“What’s your name?” His growl isn’t as threatening now, but I still don’t trust that he won’t kill me tonight.
“Logan Callahan.” I promised Miles I’d use their last name, Perry, but I get the feeling lying to this man isn’t a smart idea.
Turning his back to me, he makes a call, obviously deciding I’m not a threat. After speaking for a few minutes, he faces me again, gun still out in the open, but slightly less threatening now. Only by millimeters, though, because this man appears as if just his words could kill.
Chapter 2
Viking
Propping my feet up on Brute’s office desk, I chug back the glass of whiskey I just poured and watch the security cameras surrounding the property while the club parties. It’s the first time our president has taken his family off-site for an overnight trip.
Brute and Axl’s hot little wife was invited to her friend’s birthday up in Jackson, so they’ve rented a hotel suite for the weekend while Fin’s sisters watch their son, Brody. I admit, the kid has grown on me. Since Fin thrusts him into my arms any chance she gets, it was bound to happen.
The firecracker of a woman has worked her way into our lifestyle like she was born to it. She doesn’t flinch or waver, no matter what’s thrown at her, and somehow the club girls have turned into some of her closest friends.
“Hey, Viking.”
Speaking of which. Amber strolls into the office, immediately pissing me off.
“Get out,” I snap, not in the mood for bullshit tonight.
“Just wanted to keep you company.” She pouts and runs her hands up and down her hips. Amber doesn’t really fit my taste; she’s too mechanical, but a glory hole is a glory hole, and a man needs relief.
“And you know the fucking rules. No whores in any of the offices.” Sure, they’ve been around a while, and we trust them to an extent, but not even the prospects are permitted into these spaces.
“Don’t need to be an ass.” She turns and storms off.
Ignoring her tantrum, my attention diverts to movement on the camera. A woman walks along the main road, eyeing the property like she’s trying to figure it out. When she stops in front of the gate, she seems to be talking to herself, so I pour another drink, chug it down, and step out to watch her in the waning light.
I find her pacing and muttering cute, which annoys the fuck out of me, and when I scrape a hand down my beard in frustration, the scar on the side of my face burns like fire. Withdrawing my Sig from my waistband holster, I wait until she’s stopped and turned towards me.
“Who the fuck are you?” The snarled question startles her until her eyes home in on the weapon in my hand. Fear blasts across her face.
“I…uh…uhm…” The stutter irks me.
“I, uh, uhm, what? Fucking spit it out fast, or you’re about to have a date with a bullet.” The threat doesn’t sit right with me, not when I get a good look at her face and realize how young she is. This girl isn’t dangerous, but I won’t let my guard down.
“I’m looking for my sister Trista. I was told she lives here, and I could really use a few minutes of her time if possible. Please.” She swallows audibly before exhaling, and I find it slightly amusing. Out of breath, she seems to deflate, and something in my chest moves, making me uncomfortable.
“What’s your name?” Studying her, I can see she’s uncomfortable with sharing that information but does so anyway.
“Logan Callahan.” Narrowing my eyes on her, she shifts like she’s going to run but remains rooted to the spot while I lower my weapon and turn my back on her to call Priest.
“I’m like twenty steps away from you; why are you calling me?” he grouches, and I hear a groan in the background.
“You with Trista?” We haven’t participated with the girls often since Brute and Axl brought Finleigh home. Apparently, their commitment to a woman has rubbed off on us. Not that we’ve talked about it.
“Nah, she’s grinding on the prospects. What do you want?”
I’ve piqued his curiosity.
“Got a girl at the front gate saying Trista is her sister.”
“Holy fuck.” He sounds entertained. Priest loves a bit of drama when he’s not spilling blood. “Trista, take his dick out of your mouth and get cleaned up. Girl at the gate saying she belongs to you.”
I hear, “What the fuck!” before Priest hangs up. Great, we’re about to have an audience.
Turning back to our guest, I spear the girl, Logan—what a fucking name—with a glare and watch as she fidgets with her shirt. “She’ll be a minute.” Logan nods in response, and one of the floodlights behind me turns on, showcasing more of her face. “How old are you?”
