Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ivy

"Let's fuck."

Reclining in a chair, I swung my leg back and forth, bored as hell, while Luc sat behind his desk, doing whatever it was he fucking did. Not that I cared. It was club business, and that shit didn't interest me. Mouth told me I was working at the strip club tonight with Pyle, so I was free to do whatever I wanted until my shift started later this evening. Slash was off doing something club related and said I couldn't go with him, and I flat-out refused to go see what Logic was doing. Fucker would probably turn my boredom into another fucking therapy session.

Typing something into his computer, Luc muttered, "Your ass needs to heal. Go talk to Gunny."

"And whose fault is that?" I snarked.

"Got shit I need to do, Ivy. Go bug someone else."

Grumbling, I stormed out of his office in search of something to do. My body hummed anxiously. I couldn't shake the feeling that something big was right around the corner. I'd only felt this way a few times before and each time, something bad happened. The first time I felt this way was when my father sold me to the Golden Skulls and Solomon saved me, setting me free. The second time was right before I killed that man in St. Agatha's.

Whatever it was, my body tingled all over.

Heading over to the bar, I took a seat and sighed.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm bored." I groaned, holding my head in my hand while I lounged against the bar watching Mouth stock the shelves.

"Don't have time to play a game of Chutes and Ladders with you, Barbie. Got to get this shit done before the clubhouse opens. Go bug Gunny."

"He ain't here," I moaned, laying my head on the bar, sighing loudly.

"The Plebs are out front cleaning the parking lot. Go annoy them."

Grumbling, I got to my feet.

"Fine!"

Stepping out into the bright sunshine, I threw my head back and closed my eyes as the blistering sun beat down on my face. It was another bright, hot, sunny day in Northern California.

It was maddening.

Didn't this place ever have a gloomy day?

"Ivy!"

Turning, I looked to my left and I saw Pyle and the rest of the Plebs running toward me, waving their arms just when I heard several bikes thunder toward the clubhouse. Turning in the direction of the sound, I didn't have time to see who they were because someone tackled me to the ground, covering my body protectively.

Gunfire erupted all around me as the bikers rode past, firing directly at the clubhouse and everything around them. Curled into a ball, I covered my ears. The sound was deafening.

Rocks, dirt, glass, and bullets pelted everything around me while I lay on the ground. Just as fast as it happened, it stopped. The sound of the bikes faded off into the distance and the front door flew open and brothers raced to their bikes.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Saint cursed when he saw bullet holes in his gas tank.

"Bastards got mine too," Alias shouted.

Seconds later, two more bikes flew past at a high rate of speed, not bothering to stop as they gave chase, Agony and Mouth's bike roared to life, when they quickly peeled out of the parking lot, following.

"Ivy?" I heard Pyle whisper close to my ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I muttered, trying to catch my breath. "You?"

"I'm okay," he barely said, then added, "But I don't think I'll be able to work with you tonight."

"Why?" I carefully asked, turning to look at him, when I saw blood spewing from his mouth.

"Oh shit," I cursed, glancing down at him as my eyes homed in on the hole in his stomach, gushing blood. I didn't think when I covered the hole with my hands, pressing hard.

"Jesus fuck, woman," Pyle grunted. "Did you have to do that?"

"Shut up, Pyle," I growled, looking around for help when I noticed that UTAH and ALF lay motionless on the ground. KROD and TBAR were moaning, each holding onto limbs while Saint and Alias hopped on other bikes before speeding out of the parking lot to give chase.

There was no one else.

Where the fuck was everyone?

"Go, Ivy." Pyle coughed more blood.

"Shut up, Pyle. I'm not leaving you," I said, tears running down my face while the familiar sound of bikes loomed off in the distance. Refusing to be a sitting duck, I quickly found the knife and gun Pyle always wore and prepared for anything.

If those motherfuckers thought they could come back and finish the job, they were in for a fucking shock.

Seconds later, several bikes slowed, pulling into the parking lot. Taking aim, I didn't give a fuck if they were friend or foe. Motherfuckers said anything I didn't like, stepped one foot in the wrong direction, I was going to fucking kill them all.

I watched when the lead rider held up his hands and slowly stepped off his bike. Dressed in black leather, I couldn't find any identifying marks on them to tell me who they were or what club they rode with. Even their blacked-out helmets gave nothing away.

"Stay back!" I screamed, halting the brave fucker. "I will shoot you!"

One of the other riders quickly removed his helmet and shouted, "Ivy, it's me!"

Gasping for air, I lowered my gun and cried, "Dr. Lansing. Help! Pyle's hurt bad."

Running over to me, Dr. Lansing dropped to his knees, placing his black-gloved hands over mine. "Harder, Ivy. You need to press harder."

"No, she doesn't." Pyle grimaced in pain.

"Yo, Doc," TBAR shouted as he administered CPR on ALF. "Hope there's more of you, ‘cause my buddy isn't breathing!"

"Mercy!" Dr. Lansing snapped. "Go help him."

The bikers in black all moved, scattering in different directions, some holding guns in their hands when they cautiously entered the clubhouse and the lead rider walked over to me.

"Are you Ivy Scott?" the big man asked.

"Not if you're here to kill me."

The man shouted, "Malice, it's her!"

