Chapter 1

Chapter One

Nevaeh

I stare at myself in the mirror, frowning.

After surviving the barbecue, you’d think I’d feel more comfortable going back to the clubhouse. But nope. Maybe it’s because I know tonight’s party won’t be anything like the last one. The thought makes my stomach twist with nerves, and I bite my lip.

Focusing back on my reflection, I sigh. This is as good as it’s going to get. The pale pink twin set and the short, pleated skirt don’t exactly scream biker party, but I’d feel even more uncomfortable in a pair of tight leather pants and a tube top. All the power to those who do, but I have a little belly thanks to my love of food. I’m short, with curves—curves that anyone else would flaunt, especially given where I’m going. But I prefer to dress the way I do.

I don’t dress to repel people, but I do dress like a pastor’s daughter. It’s what I am, after all. I think of my sister in her hot pink coat, and how it caught someone’s eye and made them take a second look. That niggle has always been in the back of my mind, that I could draw the wrong kind of attention, so spent my formative years trying to blend in instead of standing out. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized it wouldn’t have mattered what Citi wore that day. A predator doesn’t see the wrapping, only the prize.

Still, habits are hard to break and I’ll be the first to admit that I use my clothing as a shield.

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull on a pair of black over-the-knee socks before sliding my feet into my patent leather Mary Janes. Pantyhose would have been a better choice, but I hate them. Besides, my feet are always cold, so I either wear socks or carry a pair with me, just in case. Once my shoes are on and buckled, I tie a pink ribbon around my sleek ponytail and add a bit of lip gloss.

I check my watch and curse. I’m going to be late if I don’t get a move on. Grabbing my bag from the table, I toss in the essentials: a notebook, pen, lip gloss, phone, and wallet. I hesitate for a moment, looking down at my Kindle before thinking, why not? and tossing it in as well. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I head for the door but stop, remembering that car keys would also be good. I spin around and rush back to the bedroom, grabbing them off the bedside table. I blow out a frustrated breath. At this rate, I’ll be a hot, sweaty mess before I even get there.

Making sure that I have everything this time, I finally leave. I lock up and walk over to my car, opening the door and tossing my bag into the passenger seat before climbing in. I close the door, and taking a deep breath, I start the car and head toward the club. After a few miles of silence, I turn on the radio and find a station playing 80s music.

My mom used to love 80s music. I remember dancing around the kitchen with her and my sister with wooden spoons in our hands, using them as microphones as we sang along to Cyndi Lauper and Bonnie Tyler. I’m tempted to change the station, but when “Papa Don’t Preach” comes on, I can’t help but belt out the lyrics with Madonna.

I slow down when I see the sign for Raven’s Nest and turn off the radio as a wave of nerves washes over me. I don’t know why—I’ve been here before, and everyone was friendly to me.

Still, I pull over and sit for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking in the rearview mirror. “Think of all the material you can get for your next book,” I tell myself, trying to calm my nerves.

To distract myself, I dig around in my bag and pull out my cell phone to let Amity know I’m just pulling in when I get a notification from SmutFest—the book signing event I told Amity about that tours around the UK. I frown, knowing I didn’t sign up for it, even though I would’ve loved to.

I open the email and start reading, my eyes widening until my eyebrows practically touch my hairline.

Dear Celeste Sky,

I hope this message finds you well. I am reaching out on behalf of SmutFest with an invitation that I hope you’ll consider.

Due to an unexpected scheduling conflict, a few of our originally planned authors can no longer attend our upcoming book signing event taking place in London next week. We asked our Facebook followers who they would most like to see instead , and your name came out on top. Given this response, we would be thrilled to invite you to the UK to be a signing author and guest speaker.

We would love to have you , but we understand that this is incredibly late notice. We would, however, be more than willing to cover flights, hotels, and any other related expenses if you’d be interested in joining us.

I shake my head in shock as I continue reading…

The event will provide an opportunity for you to meet your readers, sign copies of your book, and share your inspirations as an author.

Please let me know if this invitation fits with your schedule. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.

Thank you for considering this opportunity on such short notice. I look forward to hearing from you .

Warm regards,

Gemma Taylor-Smith

I sit there with my mouth hanging open for a moment before giddiness takes over, making me want to jump out of the car and do a little dance. I hold back, though; the MC probably has cameras out here.

