Raw and Dirty (Bad Boys MC Trilogy #1) (5 page)

We move through the rest of the clubhouse in silence, straight through the dining room and bar area, past the kitchen and outside. Technically, the chapel—the club's meeting house—is in a separate building from the clubhouse, but the long pergola that connects them makes it seem like one. Above us, red and purple flowers twine around the wood, filling the air with a sweet scent that seems so out of place here. The Alpha Wolves Compound is anything
but
sweet. If we were talking realistically here, it'd smell like blood and smoke and ashes.

A sigh escapes my lips as we approach the front doors—a matching set to the ones on the front of the clubhouse. I pause for a moment outside of them, my mind snagging on a hundred memories of walking through these very doors with Landon by my side.

“You did what you had to do,” Smoky says, and I know he's not just trying to placate me. My sergeant-at-arms would sooner kick me in the balls; he's just being honest. I
did
do what needed to be done, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

“Let's just get this over with.” I put my palm against the solid wood of the door and push. It swings inward with a hushed whisper, like even the lifeless wolves staring back at me are aware of how sacred, how important, this room is.

There's a small foyer with windows on either side, potted plants lining the edges and in full bloom. I don't know shit about flowers, but Janae is Dober's wife and a gardening fanatic. Technically, she's not allowed inside of the clubhouse, but she peeks in the windows and barks orders at Dober when they're home alone.

I almost smile.

But then I open the wooden doors to the next room and see the empty seat near the head of the table.

Landon's seat.

I squeeze my hands into fists my by sides, knuckles so tight that I feel like the bones could burst straight through my skin in a spray of blood. Wouldn't that be a sight to see?

“Boys,” I say with a slight nod of my head. I get a few nods in return, but everyone's either hungover or still hurting from Landon's betrayal. “I hear we have business to take care of this morning.”

I force a wild grin to my face. Confidence. It's won me more than a few battles in my lifetime—and one of the few reasons I'm standing up here when men in their forties, fifties, and sixties are staring back at me from the long black table that fills the room. It's a beast this fucking table, took ten guys to get it in here without screwing up the walls.

“The hell is wrong with all of you?” I ask, lighting up and leaning over the back of my chair at the head of the table. A few of the guys sit up a little straighter in their chairs, adjust their cuts, square their shoulders.
That's better.
I stand up and tap my cig on the edge of a nearby ashtray. “You ready to take a vote or what?”

“I hope you're ready to deal with all of the crap that Landon left behind,” I tell Dober as we walk across the compound, past paying customers who smile and wave, who look at us and superimpose Charlie Hunnam over our faces. Good for them. Fall in love with a dream, and I'll deal with the nightmares.

“What I want to know is
why
we're still climbing into bed with the mayor's office at all. If we've already got the feds sniffing around, then what's the point? We're all behind you, Royal, but nobody gets it. If you don't start explaining yourself a little better, then some of the old timers are going to get antsy.”

I nod; Dober's not telling me anything I don't already know. Our previous pres, he'd have been as likely to shag the mayor as enter into any kind of agreement with him. But Trinidad's growing and the rich idiots flooding our forests aren't going to like knowing that a good portion of the city's economy is controlled by the Wolves. Unless, of course, we can convince them that we're an open book, that everything's out on the table and allying with us is in their best interest.

“Let me worry about the mayor,” I say as I pause at the passenger side door of my truck and reach up to pat my dog, Lake, on the side of her muzzle. A second later, Alloy's at her side, licking my fingers, the gray of his face a stark contrast to Lake's darkness.

I open the door and they leap out onto the concrete, their movements making it very apparent that the word
dog
is somewhat of a joke. I mean, technically they've got some shepherd blood in them, but if we're not counting pennies then my dogs … they're wolves.

“If you don't want me to deal with the mayor, then what do you want from me, Royal? You can't run the club all by yourself, even if you wanted to.”

“We have a shipment coming in from Seventy-Seven Brothers,” I say, referring to another MC from down south. “Take care of it. Smoky knows the details.”

I pause as a black sedan pulls up next to Lyric's Chrysler and a smile curves my lips. Without even realizing it, I start walking towards her, the dogs at my heels.

“Dumb shit.”

Normally, I'd beat a man's ass for less. This time … Dober's right.

If I think anything's going to happen between me and this girl, I really am a dumb shit.

Get in the car and go.

That's my mantra when I climb out of my sister's black Taurus and try to make a quick getaway.

“Lyric.”

Shit.

“Yeah?” I ask, pausing as my sister rolls down her window and peers out at me through her sunglasses. Calling her last night was humiliating, but at least I know she won't tell Dad. At this point, that's all I care about. I just want to get whatever business I have left with Royal over with and never see the man again.
Hurry up, Kailey.
“Don't forget that Mom's birthday dinner's tonight at Larrupin's.”

“Like I could,” I say, forcing a fake smile to my face and starting to turn away.

“You said you wanted to go in on a gift, but I never heard anything else from you. What's up with that?” I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. Kailey, apparently, doesn't care that we're camped out in the middle of an outlaw motorcycle club compound. Nor has she apparently ever heard of text messaging.

