“That’s enough for tonight,” Ark says, nudging the rest of his drink away. The guy has the iron discipline of someone who learned early that mistakes draw blood, and second chances are thin on the ground. “You following them back?”
“Yeah. You want to come along?”
He grimaces, dragging his hand through his slicked back hair before he pushes away from the bar. He walks with the confidence of a man who has rarely – if ever – met his physical match, but as we head towards the door, he seems barely aware of the way the crowd parts before him, some of the slower patrons even knocking over their chairs to get out of his way. It’s not just the President patch, either, or the Flyers’ wings etched on his thick neck. I’ve known a lot of hardcore alphas, and none of them were as effortlessly dominant as Arkin Wallace.
But he stops suddenly as we push out into the cold night air, his eyes flashing as they scan the parking lot. “Is that Abbie?”
My head jerks towards the raised voices coming from a dimly lit corner, my instincts on high alert for my omegas.
Danger.
Hurt.
Protect them, at all costs.
“Shit.” We run towards the sound of her cries, which quickly descend into a string of curses. As we skid to a stop beside her, it’s not hard to see what’s brought on her fury. Not a gang of alphas, like I feared, but her beloved Indian queen, barely recognizable after the beating someone has given it.
I assess the damage with a grimace. Headlight smashed, tires slashed, seat ripped off, wires cut, and gravel - or some other road dirt - packed into the engine...
“Who would do this?” Wings asks, his hands linked on top of his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“Maybe the same asshole who kills butterflies,” I mutter, drawing sharp glances from both Ark and Wings.
“What the hell does that mean?”
It’s Ark who barks the question at me, but I face them both, knowing I’m about to get my ass handed to me. And with good reason. “Something at the clinic,” I reply shortly. “Someone entered the sleeping area while Abbie was napping and covered her bunk in dead butterflies. It’s being investigated, but I should have mentioned it sooner.”
Ark glares at me, but Wings spins towards Abbie, his eyes wide with shock. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She’s too angry to bend all the way, but I can see a flicker of remorse in her eyes as she says, “I thought it was a prank. I didn’t want to worry you.”
Wings just shakes his head, but Ark is a looming wall of displeasure. “That’s way too personal to just be a prank. If you’re being targeted, you should move to the clubhouse until we identify the threat.”
He nods my way, like we’re all in agreement with that plan, but Abbie folds her arms and glares up at him. “Oh, yeah? Andwhat if the threat is coming fromwithinthe clubhouse?” She glances at her bike and sucks in a harsh breath, her pale cheeks flushing red. “Maybe they followedyouhere, and I’m just getting the blowback.”
Ark’s jaw works like he’s chewing on something bitter. “No biker would do this. Period.”
I’m not sure I agree with him, but the heat seems to go out of Abbie’s rage, and she turns towards Wings with a helpless groan. “I can’t look at her anymore. Can you take me home, please?”
I turn away to call Cruise, who runs the Flyers’ workshop, giving him the basics so he can organize a pickup. I also photograph the closest license plates and shoot them off to the club’s security team, telling them to follow up on any witnesses. I can’t see any obvious CCTV, but I ask them to send someone to talk to the bartenders, in case some asshole was boasting about taking out a bike in the parking lot.
When I’m done, Abbie is sliding on the back of Wings’ bike, her face pale and her grip trembling against his waist. Ark steps close to them, his hand resting briefly on Wings’ shoulder. “I’m not gonna push either of you, but you have a home with us, whenever you want it.”
Wings nods, but Abbie presses her head against his back. “We can talk again. That’s the best I can do.”
He steps back, watching as they ride off, then turns to me with a grim look. “This changes things. I want round-the-clock security. And don’t ever hold back on a report about her again.”
“Sorry, boss.” I can’t give him a blanket promise, because if my omegas asked me to protect their privacy, I would do it in a heartbeat. “You need anything else before I head off?”
“No.” He nods in the direction of their fading taillight. “Just keep them safe. That’s your priority.”
The easiest way to do my president’s bidding – and satisfy my own need to keep them close – is to camp out on her couch.It’s all quiet in her bedroom, and I doze while keeping one ear scanning my surroundings. It’s a trick I picked up on the streets and honed in my first club, which was little more than a bunch of outlaws held together by greed and dysfunction. When it imploded, I made my way north, bouncing around between clubs until I met Ark at a bike rally. Practically the first words out of his mouth were that loyalty to the wrong kind of club makes you part of the problem, and I should think carefully about the next patch I wore on my back. Two days later I applied to be an Iron Flyers’ prospect, and I’ve had a home with them ever since.
I open my eyes as Abbie pads into the room, not looking particularly surprised to find me on her couch. I sit up straighter, watching as she heads into the kitchen. “Can't sleep?”
“Restless.” She grabs a glass, then opens the freezer and pulls out a bottle of vodka. “Pissed off, mostly.” She pours a couple of fingers and drinks it down fast, wincing at the burn. “Sad, too, which is why I’m out here drinking instead of in there with Wings.”
She pours another double, and I watch as she tips it down just as fast as the last. “Cruise has your bike. He’ll put her back together, good as new.”