Turning, I saw a big motherfucker slowly walk toward me, taking off his helmet. Seeing his face, I stiffened. Without thinking, I stumbled back, scooting away from him, raising my gun and pointing it directly at the motherfucker.

"WHOA!" the lead rider shouted, jumping in front of the man. "It's not him! He's not Devlin Scott!"

"Ivy!" another voice shouted, rushing over.

Blinking, I thought I was seeing things.

What the fuck was Father Dominic doing here? He too stood protectively in front of the spitting image of the man who'd tormented me my whole life.

"Sweetheart, it's not him. I swear to God, it's not him."

Shaking my head, I didn't know who to believe. I knew what my eyes were seeing, and standing not even ten feet from me was my father, Devlin Scott, in the flesh.

"Ivy, Gideon is your brother."

"Don't have a brother, Padre."

"Yes, you do." Father Dominic slowly approached while I kept my gun pointed at the fucker. I wasn't taking any chances. "Please, sweetheart. We came all this way."

A loud roar echoed all around as everyone turned just in time to see Luc rush my father's doppelg?nger, tackling him to the ground, beating the ever-loving shit out of him.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" the lead biker shouted, rushing over to the fighting duo.

"Never a dull moment with you, Ivy," Dr. Lansing muttered.

"Just keeping you on your toes, Doc," I retorted, getting to my feet. Gun still in my hand, I strode over to the group of men, trying unsuccessfully to pull my man off the look-alike fucker before he killed him.

The tension in the clubhouse was palpable.

I could cut it with a knife. The brothers of Disturbed sat on one side and the brothers of Soulless Sinners Motorcycle Club sat on the other. In the middle of the room sat Montana Stone, the president of the Soulless Sinners, glaring at Luc, who refused to say a fucking word.

It was an honest-to-God Mexican stand-off.

Grabbing a clean rag and a bottle of whiskey, I sauntered over to Luc, placing the bottle of Hell's Inferno before him while I moved his arm, sitting in his lap. The second I was comfortable, he shifted me closer before wrapping an arm around me protectively when he reached for the bottle with the other, swallowing a large gulp.

Ignoring the looks from the Soulless Sinners, I carefully wiped away the blood at Luc's temple, frowning when I saw a deep cut.

"Gonna need this stitched."

"It's fine," he growled.

Shrugging, I dropped the towel on the floor and turned to Montana, who was now looking at me.

"Take a picture, asshole." I smirked. "It will last longer."

"Fucking hell," a Soulless Sinner moaned. "She's Malice."

The one they called Malice growled.

I knew it was him.

Even if I couldn't look at him.

I knew it.

"Montana, we came all this way. Say something," Father Dominic said when neither man spoke.

"Shut the fuck up, Father," he sneered.

Before anyone could blink, I was across the table, with my knife at the fucker's throat. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who didn't like the way Montana talked to Father Dominic, because right beside me, my so-called brother held a knife against the fucker's throat as well.

"Apologize," I demanded.

"Now," Malice growled.

"Holy fuck," I heard Saint chuckle. "There's two of them."

Refusing to move, Luc slapped my ass hard before picking me up and placing me back in his lap. "Behave."

"Fucker started it," I sulked as Montana glared at Malice.

"ENOUGH!" Luc roared. "Montana, control your boy."

Montana sneered, then said, "Go walk it off, Malice."

Malice growled once more, before storming out of the clubhouse, Father Dominic following closely behind.

Rubbing his neck, Montana sighed. "This isn't going to work. Neither of us is willing to back down, and I can't have Malice going off the reservation. He's bad enough on a good day, but with that bitch in the picture now, he's going to be uncontrollable."

"Call me a bitch again and you'll see how uncontrollable I can be, asshole."

Montana shook his head and Luc tightened his hold. "I said enough. Appreciate the help, but what the fuck are you doing here?"

Montana looked behind him and nodded when a Soulless Sinner stepped forward, handing him a file. "This is Pippen. He is a friend of Sypher. A name I'm sure you're familiar with."

"Everyone knows Sypher," Luc admitted.

Montana groaned, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I'm sure you've heard about the killings in New York. Well, the lead detective—"

"Robin Calloway," Luc stated. "She already paid us a visit."

"Yeah." Montana sighed. "She's also the sister to a brother in my club. Storm."

Luc looked around and asked, "Which one of you is Storm?"

"He's not here," Montana spoke up. "He stayed in the city."

"Why?"

Grinning, Montana said, "Let's just say being this close to the Golden Skulls isn't in his best interest at the moment. In any case, Storm got word that his sister came and visited you. When she returned to the city, she stopped by the clubhouse to speak with Malice. That's when shit went sideways. Since then, Malice has been hunting for his genetic material."

"Father?" I whispered.

"Yeah, I wouldn't call him that in front of Malice," Montana advised. "Malice fucking hates the son of a bitch. My club has tried for years to kill that bastard, but Malice learned the fucker was roaming around, killing kids. Brother went off the rails. He has a soft spot for kids, but when he found out that Devlin Scott was looking for you, we couldn't stop him. It took the entire club to lock the fucker down. Knowing Malice wouldn't let it go, I had Pippen reach out to Sypher. They tracked Devlin Scott to Destiny."

"Are you telling me that son of a bitch is in my town?" Luc asked.

Montana nodded. "Yes, and we're not leaving until that fucker is shark bait. So, either we find a way to work together, or shit is going to get messy real fast."