Blood (Kings if Sin MC #1)

8. It’s all fun and games…

CHAPTER 8

IT’S ALL FUN AND GAMES…

I wake in a puddle of sweat, my lungs seizing. I squeeze my fist into the bedsheet. Images of death, pain, and suffering linger from the nightmare that plays on repeat every damn night. My phone buzzes on the dresser, and I welcome the distraction. I will the function to return to my legs and I make my way over to it.

I smile as I read the message. Thanks, Tim .

Unknown: Want to come and keep me company at a charity thing this Saturday? It’s Kitty btw.

I type out a reply and add her name to my contacts.

Me: Erm…

Kitty: It will be shit, but we can go to the clubhouse after and get drunk.

Grinning, I type back.

Me: Should have led with that.

* * *

Tim is outside, honking his horn a few hours later. “I could have driven myself,” I tell him, rushing to pull a sweater on.

“Kitty said you’ll be too drunk to drive later.” He shrugs.

I make sure I have everything I need in my purse and turn to him. “Well, thank you.”

“You’re the only person who thanks me. You know that?” There’s no pity in his tone, just surprise. It’s sad.

“Fuck everyone else. They’ll be up your ass once you have your patch.” I want to tell him not to let his patch define him, but that’s exactly what it does. Your patch is everything. It’s your brotherhood, your club. It’s all that matters. A sense of belonging can be everything when you have nothing else.

We sit in a comfortable silence until we arrive at our destination, driving up a gravel path and over a field. There’s a makeshift parking lot with a mix of cars and bikes.

“Kitty is by the food truck.” Tim jabs a finger toward said food truck parked at the end of the lot.

“Thanks again for the ride. Are you sticking around?”

“Yeah, we all have to,” he grunts, unimpressed.

Creepy carnival music whistles through the air. The overly sweet scent of sugar carries on the slight breeze. I creep up to Kitty, who is paying for a stick covered in cotton candy, and say, “Charity, really?” I look around at the carnival rides and sea of bikers milling with the town folk. Kids run around with balloons, laughing. Chatter buzzes. It’s like I stumbled into the pages of a picture book with dirty boots on.

She waves an exaggerated hand down her front. “Do I not look like the type?” She has on black leather pants and a ripped tee showing more boob than appropriate with F*CK THIS SHIT splashed across it. Her blue hair matches the blue eyeshadow and eyeliner drawn into wings at each corner of her eyes.

“No. Fuck no, you don’t,” I say, unconvinced. Screams of delight pierce the sky as kids spin in circles on swings that lift into the air. My heart lights up with Kitty’s laughter.

“That’s fair.” She shoves a handful of cotton candy into her mouth. Clouds of pink fluff stick to her cheek and lips. “Our club puts on a few events a year as a way to give back.”

“You mean to stop them bitching about the town being run by bikers?” I correct her. Our club does the same thing, only it’s not quite to this scale and the Devils never attend the event.

“Exactly.” Kitty beams. “They do have a beer tent, though. Silver lining.” She drags me toward a giant white tent loaded with kegs and red cups and hands me a drink.

“Fancy.” I waggle my brows.

“It just needs to get you drunk, Princess. Don’t be a snob.” We clank cups, sloshing beer everywhere, then down the contents. Throwing her cup in the trashcan, she bellows, “Another!” like she’s in a Thor movie.

The sun takes its time burning off the clouds, making being outside bearable. It’s hard to think men capable of putting on carnivals for kids can also be capable of doing what was done to Harley. Facades. That’s all this is. A giant facade.

“Kit, you want to ride the Ferris wheel with me?” a guy asks, winking over at us, his cut sporting a member patch.

“We’re not in the fucking Notebook , Percy. Fuck off.”

I spit out the mouthful of beer I just chugged back. “What’s the notebook?” he grumbles, narrowing his eyes at her.

My heart skips seeing Callan coming up behind him flanked by the blond guy who couldn’t take his attention from Kitty last night. His patch reads Cutter, Sgt at Arms. He’s their Bear .

“You’re well out of your depth. Now, fuck off before I make you,” Cutter mutters to Percy. He scampers off without looking back. I prefer Bear.

“When are you going to stop breaking hearts?” Callan throws his arm around Kitty’s shoulder, not once looking in my direction. My gut knots.

“Don’t gaslight me. It’s not my fault I have a pussy and your brothers sniff it out at any given opportunity, expecting me to fall on their dicks like it’s their given right.” Cutter stiffens, brow crashing.

“Whoa—what the fuck, Kit?” Callan grimaces. “Any of my brothers got near you, I’d break dicks off. Is there something you need to tell me?” The world shrinks around him. Muscles coil beneath his shirt, pulling the fabric taut.

She swipes his hand off her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “No, and I can take care of myself.”

Callan looks to Cutter, his brow raised, hands out, silently asking , “What the hell did I do?”

“Women are fucking hostile.” Cutter slides his hands into his pockets and looks over at a couple kids shooting water guns at ducks popping up in a booth.

“Do you both want to be dick punched?” Kitty glowers, her small frame standing poised with her hands on her hips.