I shove my phone back into my bag and drive carefully down the dirt road until I get to the gate, my excitement over the email overshadowing my nerves. I recognize the prospect at the gate from the last time I was here, but I can’t remember his name. He recognizes me too, nodding before opening the gate and waving me through. I park where G had me park before so I don’t block anyone’s way and turn off the engine.

I grab my bag and climb out, holding my skirt down so I don’t flash anyone. I close the door and slide my bag over my shoulder before turning to the prospect.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, darlin’,” he replies, his eyes taking me in from head to toe. “You trying to cause a riot?”

“Huh?”

“Doesn’t matter. Go on up. G and Amity are waiting for you.”

“Aye-aye, captain!” I salute him, making his lips twitch as I turn and make my way over to the giant warehouse filled with bikes. I pull the door open and step inside.

“Welcome to Harley Heaven,” I mutter to myself, jumping when I hear someone laugh.

“Harley Heaven, huh? I like it.” I turn, looking around until I spot the biker crouched near his bike.

“You must be Tinkerbell. I’m Capone,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag as he stands to his full height.

“Nice to meet you, Capone.” I give him a small wave before pointing to his bike. “Is your bike alright?”

“She is now.”

“She?”

“Esmeralda, my favorite girl,” he says, patting the bike's seat.

I grin as I step closer to get a better look and see that the gas tank has been painted. Whoever did it did an incredible job. It’s covered in flames and black charred roses that look real enough to touch.

“She sure is pretty.”

“Isn’t she? If you want, I can take you for a ride on her.”

Oh boy. Warning, warning. Abort mission. Abort mission!

I’ve researched enough MCs to know that getting on the back of a bike is usually sacred and reserved for old ladies. Knowing my luck, I’d get on the back of his bike and wake up in Vegas with his ring on my finger, his property patch on my back, and a tattoo on my butt.

Okay, so I might have a teeny, tiny, slightly overactive imagination.

“Umm… that’s sweet and all, but—Oh look, is that a squirrel?”

He frowns and turns, and I run out of the warehouse like it’s on fire. He calls after me, but I don’t stop. I just keep going, running up the stupid slope until I’m out of breath and sweaty all over again.

I slow down and start walking so I don’t look like an idiot. I make my way to the saloon, making a mental note not to tell Amity what just happened—even if that means I can’t brag about the fact that I just ran. On purpose. And up that stupid slope. She’d be so damn proud. I try to catch my breath. My heart’s racing so fast it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. I just hope they have a defibrillator on hand just in case. I can't believe Amity does this for fun. She's a freaking psycho.

I push open the heavy saloon doors and step inside.

“Pippin!” I hear Amity’s voice before she slams into me, wrapping her arms around me. “I thought you might have gotten caught up writing again and forgot,” she says as she pulls back and looks at me.

I look down at my watch and see it’s only 7:05. I frown and look back up at her.

“I’m five minutes late.”

“So I might have missed you,” she tells me, and I roll my eyes as we head towards the bar.

“You saw me this morning when we went to the shelter to pick up the kitten.”

“Speaking of, are you sure you’re okay with us keeping him after we get him back?” She’s using the kitten to prank one of the brothers, but the little guy will be coming home with us.

“Of course. He’s just a kitten. How much trouble can he really cause?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Famous last words,” she says as an arm’s thrown around my shoulders.

“Tinkerbell. You look like my future ex-wife.” Toot looks down at me, flashing a charming smile.

“Jaded and sexually frustrated?” I deadpan, making Mac—his actual brother, who’s standing behind him—snort.

“Hey now, you never have to doubt my skills. I can make you scream like you’ve never screamed before.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” I pat his chest and make a face. “But I’m all out of trophies, big guy. Think you can make do with a participation sticker?”

Toot lets me go and growls. “I don’t understand you, woman. How can you be immune to all this?” He waves his hands over his body. “I know. Maybe it’s because I haven’t shown you any of my moves yet.”

“I’m scared to ask.”

“You’re not the only one,” Amity mutters beside me.

Toot takes a few steps back before he starts doing a weird dance with a lot of hip thrusting. Or maybe it’s some kind of mating ritual. Either way, it looks… interesting.

“Do you need to pee, Toot?”

He throws his hands in the air. “I give up! I’m going to go fuck a bunny to remind myself how virile I am.”

