“Fine, but you need to promise me that you won’t call the cops,” he said, pulling the phone from his pocket. “Swear on Bowie’s life that you won’t call the cops.”
She wiggled her fingers at him. “I’ll refrain from calling the police as long as you behave yourself.”
He slid the phone into her hand, and she quickly put it into her pocket. “I’d say thank you, but you were the one who took my phone from me, so I won’t.”
“No thanks needed,” he said. “Can we sit up at the bar?” he asked.
“Sure,” she grumbled. She waved him through, allowing him to go in front of her. He walked around her and the bar, sitting on one of the stools. Chloe did the same, sitting two stools down from him. Vengeance leaned his forearms on the bar top like he owned the damn place, and Chloe instantly hated him for how comfortable he looked sitting in her father’s chair. Nobody sat there unless Savage invited them to.
“You always this suspicious?” he asked casually.
“Yes,” she breathed. It was something that she learned as a kid—never to trust anyone.
“At least you’re honest,” he said.
“My fathers raised me around bikers,” she muttered. “Trust issues come free with the lifestyle.” That earned her a low chuckle. The sound scraped across her nerves in a way she didn’t appreciate nearly as much as her body apparently did. She hated that too.
Silence stretched between them for a few long seconds before he glanced around the empty bar. His gaze lingered on the old pool table, the dart boards, the walls covered in faded pictures of club runs and parties. Savage’s kutte still hung behind the bar where Bowie had left it after they got the call from the hospital.
For the first time since he walked in, some of the arrogance slipped from his face. “Hell of a legacy your old man left behind,” he said quietly.
Her throat tightened instantly. “He wasn’t just my old man,” she whispered. “He was everybody’s. He took care of all of us.”
Vengeance nodded like he understood more than she wanted him to. “That’s why people are circling already.”
Chloe stiffened. “What does that mean?”
He looked at her then, fully serious now. “It means your father's death left a power vacuum.”
The words made her stomach twist. “This chapter still has members,” she snapped. “The Royal Bastards aren’t just going to disappear.”
“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But weak clubs get swallowed whole every day. Especially legacy clubs with money, property, and territory attached to them.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Savage Hell isn’t weak.”
“No,” he agreed again. “But grief makes people vulnerable.”
The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. “What club are you with?” she finally asked.
His eyes narrowed slightly, like he’d expected the question. “I’m with the Dragons.” She’d heard the name before. Hell, she couldn’t get them out of her head. She still had nightmares about Dante, their former Prez, taking her against her will when she was just a kid. He was sending a message to her father, and Savage got it loud and clear. If it wasn’t for RoadKill and a few of the other men who she now thought of as her uncles, she wouldhave been sold off to the highest bidder at auction. The sick fuckers were okay with raping a child—that’s who the Dragons were.
Her pulse kicked harder. “You’re not welcome here,” she said immediately.
“Never said I was,” Vengeance drawled.
“Then why are you still sitting here?” she asked.
Something unreadable crossed his face before he leaned back slightly on the stool. “Because I owe Savage, and I want to repay my debt.”
That surprised her enough to shut her up. “My dad knew you?”
“Knew of me,” he corrected. “Years ago, when I was younger and dumber, Savage stopped something bad from happening to me. He didn’t ask for anything in return.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Men like him are rare.” Chloe swallowed hard around the lump growing in her throat. That sounded exactly like Savage. Her father had spent his whole life rescuing people who didn’t deserve it.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” she said.
Vengeance drummed his fingers against the bar before speaking. “There’s another club moving toward Huntsville.”
Her stomach dropped. “The Dead Rabbits?” she asked. They had been circling both the Bastards and Harlots for years now.
