“Yeah, you did. You fucked up bad. We caught up with Mouse and Trigger. Not sure if anyone told you.”
“Chrome stopped by. I wish you’d have brought them both back here, but prison will be good for them. It won’t be long before some of our friends inside pay them a visit.”
“Do you know why they turned on us?”
“Didn’t Chrome tell you? They didn’t like the direction the club was taking. They thought Chrome and the other Presidents were going soft. Didn’t like how much power the women were getting.”
“Heard you felt the same way. That you were the one who started complaining first.”
He sighs and nods. “You heard right. I grew up in a club that would have disbanded before they patched in a slit. When I patched in, the only bitches in the clubhouse were the whores. The Old Ladies stayed home with the kids.”
“Is that what you want? To hang around with a bunch of misogynistic assholes so you can treat women like objects instead of people?”
He snorts. “Figures you’d see it that way. You put a woman before your club back home, didn’t you?”
I stiffen at his accusation, but I don’t rise to the bait. Because he’s right, I did choose to sacrifice my club to save the life of a woman. “I’d fucking do it again if given the same choice. No woman deserves to be gang raped by a bunch of assholes because her father couldn’t pay protection money. Is that the kind of club you want? The kind that rapes women on a whim?”
“No! Fuck, no. That’s not what I want. Jesus Christ. Stop putting words in my mouth. I just want a place where I don’t have to put up with women and all their shit. Is that too much to ask?”
I shake my head. “When the fuck says you have to deal with any of the Old Ladies? Ignore them if you don’t want to talk to them. This fucking clubhouse is big enough that you won’t have to be around them if you don’t want to. All Chrome wants is for his Old Lady to feel comfortable here. He’s the President. No one but you thinks he’s asking for too much.”
I turn and leave the bitter man to his pity party. I’m done with him, for now. Whatever fate Chrome decides for him, I’ll support even if it means letting him remain in our clubhouse. However, I’ll be watching him around Cicely and any future Old Ladies.
Downstairs, the orgies are already starting. I spot Ice, Piston, and Stitch sitting at a table. Ice is shuffling cards, so I take a seat while waving a finger at Sammy to bring us beers. I’m studying my cards when Chrome sits down, pulling Cicely onto his lap. She’s wearing his property kutte and looks adorable in it. Chrome looks satisfied with himself as he positions her so she can’t see the orgy going on around us. I spot Crystal at the bar, bent over Arson, sucking his dick. I glance back at Cicely and feel a twinge of jealousy. It isn’t that I’m attracted to Cicely, but I find the idea of an Old Lady appealing. It hits me in the possessive feels.
I shake my head and tune in to the conversation in time to hear Chrome explaining to Cicely why Trigger and Mouse betrayed the club. Guilt washes over her face, but Chrome’s phone rings before he sees it.
“Yeah. Who is it? Okay, we’re on our way.” He ends the call and looks at me. “A woman is at the gate. She’s hysterical and crying. Pipes has only gotten out of her that you’re in danger.”
Standing, I toss the cards on the table and lead the way outside. Chrome and Piston are right behind me. There’s a cab at the gate. The driver is outside, leaning against the door, watching the woman plead with Pipes to let her in. I can’t see her clearly because the lights cast her in silhouette. However, as we get closer, I hear a familiar voice. One I haven’t heard in a long time.
“Pipes,” Chrome calls out, which grabs her attention. She sees me and lets out a cry.
“Whip, thank God. You’re in danger. He’s here. I saw him at my hotel. I think he came here for you.”
“Zara?”
“Who’s here?” Chrome asks.
“Menace,” Zara answers.
Chrome looks at me to explain.
“Menace was the SOA for the Adelaide Bushrangers. He’s one of the men I betrayed.”
CHAPTER 2: ZARA
The plane tilts, and Chicago slides into view, and I forget to breathe.
I lean closer to the window, ignoring the chill of the glass against my forehead. Chicago rises beneath the thinning clouds, sharp and deliberate, a forest of steel and glass that feels impossibly dense after the endless sprawl I’ve left behind. It doesn’t stretch—it stands upright.
Los Angeles had been my first taste of America, and I’d expected fireworks. Instead, it had felt laid back feel. The sprawling city spread thin beneath the sun. Low buildings, wide roads, palm trees like punctuation marks rather than statements. Beautiful, yes—but relaxed in a way that surprised me. Almost casual. As if it didn’t need to prove anything.
Chicago clearly disagrees.
From up here, the skyline looks like an artist carved it, each tower distinct, unapologetic in its height. One building doesn’t melt into the next the way cities do back home. Sydney has its icons—the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House—but even they feel like they belong to the land and the water. Chicago looks like it challenged the land and won.
The lake appears next, stretching out in a sheet of dark blue so vast my mind struggles to label it correctly. A lake shouldn’t look like that. It’s too big, too heavy, pretending very convincingly to be an ocean. I almost laugh at myself. I flew halfway across the world and still ended up staring at water.
