Chapter Two

Priest

There have been few occasions in my life when I have felt the will to live start to slip right through my fingers, but the need has never been as intense as it is right now.

Fucking hell!

My fingers are practically itching to grab my gun from the holster and shoot my brains out if only to escape this torture.

"I'm telling you, man, nothing beats the roar of a Harley with a straight-pipe exhaust. It's all about that deep, thunderous sound that turns heads everywhere you go. Don't listen to anyone who tells you otherwise," Knight, my best friend and also the vice president of our motorcycle club, says, smacking the kid sitting beside him on the back of his head.

The prospect, who is in his early twenties, shakes his head. "Dude, I hear you, but I gotta disagree. It's not about the noise and the power; it's all about the looks. Adding chrome accents and custom paint jobs can take a Harley to a whole new level." The kid turns to his flashy bike with a fond smile. "What's the point of turning heads with all the noise without giving them something to look at?"

I close my eyes and beg for patience to survive the night. These two have been going at it all night long, and I am just about ready to start my Harley and ride off the edge of the nearest cliff so I can put an end to it.

"You're both wrong!"

I fight a groan when a voice comes from my left, and I don't have to look to see Reaper's stoic face boring holes into the side of my head. My enforcer has been an otherwise silent observer to the squabble between my VP and the prospect, so I'm confused why he would even want to join in and add to the headache.

"Comfort is key for a Harley," he says. "A well-padded seat and handlebars can make those long rides a breeze. It's all about finding that sweet spot between style, power, and comfort. What do you think, Prez?

Kill me, is what I am think.

"I think I should have come on this stakeout alone tonight," I say roughly, digging my hand into my jacket and coming out with a pack of cigarettes. I grab one and slip it between my lips before lighting it and taking a long drag of nicotine.

"I thought you quit smoking," Knight says, his eyes narrowed on me.

"I did," I deadpan, taking another long pull of the cigarette. The truth is that I tried to quit the nasty habit, and no, it's not because I am thinking of my health and all that crap. I am not delusional enough to think I am going to live long enough to worry about the long-term effects of smoking.

Not in this business, I won't.

Between the trigger-happy cops and our careless rival MCs in the area, it'll be a miracle if I make it to fifty without a bullet in my head or a lifetime sentence to my name like my old man.

The reason I've tried to quit my nasty smoking habit is because that's all it is, a habit. I am not fond of being a slave to my habits. I've seen enough people go bat shit crazy from substance abuse to know I need my head screwed on straight. I can't afford any compulsions, and my smoking is exactly that. I've managed to stay off anything that controls my head and even gone for months without smoking, and yet . . .

And yet, I can't quit because of these meatheads.

"I see just how hard you're trying to quit," Knight says, sarcasm dripping off him like honey, and he's lucky he's my best friend, or he would be on the ground bleeding right now. He must read the dangerous glint in my eyes because he quickly changes the topic. "What are we doing here anyway? We should—"

His words are cut off when we all catch the sound of a distant truck. Everyone goes alert and checks their weapons as the truck gets closer.

"Fucking finally!" I hiss, blowing out smoke before dropping the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with the heel of my boot.

We've been waiting for this truck all night. A few days ago, when a prospect reported spotting trucks traveling through a secluded part of our territory, I immediately knew who it belonged to. Only the Black Chains MC would be brave enough to transport drugs through our territory. The only other route into the city is by the highway, but they risk getting caught by the State Highway Patrol that way. We've been hanging out for the past two nights waiting for them to show up again, and they just did.

Tonight, I intend to remind these fuckers why the authorities are the safer choice in comparison to us.

"How hard do we go on them?" Reaper asks quietly at my side, and I watch as my enforcer pulls out a silencer. I can practically see him drooling at the thought of the violence that is about to ensue.

"As hard as you need to," I say, taking out my own gun. "We will teach them a lesson tonight!"

I nod at Knight, who will ride after Reaper and me with the prospect. The plan is for those two to attack from the back in case there are men hiding there, and for Reaper and me to deal with the men at the front.

We break off as previously discussed to ambush the truck, and everything happens in a flash. My gun is already drawn as I ride my Harley to the front of the truck, momentary distracting the driver from Reaper, who shoots the tire, forcing it to a stop.

Then bullets start flying.

The Black Chains were clearly underprepared for this ambush, and we quickly subdue them, dragging three bleeding men from the truck who plead with us not to kill them. Despite my words to Reaper earlier, I don't plan on killing them. At least not all three of them. I still need someone to take a message back to the Black Chains.

