Blood (Kings if Sin MC #1)

5. Meet the King

CHAPTER 5

MEET THE KING

I sit at the bar, nursing the same glass of wine I’ve had since I came in an hour ago. My mood shifts as a chorus of giggles pours in from the door. A group of women walk in, dressed in outfits that would make a hooker blush. One pulls away and heads for the jukebox.

“Ray, bring us a jug and a round of shots. We’re celebrating,” a blonde orders the bartender, her red nails tapping against the bar top. She gives me a once-over before dismissing me as nonthreatening.

“I’ll bring it over, Maggie.” She follows her friends to a table in the center of the room, swaying her hips as she walks. They’re all fake. Fake blonde hair. Fake tits. Collagen lips. They look like triplets straight from the pages of Playboy . Another group files in as some old rock song croons from the speakers. Trepidation thunders in my chest as a sea of bikers fills the bar, Kings of Sin patches adorning their chests. The enemy. Her killers.

This is what I came here for. I imagined this moment. The reality? I’m facing a pack of wolves, holding my breath and hoping they don’t catch my scent. I’ve been coming in here every night for a week, but this is the first time any King members have shown up, barring a couple of old timers who came in yesterday to watch a game.

“What’cha drinking, sweet-ass?” My palms begin to sweat. A man leans on the bar next to me, his eyes on my tits as if the fabric of my shirt is nonexistent.

Sweet-ass? Really? I’ve been around the club my whole life. Being on the other side of things is different. I’m an outsider. No one would ever call me that at home, not without catching a right hook from me or a blade from Tyler. “I’m fine, thanks.” I hold up my glass, showing him it’s full. I’m polite but keep my voice steady and confident. Show weakness, and he’ll bite.

“Yes, you are fine.” The filthy grin is criminal. A cheeky glint lights his eyes. He’s handsome. Age lines crinkle around his eyes, showing a life of either laughter or scowling. Probably both. Black oil covers his hands, his knuckles healing with old scabs.

“Leave her alone, Dodger.” A petite girl with a bright-blue pixie cut smacks his arm as she passes, taking his beer bottle with her.

“Maybe she wants company,” he calls after, his gaze never leaving me.

“Not your company,” she hollers back. I watch her over my shoulder. Her ass sways in a pair of shorts complete with tights and tennis shoes. She’s the only other woman in here dressed as casual as I am in my jeans and a tee.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” he asks with a husky groan.

I slap my hand on my thigh and scoot forward on my stool. “I say, I need to pee.”

White teeth beam at me from his broadening smile. “I can get on board with that.”

Ew.

I pick up my glass and slip from the stool, making a quick getaway to the ladies’ room. His chuckle chases me through the throng of people.

I push open the door, stuttering in my step at the blue-haired girl standing in front of a mirror, applying lipstick. It breaks in half against her mouth drawing a line down her chin.

“Dammit,” she snaps, throwing it into the sink.

“Here.” I rummage through my purse and hand her a tube I carry with me. “Sinful red.” I wink, going to the sink and washing my hands. The walls are covered in peeling and torn photos of Hollywood starlets from the twenties.

“Thanks.” She quirks a brow, watching me in the mirror as she cleans her chin and then applies my shade.

“I’m Kitty.” She smacks her lips together then blows the mirror a kiss. Turning to me, she runs her gaze over my attire—jeans and a vintage Metallica concert shirt. I didn’t come here to get noticed. My plan is to make friends and get an in without having to whore myself out . I would never fuck a King member.

“Princess, but my friends call me Rogue.” It’s risky using my given name. If we keep tabs on their club, they no doubt do the same with ours. Though, Bear had no pictures of this woman here, Kitty or any women in fact.

“Well, Rogue.” She tosses the lipstick in my direction, and I catch it mid-air. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Following her back out to the bar my nerves shudder. More members have arrived filling the space. “So, Kitty—is that short for kitty cat?” I ask, my brow raised, once we’re seated at a table a stone throw away from the giggling triplets.