Callan takes a step away from her, edging more into my space. Gravity draws me toward him, but he still hasn’t acknowledged my existence. The wait is excruciating. It’s a hundred percent a power play. And fuck him, it’s working. My cheeks heat. I want to scream, “Look at me, goddammit!”

Instead, I say, “You’d have to find them first.” I snort, dropping my gaze to Cutter’s crotch.

Cutter’s head swings so fast in my direction, I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. Grabbing his junk, he retorts, “There’s enough to choke you with.”

Kitty narrows her eyes. “I saw her choke on a jelly bean so…”

“What the fuck does that mean?” he glowers.

“It means open this,” I hold my fist over a one-finger salute, pushing it toward him.

“Eat shit,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest. It’s juvenile but easy fun.

“What’s gotten into you?” Callan nudges Kitty.

“No one yet, but the night’s young,” she taunts, downing the rest of her drink and flattening the cup against his chest. “Find a trashcan for that, will you?”

“You’re being bitchy.”

Ignoring him, she hooks her arm in mine and drags me in the opposite direction. As I turn away from him, his gaze clashes with mine, and that filthy smirk tilts his lips.

I’m fucked .

Steering Kitty toward a food truck that sells corndogs, I casually mention, “Cutter is an ass but a pretty one.”

She looks back over her shoulder toward where we left them. “He has an ol’ lady.” She shrugs. I don’t hide my wince. My instincts tell me there’s a lot more to that conversation than she’s ready for.

A groan tumbles from her lips as Georgina approaches us dressed in a satin summer dress that clings to her body like it was designed just for her and the maker sewn her into it.

“Where’s your brother?” she demands, her sneer aimed in my direction.

“Start over.” Kitty folds her arms, cocks a hip, and glares. I order us one corn dog each, and Georgina scrunches her nose in disgust.

“That bossy bitch Diamond sent me looking for him.” She moves from foot to foot, trying to stop her heels from sinking into the mud, her ridiculous stilettos a dumb choice for this kind of event.

“Diamond organized this whole thing while taking care of every ungrateful bastard at our club, don’t be an asshole and show her some respect.” I think I love Kitty.

“I’m doing what she asked, aren’t I?” She huffs, chewing on gum. Harley . I hate how everything reminds me of her. It hurts too much, and this wench is nothing like Harley. She doesn’t deserve any comparison.

“Only because it was to look for my brother. If it was anything else, you would have ignored her,” Kitty states. I hand the poor corn dog man our money and squirt sauce on mine.

“Have you seen him or not?” If looks could kill, Kitty and I would be incinerated right now.

“Not,” Kitty lies. Georgina sends a scathing look my way before she storms off, flicking her dark, pin-straight hair over her shoulder.

“Are they a thing?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I’m pretty sure she hears the disappointment in my tone.

“It’s complicated.” She waves an indifferent hand and snags her corn dog from me, shoving half of it down her throat.

The thunder of my heart is irrational. I’m not the jealous type. All the same, I find myself saying, “Uncomplicate it.”

“Princess, please don’t be another Callan fangirl,” she pleads around her mouthful of food, a piece falling from her lip onto her shirt. “He doesn’t deserve you, and when he rejects you, I’ll lose a friend.” She scoops up the chewed food and eats it.

“Ouch.” I feign wounded.

“I don’t mean it like you’re not fucking beautiful because look at you. Shit, why do you think Georgina hates you? He rejects everyone, trust me.”

Hate is a strong word. Without thought, my hand goes to my hip, rubbing his now faded mark. “I’m not some fragile damsel. Trust me when I say I have zero interest in dating your brother.” There’s truth in that.

“Good because Callan doesn’t do dating.” Taking my hand, she begins walking backward, dragging me with her. “Let’s go get drunk.”

* * *

That fucking swamp witch . Diamond grimaces, holding out a clump of my hair.

“It’s not coming out, darlin’. I’ll have to cut it.”

“I got jizz in my girl’s hair once. Nasty stuff.” Percy bites into his chili dog. The chili splatters down his shirt, leaving an orange stain.

“It’s gum, genius.” Diamond tuts. “I’m going to have to get the scissors.” That bitch Georgina spit her gum in my hair, and I didn’t realize it until we were back at the club. I’m not a vain person, but my hair is off-limits. Harley loved to play with it, and it’s the only thing I got from our dad. Well, that and his attitude.

Diamond walks back a minute later, carrying what looks like gardening shears. Without hesitation, she grabs the clump and lops it off, placing the matted strands in my palm. Anger burns white hot through my veins.

“Sorry, hair is sacred. That girl is trouble. I’ve been telling Callan to cut her loose for years,” one of the blonde triplets says, pulling her ponytail through her hands.

Years? A pit opens in my gut. That man has been clouding my thoughts, and I let myself slip—allowed an ego-driven wretch to lure me into playground games.

“Is she here?” I take the scissors from Diamond and shove them into the side of my boot.

“The pres doesn’t allow fighting inside the clubhouse. You’ll have to take it to the ring,” Percy announces, almost falling out of his chair. “Chick-fight. Fucking bitch fight,” he shouts, leaping up.

The ring it is .