on their own. Before I even know what I’m doing, I send a text to Wraith and Rogue, letting them know shit’s about to go down.
My phone buzzes almost immediately with a reply from Wraith.
Are you insane? This isn’t what the Prez wanted, and you know it.
My fingers fly over my phone screen in a rapid response.
This is happening with or without you. If the Prez were here, he’d understand. Call for more backup and then get your asses in here. I’m about to raise hell.
The emcee on stage is rambling off the measurements of the terrified woman - her height, weight, cup size… My face heats with rage, and my fists clench tightly in an attempt to push back the adrenaline until more of my brothers are here. The woman looks ashamed and more than fearful, and I absolutely hate that for her. No woman should ever be subjected to this, but there’s something extra deplorable about it happening tothiswoman in front of my face.
Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, her wide, amber eyes blinking unsteadily as she peers up into the spotlight. She wraps one arm across her stomach, while the other one covers her chest. Neither does much to hide her generous curves or exposed skin. I growl and grit my teeth, possessiveness coursing through me and wrapping itself around every muscle in my body.
As soon as I see Wraith enter through the north ballroom doors, I make my move. I shove past rows of men in crisp suits, some of them waving paddles with numbers. They are bidding on my woman, I realize. A new well of rage is unlocked deep in my chest, the need to get this precious woman out of here greater than ever.
I snatch a few of the waving paddles as I race by, snapping some in half while tossing the rest over my shoulder. I’m running at full speed, or, at least as fast as these stupid, too-tight dress shoes and my other stuffy clothing will allow. The aisle I’m running down comes to an abrupt end with a banquet table in the front row, which I hadn’t seen earlier. I have too much momentum to stop now, so I make a calculated jump, pushing off my left foot and sailing through the air. My right foot lands on the table briefly, and I use the leverage to launch myself onto the stage.
The entire room is in an upheaval with rich, entitled men yelling about me ruining their experience. All of their chatter fades away when I finally lock eyes with my future wife.
She’s even more enchanting up close, just like I knew she would be. But one look in those unfocused, honey-colored eyes, and I know she’s been drugged. I curse under my breath and then cup her chin as gently as possible, tilting her head up so I can get a better look.
I inhale sharply when I see her red, swollen cheek and a tiny prick on the side of her neck, which I assume is how they gaveher the drugs. The woman sways on her ridiculously high heels, and I steady her with a hand on her shoulder. She’s shivering, which makes sense considering how little clothing she’s wearing. I rip my button-down shirt off without a second thought, draping it over her shoulders to keep her warm and covered up. Those golden eyes lock onto mine, and even though they’re slightly faded, I see the pure gratitude pouring out from them.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” I tell her. My voice is stern, but I’m trying to be gentle for her. “Do you trust me?”
She hardly takes a second to think about it before nodding her head. It might be the drugs or the traumatic situation talking for her right now, but whatever the reason, I’m just glad she’s willing to come with me.
I tuck her hair behind her ear, the soft strands warming my fingers like beams of sunlight. “Good girl.”
I scoop my beautiful, broken angel up into my arms and cradle her against my bare chest as I stride across the stage toward the exit. The emcee stands in my way, but I snarl at him and send him running. Same for the two security guards waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I recognize them as members of Sons of Destruction, but when they see the unbridled rage causing my muscles to tremble, they look like they’re about to piss their pants.
I easily shoulder my way through the two fuckheads, then look down at my precious cargo. I worry that I scared her, but when her magical eyes meet mine, I know she feels it, too. She knows I’ll keep her safe.
I continue carrying my woman through the makeshift auction house, almost running into another young woman as she stomps into the crowd behind me. Instead of crying or cowering, like some of the others, she marches right into the middle of the chaotic scene, screaming about how they’re all going to get what they deserve.
“Athena,” the angel in my arm says. She adjusts slightly so she can look at her friend.
I stare after her, calculating how I can possibly get both women out. But then the woman catches Wraith’s eye, and he looks about as dumbfounded as I feel. I wouldn’t have understood a few short minutes ago, but I know he instantly feels the same about Athena as I do about my mystery woman.
“She’ll be okay,” I say, trying to soothe her worry. One of my brothers will keep an eye on her.” This seems to satisfy her for now, and she rests her head against my shoulder. Her soft little breaths tickle my neck, and I swear to God, I want to lean down and kiss her forehead.