“Fuck no.” She places a finger in her mouth to fake gag. “I got the name because I always clean up at the card table.” She beams, lifting her shirt to show me a pair of aces tattooed on her rib cage. “That kitty is always mine.” Filling our glasses from a jug of beer, she takes a hearty gulp. Watching her take everyone’s money is something I’d love to see. I bet she leaves many brothers with a bruised ego. “So, what brings you to a bar like this all alone?” she asks, cutting to the chase.

I expected the question.

I give the room a once-over and offer a nonchalant shrug. “Logistics. I’m staying at the motel on the corner,” I tell her, taking a swig of my beer, letting the heavy liquid give me the courage I need to get through this.

“Passing through or staying?” she asks, playing with a strand of blue hair.

“I haven’t decided yet.” I survey the room. Leather cuts glare at me from every corner. I take them in, searching in the hopes of finding one missing their top rocker, the one I keep in my pocket, so I can make them choke on it when I find them. My heart kicks up, sounding more like a war drum, and then it stills. The atmosphere shifts, a higher authority garnering everyone’s attention. Penetrating dark eyes cut through the room, holding me hostage. I’m spellbound. The barest of throbs between my legs warms my stomach.

That’s him. He crawled from my dreams, straight from the photograph I keep of him, and is standing mere feet from me. I’ve analyzed his picture, committed every detail to memory, but it didn’t do him justice. In the flesh, he is almost celestial. What a cruel god we must have to give such beauty to the shell of a killer.

The plain dark tee he is wearing clings to his broad chest like a second skin, flaring a little over his midriff beneath his leather cut. Black jeans hug his thigh muscles and end in his mud-stained shit-kicker boots. Everything in the room fades. He’s the one in charge. Power emanates from him. He haphazardly pushes his thick, dark hair back from his forehead. A dusting of scruff defines his jawline. Thick lips scream of promise. Water floods my mouth, the ache in my lower stomach growing. I’ve never wanted to kill and fuck a man more.

I don’t know how long we stay there, staring at each other. I snap my eyes from his as Kitty scurries out of her chair with a pissed-off grunt.

“I’ll be back,” she informs me, sauntering across the room.

The tide of bikers part for her with greetings and acknowledgements. It’s rare for a woman to garnish that kind of respect from men of this stature. I did good befriending her.

Kitty stops in front of Callan, and my stomach twists. He’s not mine. He has no clue who I am. He’ll never be mine. But I feel possessive all the same. I’m a devil and he’s a King. I remind myself.

Without making it too obvious, I watch their interaction. She slaps her hand against his chest and laughs, throwing her head back and gaining an appreciative glance from a blond brother standing close by. There’s a glow in the man’s gaze as he watches her with Callan. And I get it. There’s something special about her. It reminds me of Harley’s spark. My Firefly. Pain at the thought of Harley squeezes my heart.

Callan’s gaze travels back to me, warming me all over and dousing the pain from moments before. Kitty follows his path. She dips her head, a coy smile playing on her lips before she nods and walks over to me and folds herself back into her chair.

She pours another glass of beer and angles her face to study me.

“What?” I shift in my seat, feeling a tad bit paranoid.

“Come to the bathroom with me,” she says, jerking her chin toward the restrooms.

“Okay,” I say cautiously.

Following her inside, she shoos everyone out and locks the door. My nerves stir the alcohol in my stomach. “What’s going on?” I ask, fearful that the Kings do, in fact, have pictures and I’m in them. Or maybe she’s into me and I’ve been a pussy tease all night.

“Are you a cop?” she asks, stunning me silent. There’s a small pause, then she says, “Simple question.”

My mouth drops. A bark of laughter forces itself out. “No.” She moves closer, scrutinizing my face. “I promise you I’m not a cop. Why the hell would you even ask me that?”

“Lift your shirt,” she demands, tilting her chin. A knock on the door draws my attention, but hers stays firmly locked on me.

“I need to pee. Open up,” someone calls out.

“Fuck off,” Kitty barks. “Lift your shirt,” she demands, her eyes telling me to get to it.

“What the fuck?”

In truth, I know she’s checking me for a wire. We do this to new faces too.

“Just do it.”

I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it up, standing there with my tits on full display. “Happy?”