I am not as bloodthirsty as some of my crew members. Someone has to be sane enough to lead this pack of animals, and unfortunately, that's me. Even so, I need to teach these fuckers a lesson about what it means to cross the president of the Steal Order MC.

I point my gun at the man closest to me, ready to pull the trigger, when Knight's voice stops me.

"Hey, Priest, you need to see this!" His voice is rough and cold, but that's not what stops me. Knight and the rest of the members rarely call me by name unless it's serious. I am always Prez to them, the cold man with a permanent scowl and a dead heart.

"Shoot if anyone moves a muscle." I nod to Reaper before walking around the truck to the back. I expect to find tons of cocaine loaded in the back, or perhaps weapons, but what I am met with has my blood chilling in my veins. "What the fuck is this!"

"I knew the Black Chains were the scummiest of the scum, but this is downright disgusting!"

A whimpering noise from inside the truck sets my jaw in a tight grind as I stare at the girls huddled together in the corner. Knight flashes a light over the small spaces, and I mentally count the number of the people in the truck to ten girls, most of whom don't even look old enough to drive.

"W-what are we going to do?" the prospect asks shakily, his eyes wide with horror as it slowly dawns on him that we've stopped human trafficking.

"Call in a tip to our contact that the sheriff's office," I tell him. "Inform him that he needs to get out here ASAP with his friends from social services."

Despite our love-hate relationship with law enforcement, we've found ourselves in situations where we have had to tip them off when we aren't in a position to deal with something, but those occasions are few and far between and we always go through the same contact, the only man in uniform I'm willing to trust.

This truck filled with terrified women is clearly not something we can deal with. Most of them look underage . . . We don't have the resources to sort this out and get these girls home.

The prospect disappears to make the call, leaving me alone with Knight. I turn to him to instruct him to load the Black Chains into the SUV Reaper drove out here for this purpose. We'll deal with these men ourselves and get all the information we can from them. It doesn't really matter what the girls tell the police happened to them. The cops won't care enough to track down three low-level grunts, and there will be no proof we were ever here.

Knight nods and walks away, and I don't realize until he's gone that he's left me with a bunch of terrified girls.

Built like a tank, I am a six-foot-three giant with a face that's been said to give kids nightmares. I have a deep rumbly voice and would have these girls screaming at the top of their lungs if I dared try to comfort them.

Not that I would know what to say anyway.

Shit!

My fingers itch with the need to reach into my jacket and take out a cigarette, but I stop myself before I can do that. The only other option is to stand awkwardly outside the truck with my massive build blocking most of the moonlight.

Fuck! Maybe I shouldn't have sent Knight away. He always seems to attract women to him with his good looks and charming words. Hell, even Reaper would do better in my position.

"Jesus Christ! What is taking so long!" I hiss under my breath, unsure what to do but unwilling to leave the girls alone. Realistically, I know it's impossible for the cops to get here anywhere under twenty minutes considering how far our territory is from the city, but that doesn't exactly calm me down. We have to time our departure with their arrival just right so we aren't caught up with the police ourselves.

I am so tightly strung and distracted that I don't hear one of the girls climb out of the back of the truck until someone taps my shoulder, startling me.

I whip around quickly, my breath catching in my throat when my eyes lock with clear baby blue ones that remind me of the sky on a calm day. The girl, about a foot or so shorter than me, stares up at me with teary eyes that cause a rumbling growl at the back of my throat.

Christ, even with her mussed-up golden hair and tear-streaked cheeks, she seems like an angel. Everything about her, from the way she watches me to the air about her, catches me off guard and renders me speechless. All I can do is . . . stare.

"A-are you—" She cuts herself off to clear her voice, which comes out a little husky. "Are you here to save us?"

I open my lips to say something, but my thoughts can't seem to settle on what exactly I need to say with her watching me the way she is . . . So, I simply nod.

Her eyes well up with tears again, and I have to stop myself from stepping forward to make it right. For the first time in my life, I wish I was Knight. My best friend would know the right thing to say to comfort her.

He would know what to do and—

"Oh!" I gasp when the girl flings herself into my arms, wrapping her hands around my shoulders and burying her face against my chest before breaking into a heart-wrenching sob.

"Thank you," she sniffs into my shirt. "You have no idea how scared we've been. Thank you."

My hands remain by my sides, confused by the girl's reaction and unsure how to respond.

No one besides my sister has hugged me in years, and never like this.

Nothing this warm. Nothing this devastating.

This girl . . . wrecks me to the core.