Page 1 of All's Fair in Love & Wrath

Chapter One

AXEL

The sun doesn’t rise over the mountains this morning, which is fine by me. I prefer a foggy, dew-covered start to the day over the angry, relentless sun that bears down with its pissed-off rays, trying to scorch everything it touches. Nah, gimme rain, cool air, and overcast skies any day of the week. I may not be from Washington State, but it’s home, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. But summer can fuck all the way off.

My phone buzzes obnoxiously on the end table next to my bed, a tangible reminder that my job never stops. I run the damp towel through my hair one last time before draping it over my shoulders, reaching for my phone before they hang up.

“Yeah?”

“This Axel James?” the gruff voice on the other end asks.

“Who’s asking?”

“Dean, your contractor down at Hell’s Asylum. We got some permit issues, need you or one of your guys down here to help straighten some stuff out this morning.”

“What kinda issues?”

“I don’t know yet. Inspector came by and is going through shit right now. Didn’t get a heads up either. We’re losing working hours here while shit is shut down, so the sooner someone gets down here, the better.”

I groan in irritation. It’s always something. As the secretary of Hell’s Heathens Motorcycle Club, I feel like I’m the club bitch, constantly busy, putting out fires, getting shit figured out, untangling webs, and hunting down information. The latter part, I actually don’t mind. In fact, I’m getting better at it every time there’s a shitstorm at our front gates.

“You got it. Someone will be down there shortly.”

I end the call with Dean and pull up my text thread with our club’s treasurer, Rolo. It’s either him or me that has to go deal with it, and since he’s been handling the rebuild of our nightclub since it was burned down, I’m going to let him take this one.

Me: Need you to take a few prospects and head down to Hell’s Asylum. There’s some inspector down there causing issues. The sooner the better.

Rolo: You got it.

Me: Thanks brother

Rolo: Enjoy your quiet morning off

Me: You know there’s nothing quiet about living here

After that’s handled, I toss my phone onto the bed. I barely have enough time to pull on my boxer briefs and tuck my dick away before my phone buzzes again. Snatching it up, I see our president’s name with a text message below it.

Chaos: Church in an hour. All ranked members.

Me: Issues?

Chaos: Gotta clean house, figure out these prospects, time for housekeeping

Me: Agreed.

Me: Just sent Rolo to deal with some shit down at the nightclub. You need me to get him to stay?

Chaos: Nah, that’s a priority. We’ll manage

Me: Sounds good. See you soon

Knowing I want to get a cup of coffee and some fresh air before jumping into business, I pull on a pair of distressed denim jeans and a V-neck T-shirt, shrugging on my cut. I lace up my combat boots around my ankles and then return to the bathroom to style my hair. The guys in the club may give me shit for being the pretty boy, but I actually give a damn what I look like. Might also be why I get more pussy than they do, even if some of them have taken old ladies now.

I comb my black hair the way I want it, using product to get it to stay, and then quickly run a razor over my face. Despite the rest of my brothers, I like my face clean-shaven and smooth. Plus, I paid way too much for my neck tattoos, and I’m not hiding those fuckers with scruffy-ass facial hair.

After locking up my room, I head toward the kitchen to find a fresh pot of dark roast coffee waiting in the carafe, which means Morgan is already up. She’s Rolo’s old lady and takes care of all of us Heathens. He met her when I was still a dumbass prospect and locked her down quick. We have an in-house cook, and he’s not too bad, but any time Morgan takes over, we’re a much happier group of bikers.

I pour a steaming cup of coffee, black, and head outside. The Hell’s Heathens’ compound sits on ten acres of mostly dense forest, with a small field off to one side, a huge garage with an underground room that we use for less-than-legal business, and a section where some spare houses sit. The entire compound is surrounded by a high chain-link fence, armed sentries at the front and back gates, and twenty-four-seven patrols, up until recently. It’s gotten a little lax lately.