There’s a silent beat, the cool air against my bare skin making me shiver, the slight smell of water damage pricking my nose.

“You have great tits.” She looks back up at my face, offering me a toothy grin.

“You’re a weirdo.” I scoff, pulling my shirt back down.

“Sorry. I just had to be sure before—” She disappears into one of the stalls ignoring the Out-of-Order sign taped on the door, which she leaves open.

“Before what?” I grate out, quirking a brow.

Dropping her shorts, she sits to pee. “Before taking you back to the clubhouse.” She wipes then stands up, wiggling her shorts back into place but not before flashing me everything downstairs. Water gushes from the toilet when she flushes, making her squeal.

My mouth hits the floor. “You dyed your pubes?” Wait—did she say back to their clubhouse?

“Keeps things interesting.” She sticks her tongue out, her smile growing wider as she kicks her leg to flick the water from the sole of her shoes. “You wanna come party back at our clubhouse or what?”

Fuck yes.

“Let’s do it.”

When we get back to our table, everyone begins filing out of the bar. Kitty hugs a jug of beer to her chest and gestures with her head for me to follow her to the exit.

“I’ll bring the jug back, Ray,” she hollers to the older guy shaking his head at her behind the bar.

The summer-night air is thick, immediately coating my skin in a film of sweat. My hair clings to my neck and the outdoors offers no relief when we step out. No one seems to be in a rush to leave as they chatter and finish their drinks, gravel crunching under their feet. A wall of Harley-Davidson motorcycles line the entire stretch of the car lot, which wraps around the detached bar like the sea around an island.

“You can ride with me if you want, sweet cheeks. We can talk more about this golden shower you offered me,” the man named Dodger booms, noticing me and wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

The stench of sweat assaults my nostrils and clings to the back of my throat. He smells like rotting burgers. Curious eyes, including Callan’s, watch our interaction. My heart rate accelerates under his scrutiny. His eyes flitting between me and the brute who has me captured in his hold. Kitty snorts and lifts the jug to her lips, the various flashing bar signs reflecting off her hair making it appear as if she’s glowing.

Removing myself, I scrunch my nose. “Hard pass, you smell like you avoid all types of showers.”

A chorus of booming laughter rings out into the night. Not Callan’s, though. He stands away from everyone else with the blond guy. Callan’s watching me, however. His face a wall of stone, as he talks to the blond. A nod of Callan’s head, and then he’s turning. I can’t take my eyes from his ass when he strolls across the parking lot and throws his leg over his bike. The blond guy whistles and, like trained soldiers, everyone falls into action mounting their bikes.

“Rogue,” Kitty calls out. “Ride with us.” She waves a hand for me to follow her to a Jeep. There are a couple of girls already seated in the back. “Squeeze, girls,” she tells them before shimmying her butt between two, leaving the passenger seat for me. “This is Tim.” She grins.

I lift myself into the seat, nodding to the guy who looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. He grips the steering wheel like it will fall off if he doesn’t and has a prospect badge on his cut.

“He doesn’t have a road name yet, poor baby,” one of the girls hoots.

“Tim, nice but dim.” The other snorts, cracking herself up. Gaining herself a flash of menace from Tim in the rearview.

“Is Tim really your name?” I ask. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Tim.

“All prospects are Tim. To. Initiate. Member.” He nods, turning over the engine. “And you bitches better shut the fuck up, or I’ll make you walk,” he warns and I immediately like him.

Prospects get shit on by the brothers while trying to earn their patch. Getting shit on by drunk women who will be fawning over him when he gets patched in? Yeah, that’s beyond his duty.

“Might get there quicker. Are you going to go or what?” one whines, waving her hand at the road.

“I’m waiting on my VP,” he growls.

The highest-ranking brother always leads. My eyes drift to the man in question, nervous energy bubbling inside me. The symphony of bikes roaring to life warms my chest. It feels like home.

I’d half expected Kitty to mount Callan’s bike and refuse to acknowledge the relief when he pulls away without anyone on the back.

A hushed silence falls over us. As soon as we pull out behind the wall of bikes, I breathe a victory sigh. I did it. They’re taking me to their club.

I’m in.