“Get whatever you want, and I'll pay you back.”

I keep walking, hitting the button on my key fob and reaching for the driver's side door when I see my sister's mouth drop open, her pink painted lips gaping at something over my shoulder.

Somehow, I have an idea of what that might be before I even turn around.

Instead of climbing into my car and peeling out of there like any intelligent person would've done, I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of Royal McBride.

His dark hair is brilliant in the sun, tinted with shades of blue, like a raven's feathers. And … are those
wolves
walking by his side?

I turn completely around, my keys sliding from my fingers to the sun warmed pavement.

Oh yes, those are wolves.

My throat gets tight and my heart starts to hammer in my chest, my pulse so loud that I have trouble hearing anything else.

The man's already sexy enough in his leather vest and
Alpha Wolves
T-shirt; he doesn't need to frame himself with two gorgeous canine companions like that. Their heads hang low, tongues lolling, long legs covering the pavement in quick steps. The wild nature in their faces is reflected right back at me from Royal's, and their eyes are all the same shade of earthy brown.

I swallow hard and bend down to pick up my keys.

“Hey there, Pint-Size,” he says as he comes closer and the dogs' tails begin to wag. I decide it's best to remain casual, to forget the heat and passion I felt burning between us last night. This time, I know better than to look at Royal's face or his chest, so I focus on his knuckles, fingers tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

The tattoos on either hand are different, but both colorful, swirls of vines and roses dotted with black cursive that's difficult to read from this far away. I see a pair of pistols above his left hand and, of course, several different wolf portraits climbing up his arm and disappearing under the fabric of his tee.

“Did you come back for a second dance?”

“I needed to grab my car,” I respond dully, pulse still pounding, throat still dry. I'm very aware that my sister's sitting right behind us, probably still gawping, waiting to be introduced. If it were my brother sitting there, he'd already be on the phone to the cops, making up some bullshit story to try and get Royal thrown into jail—just for looking at me the way he is.

Okay, so I'm not actually looking at his face, but I can
feel
it.

A quick glance up, and I can see him studying me again, trying to pick me apart.

My sister—as I'd fully expected and admittedly feared—gets out of her car and moves over to stand next to me, arms crossed under her full breasts. Like a woman in a sunglasses ad, she whips off her shades and lets her bleach blonde hair billow in the wind. I've always sort of, kind of secretly hated her.

“You must be Royal McBride,” she says, her twinkling eyes telling me she probably heard as much or more of Toni's stories than I did. “I'm Kailey Rentz.” Without waiting for Royal to respond, she extends her hand and lets her full mouth curve up in an artful smile.

Royal returns her smile right away, and I feel a small, strange twinge of jealousy.
That's ridiculous. I literally met the guy yesterday.
I try to tell myself that I'm just annoyed at him;
Kailey
didn't have to scream his name to get his attention.

“Pleasure's all mine,” Royal drawls, his accent disappearing in a rush of West Coast. He must've lived here a long time to be able to switch it on and off like that. Or he's just a good actor. I met a lot of assholes in college that were just like him—charming, charismatic, completely full of shit.

Then again, they didn't run a freaking motorcycle club. That makes Royal even more dangerous, doesn't it? After all, a president of an MC is
still
a president. A politician. An actor.

Dick.

The mean thought makes me feel a little better.

“I should get going,” I say, looking down at the two wolf dogs as they wag their tails and sniff around the plain black heels on my feet. “Don't you have to be at the office, too?” I ask, pointedly addressing my sister. I could've said nothing and gotten more of a reaction out of her.

“Huh? Sure,” she says, still staring at Royal like she's just uncovered buried treasure. Surprisingly, his gaze only lingers on hers for a moment before it swings my way. I feel like I've just stepped into the sun.

“Could I borrow you for a second?” he asks, switching back on that British charm. Somehow I think he's got a sense that it gets to me. It's just … that rugged exterior of his paired with that accent? I wish for a moment there that Toni had never left. I might still be working as my dad's intern, but then I wouldn't have to stand here and nod, pretending that I don't mind having a moment alone with Royal McBride.

“Of course,” I say, reaching down and smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle on my black skirt. The outfit I'm wearing today is eerily similar to yesterday's: black skirt and matching suit jacket, pale blue button-down, black kitten heel pumps. I even have my hair up in the same, tight bun.

“But first, let me fix that for you,” Royal says, his voice teetering on the edge of a growl. Those sexy inked up fingers of his slide from his jeans pocket and reach out, pulling the black clip from my hair before I can even process what it is that he's doing.

Brunette waves tumble around my shoulders and slide across my brow as I blink back my shock and risk a quick glance at Kailey. She's staring at me like I've grown a second head.

“Aren't you a
virgin?
” she whispers, like that has any relevance to the situation. For the record, I'm not, okay? I lost my virginity when I was sixteen years old. God, Kailey can be such a … a bitch.

“What are you doing?” I ask as Royal takes a step back and hooks my clip to his pocket, like what he just did was no big deal. In the world I come from, people don't just reach out and touch each other's hair. It's an intimate sort of a thing, isn't it? Or maybe I'm just being prudish, I don't know.