Nox rubs his hands up and down my arms in a way that soothes me. “We’ll figure it out. Those fuckers who shot at you won’t be free long.”

A hand claws around my heart at the venom in his voice. He’s serious and that worries me. He has no idea how dangerous Isaac’s men are. Leon had no fear about shooting an unarmed man in the head just to get to me. I doubt he’d flinch at killing Nox or any of the Untamed Sons.

“I don’t want you to get hurt for me.”

He snorts. “The only people getting hurt are the men who attacked you.” He dips his head and takes my mouth again. I let him, even as my brain screams at me to pull away. I can’t. I don’t want to. I want everything Nox is offering and more, even if it makes me selfish as fuck.

When he lets me go, I cling to his thick biceps, not wanting to release him.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I tell him, trying to regain some sense of the situation.

“We shouldn’t but we are.”

“Nox—”

“No, baby. You need to understand that now that I’ve had you, I’m not letting you go.”

No words could scare me more.

I’m saved from answering by his phone beeping. He pulls it out of his back pocket and curses.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Hank?”

“Club business.” What the hell that means, I don’t know. If it’s about Hank then it’s my business too.

He gives me a warm smile that is at odds with his dismissal.

Then Nox kisses me. When he pulls back, I see his need reflected in his eyes. It terrifies me.

“I’ll be back soon. There’ll be brothers around, but don’t leave the clubhouse.” He kisses me again, as if he can’t bear to leave without touching me one last time.

“Stay safe,” I tell him, fear gnawing at my belly at the thought he could be walking into the lion’s den.

He flashes me a cocky as fuck grin and says, “Always.”

Then he swaggers off, leaving me sitting alone, my heart hammering in my chest as I think about how much I’ve fucked this all up.

8

Nox

Lucy fills my thoughts as I head through the clubhouse’s maze of corridors. I can still taste her sweetness on my lips, can feel the way she melted against me. Her softness beneath a blanket of sass. I wanted to take her mouth all day long, but I can’t ignore a direct order from my president. Rav has shitty timing.

But his message had been sharp, to the point—get your arse to my office, now. That could mean anything from ‘we’re about to go to war’ to ‘there’s no coffee in the building’.

I pass Kyle coming out of the store room with a crate of beer. Kyle gives me a chin lift and continues towards the common room, carrying his load.

I remember being a wet behind the ears prospect, and the shit jobs I had to do to show my loyalty, to prove my obedience to my club. I might have grown up in the Untamed Sons, had a father who was a member before he wound up dead, but I still had to do my time.

Kyle is good, quiet as a fucking mouse, but lethal beneath that. His skin is as dark as the look in his eyes and he has a stack of demons lurking there for someone so young.

Like Zack, he was sponsored by Sin. Unlike Zack, he didn’t wind up dead helping that bastard. Daimon took over his sponsorship and has been mentoring the kid since Sin was killed by Rav.

I push inside Rav’s office, not bothering to knock and find him sitting at his desk. The rage clouding his face makes my synapses snap to alert.

“What’s going on?” I demand without any preamble.

He raises his gaze to me and I see the darkness flashing through his eyes, the barely veiled control on the edge of fraying.

“Isaac Blackwood’s men have been seen in our territory.”

What the fuck? My lips curl into a snarl as Rav’s words spark rage which floods my veins. What the hell would that psycho be doing on our patch?

“When?” I grit out between my teeth as I slip onto the sofa pushed against the opposite wall to the desk, my hands clasping between my legs as my mind races. What would that cunt be doing on Sons land? He knows better than that. No one comes through our patch without permission. It’s an act of war.

“A couple of days ago, and then again this morning. It’s all over the fucking borough. His guys were spotted.”

Not surprising they were recognised. Isaac Blackwood is a well-known player to most crooks, probably to a lot of civilians too. He runs part of the East End of London, and he makes the Kray twins look like saints. He’s a mean motherfucker and he’s got a reputation that rivals the Sons. We sell him guns sometimes, occasionally coke, but mostly we stay the fuck out of his way, and he stays out of ours. Him being in our sphere is not a good sign.

“What the fuck’s he doing here?”

“Not a clue, but I want to find out if this fucker is planning a hostile takeover.”

I want to know this too. If he is, he’s going to find coming at us isn’t as easy as he thinks. We can handle our own shit, and if we can’t, the Sons has chapters across the UK that will wade in if we need them to. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but we’ll see what happens. Blackwood isn’t exactly a low-level thug. He’s the head of one of the main gangs in London.

“How do you want to handle it?” he asks me.

I’m newly patched in as VP, I have a lot to prove to Rav, to show him I can do what is necessary. So I don’t even hesitate when I say, “We send a message.”

That message will be saturated with blood. It’s the only message we know how to send.

It’s also necessary.

The Sons have to be seen as powerful. Any weakness opens us up to other gangs, other MCs trying to take what’s ours, pushing boundaries without a thought of the consequences.

That can’t happen.

We have people we need to keep safe, families that need our protection. Our enterprises, both legal and illegal, keep us in money. It’s not something any of us are looking to hand over to some gangster.

Rav nods. “Take Fury and Day and head over to Mike’s. He reported seeing these bastards, so maybe he’ll have a lead on where they were headed.” He leans forwards, fire sparking in his eyes. “These cunts think they can come onto my patch without my permission, they’re fucking crazy.”

They are, and we’ll show them how much that oversight will cost them.

I push up from the chair, wiping my hands down my jeans and nod at Rav, telling him without words that I understand what has to be done.

As I leave the room, I fire off a message to my brothers, telling them to meet me outside. Then I head to the parking area and my bike. I’m just pulling on my helmet when Fury and Daimon approach. They’re both evenly matched height wise, but Fury overshadows Daimon on bulk. The guy is built like a tank. There’s a reason he’s our sergeant-at-arms. He looks like a brick shit house and has an astonishing love of inflicting pain. Fury knows how to bleed a man in the most agonising ways. He’s inventive and creative.

“What’s going on?” Daimon asks as he moves to his bike, gearing up.

Fury does the same, his dark eyes trailing my face.