“That’s Reaper and Zeus.”
“If Zeus is connected, what about Morpheus?” I asked.
“Shit, we didn’t even think about him,” Nav cursed. “Fuck, we can’t trust any of them. Not until we know for sure.”
“Don’t forget Montana. He had the seat and was removed. I heard he didn’t take it well. There’s also Kansas.”
“Fuck,” Nav cursed again.
After my conversation with Nav, I went searching for Grace. I ran upstairs to check her room first. When she wasn’t there, I checked the kitchen and the main room.
My next area was the gym downstairs. I opened the door, and there she was. Heavy metal blared through the speakers, and I knew she hadn’t heard me enter. I leaned against the door frame and watched her as she worked out.
Her hair was pulled up into a bun on top of her head. Her feet were bare, and so were her legs. She wore a tiny pair of shorts, which barely covered her tight ass, and a sports bra over her chest. I had to adjust my cock as I watched her body move.
Her hands were taped, but she wasn’t wearing gloves. Sweat poured down her face as she beat on the bag, and I wondered whose face she envisioned.
As the song ended, so did she. Her shoulders dropped, and her chin met her chest. She looked defeated. Her eyes were closed as she took long, deep breaths, and all I could think about was pulling her into my arms and holding her like I did the night before.
I wanted this woman like nothing else in my life. I’d told her I wouldn’t leave the club for her, and it was true. But even the year I prospected didn’t have me yearning for the patch the way I had obsessed over her since the first day I saw her.
Almost three years ago...
The bar in Diamond Creek was a cesspool. I’d been talking to Jake Hardy about selling it to the club. He’d been giving me shit about the price, convinced it was worth more because of his new bartender. A woman who was new in town.
Grace Bishop.
Diamond Creek wasn’t the type of place most people would choose to start over in. There wasn’t much here. One street lined with a few businesses didn’t make a metropolis.
The only reason we’d chosen here was that Blade, my road captain, had grown up here. He knew the roads, and he knew the people. It was a good place for a motorcycle club to set up. Wide-open roads and no real law to answer to.
When I stepped inside the bar, the first thing I noticed was the smell of stale beer and rancid oil. If I had to guess, I’d say it had been a long fucking time since someone cleaned the fryer.
It was a weekday, yet the place didn’t lack patrons. Men lined up at the bar waiting for their turn. I’d expected a lack of patience, yet it seemed they were all content to wait their turn while they watched the bartender.
Jake said she was pretty but, fuck!
Grace Bishop wasn’t just pretty. She was a fucking bombshell!
I watched as she moved along the bar with a genuine smile for every man she spoke to. She wore her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that sat low, and her denim shorts sat lower. She’d knotted her bar T-shirt at her waist, an inch above her waistband, revealing more than a strip of creamy skin when she reached up on the shelf to grab a bottle. Skin I wanted to run my tongue along.
I pushed my way through the crowd, and a couple of local guys groaned when they saw me but moved to give me a stool.
What could I say?
It was good to be the King!
I cleared my throat as I pushed off the wall and walked toward her. Her eyes narrowed at me, and her hands fisted on her hips.
“What are you doing down here?”
“Looking for you.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Why?”
“Because we need to talk, Grace.” I stopped moving once I stood in front of her. She leaned her head back to look at me and took a deep breath.
“What is there to talk about?” she asked as she unraveled the tape on her hands. “You said nothing has changed. I don’t want to have the same fucking argument we’ve been having for years.”
