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“I’d appreciate that. And I’m sorry for yelling, okay?” I say, the words tasting like acid on my tongue. Owen’s gaze flicks in my direction for a moment before returning to the TV.

“Yeah, okay. Just try not to be such a fucking bitch about it next time.”

Breathe, Lennon.

Just breathe.

“Sure,” I answer through gritted teeth.

Oh, and fuck you, by the way.

Chapter Three

Rooster

The deep, visceral rumble of the motorcycle between my legs and the rush of the wind whipping through my hair does a damn good job of relieving some of the tension still pulsing through my veins after the showdown with Derek today. But I know all too fucking well that as soon as I get off this bike, it will come back. When it does, I’ll need to find a more effective way to get myself under control. Namely, hitting something or someone. I’m too keyed up today to just spar with one of my brothers so the bag hanging out back behind the clubhouse will have to do.

As I whip down the road to the clubhouse, feeling more like I’m flying than driving, my mind ticks through the events of the day once more. After we brought Raya and Joey back to the compound and set them up in the guest house that the club keeps for this very reason, Gear, Jumper and I went over to the police station to meet up with Detective Mobley, our inside man. He’s been working with us for a couple years now, both of us aiding the other when we can, but he’s a stickler for the rules and likes everything to be “by the book”. We play along, like we did today and give him what he needs to keep our arrangement running smoothly. I have absolutely no faith that the statements we made are going to be worthwhile but it makes Mobley feel better. Derek is probably already out again, if he ever even made it to a cell after he was arrested this afternoon but I guess maybe having it on record will help when he comes for Raya again.

It would be fucking naive of us to think that he will just give up.

The fucker thinks he’s invincible and his pride isn’t going to allow him to just let Raya walk away. He views her as his property - something I saw in his eyes today as he had his hand wrapped around her throat. In his mind, she is his whether she likes it or not and we’re just the assholes who got in his way. Call me cynical if you want but I have no goddamn faith that he will let her go, let her start a new life away from him, because I’ve seen too many men just like him to believe anything different. They’re all the goddamn same and Derek won’t be satisfied until he has her complete and total submission. But if he hasn’t been able to beat that into her in the last five years, I don’t think he ever will. Raya is scared, I knew it from the very first time I met her, but she’s also strong as hell and probably just as stubborn as that bastard.

Which leaves us with a big damn problem.

It’s not like we can just wait him out and then send Raya out into the city to get back to her life. Not with Derek always lurking around every corner. But we also can’t seem keep the motherfucker in jail either and that leaves us with only one option - get Raya out of Baton Rouge. But that’s not a topic I’m ready to broach with her yet.

The compound comes into view up ahead and I slow down, coming to a complete stop in front of the gate that leads into the two-hundred-acre piece of land that my brothers and I call home. As it begins to open, I drum my fingers against the gas tank of my bike, itching to move again. I swear to God, this is the slowest fucking gate in the world and I don’t have the damn patience for it today. I gotta talk to Storm about upgrading. The simmering anger I’ve managed to keep at bay all afternoon licks across my skin like fire and I imagine slamming my fist into Derek’s face again and again in an attempt to calm myself down.

It’s only marginally helpful.

Finally, the gate opens enough to allow me to get my bike through but before I can go too much further, Joe - a prospect for the club - walks out of the guard shack and raises his hand in greeting. I kill the engine on my bike as he steps up next to me, nodding.

“Rooster.”

I study him before turning to look at the gravel road in front of me that leads to the clubhouse. “How are things here?”

“Good,” he answers as he shoves his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “Doc Smith just left about five minutes ago after checking on our guests but other than that, it’s been quiet.”

I nod, my mind jumping to Raya’s old injuries and the cut she sustained today. The club employs a local doctor to check out the girls we help and Storm called her as soon as we got back with Raya and Joey.

“You know anything?”

He lets out a laugh, shaking his head and I fight back a smile. As a rule, prospects don’t get to know jack shit about what is going on inside the club. They’re given menial tasks that no one else wants to fucking do until they earn our trust and prove that they can be an asset to all of us. I can’t help but have a small soft spot for them, though, since I know just how hard it can be. Due to my anger and frequent outbursts, it took me almost three years to earn my spot among these men and there were so many damn times I almost gave up.

Thank fuck something made me stay.

“Yeah, all right,” I tell him, glancing over my shoulder to the road behind me. “Get that gate closed. The last fucking thing we need is her ex showing up here and causing problems.

“You got it,” he says before turning and walking back into the guard shack where the controls for the gate are. It starts closing and once I’m satisfied that no one is going to sneak onto our land, I fire up my bike and take off down the gravel road. Several of my brothers are in the parking lot of the clubhouse and Jumper lets out a whistle, waving me down, but I just nod as I pass by. The cottage where Raya and Joey are staying is at the back of the property, not far from the house I’m currently building for myself, and I want to check in on them before I leave them be for the night. This place is as secure as Streak could possibly make it and I’m not super worried about someone getting onto the compound but I refuse to get careless. Not when it comes to protecting the people who come to us for help.

The little log cabin, comes into view ahead of me and I see the curtains in the window move as I pull into the driveway, killing the engine on my bike once again. The front door flings open and Joey practically throws his little body from the front porch, bypassing the three steps down to the sidewalk in favor of flying through the air. He lands with the gracefulness of a damn cat and I shake my head as he runs down the sidewalk to me, his bare feet slapping against the pavement with each step.

“Hey, Rooster.”

I nod as he comes to a stop next to me. “Hey, little man. Where are your shoes?”

“Ugh,” he exclaims. “You sound like my mom.”