“Okay, have fun. Make good choices and remember to wrap it before you tap it.” I turn and find both Mac and Amity laughing. “Is anyone here normal?”

“God, I hope not.” Mac smirks before heading off into the crowd.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Amity shakes her head, a grin on her face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with a straight face.

“Let’s get a drink,” she suggests, and we weave through the crowd towards the bar.

On our way, we get stopped a few times by some of the guys. By the time we finally reach the bar, my throat’s so dry, I could really use something to drink. Amity asks for a bottle of water, and the prospect behind the bar grabs one for her before handing me what I assume is a Coke—until I take a mouthful and nearly choke.

I consider giving it back, but then think, When in Rome … I don’t really drink, but if I go out, I sometimes have a cocktail or a glass of wine—but that’s about it. Here, though, I figure I can let loose a little, knowing Amity won’t let anything happen to me. I down the whole thing before I chicken out and set the glass back on the bar. Two seconds later, another one appears like magic.

“So, where’s G?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink.

“He went to pick up Havoc.”

“Ahhh…” I nod, feeling a little warm as my muscles start to relax. Havoc’s going to be the next president of Raven Souls, and this is his welcome to the club party.

As we sit at the bar sipping our drinks, the noise in the room increases, and I turn to see what’s going on and spot a huge guy with a scowl surrounded by a bunch of people. I’m guessing this is Mr. Soon-to-be President. The man is insanely hot, so I look away before I do something stupid, like faint.

Taking another drink, I start telling Amity about the email, but I can see she’s miles away.

“And so they said they’d pay for my flights and accommodation in London if I agreed to be a guest speaker on their panel. All I have to do is go on live TV in my bra and thong.” I finish my drink and place the empty glass on the bar, and poof! Another full glass is there.

I smile at the prospect before looking at Amity, who’s still nodding along with what I said until my words finally register. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you were listening to me.” I throw a coaster at her.

“I’m sorry, I’m just distracted. What were you saying?”

“I saaaid… the people organizing the book signing I told you about have agreed to pay for my flights and accommodation, as long as I agree to be a guest speaker. They’ve had a few people drop out, and when they asked in their Facebook group who they’d like to fill in, they picked me. How cool is that?” I say excitedly before taking a sip of my drink.

“That’s awesome, Pippin. You’re going, right?”

I smile at her excitement for me. It feels good to share this with her, but my smile fades when I think about letting her down.

“I promised I’d be your assistant.” I look down, swirling the drink in my hand.

She gives me a look. “It’s London. You have to do this. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“I know, but I’m so damn nervous. I wouldn’t even have a passport if it wasn’t for you forcing me to get one. I didn’t think I’d ever actually use it.”

“You’ll be fine, but what about people knowing what you look like? You have a pen name for a reason, right?”

“It’s not my readers I’m worried about. I don’t mind them knowing what I look like or even having pictures taken with me.” I take another drink. “The pen name’s to keep Dad and his damn congregation off my back. I’m not worried about them being at the convention and discovering my secret, ?cause then they’d have to admit to being at SmutFest.” The thought makes me giggle.

Feeling lightheaded, I wonder if I should stop drinking. But then I see the glass in my hand is magically fully again and decide it would be wasteful to throw it away.

“Good point,” Amity says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “These organizers are legit, right? I don’t want you getting sold into a slavery ring or something. If I have to jump on a plane and save you, I’ll be pissed.”

“But you would save me, right?” I bat my lashes at her.

“I’ll always save you. You know that.” She bumps me with her arm, making me grin.

“You know I’m soooooooo lucky having a superhero as a bestie,” I tell her, and she laughs, stealing my drink from my hand. Wait, is she sniffing it? I love her and all, but she’s soooo weird.

“How many of these have you had to drink?” she asks me.

I try to count them up in my head, but my brain isn’t braining. “Only a few,” I tell her because that’s a good number. “The very nice prospect keeps filling up my glass when it’s empty. The service here really is impeccable. Five stars.”

As Amity turns to talk to the prospect, I rest my head on the bar for a moment, feeling dizzy.

“No more alcohol for her. She doesn’t normally drink.”

I’m about to tell her I’m fine—totally fine—but suddenly I feel so sleepy. I close my eyes and decide to take an emergency nap first instead.