// NO ONE EXPECTS AN ANGEL TO SET THE WORLD ON FIRE. //
Riley McKenna is fresh out of rehab following her sister's brutal death, and decides to come home to her brother and the motorcycle club (MC) that raised her. But she's only back with one missi...
"Uh yeah, Lily, was it?" I asked, my eyes watching the bartender's every move. She started to slide down her skin tight, holey jeans, revealing barely there underwear.
My head snapped forward from Wolf's sudden pop to the back of my neck. I growled loudly in response.
"No, dumbass. Riley. Riley McKenna." Wolf glared at me darkly before smiling back down at his phone. "Can't wait til she's here though, man. This place hasn't felt the same without her. My babygirl."
I studied Wolf's face, watching the way his eyes sparkled and he jumped up and down on his toes in excitement. The smell of tobacco and leather drifted from his Death Reapers Vice President cut.
"You boning her or something?" I replied, still new to all of the dynamics of this particular club. I had been a loyal member of a northern chapter of the Death Reapers until about two months ago. The VA Beach chapter were too small and unambitious for my tastes. At 26 years old, I needed to move on with my life and fight hard with the top guns. Savannah, Georgia is where the Reapers started originally and where the most club business was. This is where I transferred to when the old club enforcer was killed in a hit and run by a car to motorcycle accident three months prior.
"Gross." Wolf snarled, his bright white teeth nearly blinding me. "I grew up with the twins and their older sister. Riley's always been my best friend." He shrugged, his eyes dark as they tracked the room. The corners of his mouth tugged downwards.
I shrugged, my attention on the hot blonde twirling on the pole in front of me to Nelly's old song "Ride Wit Me." This girl really knew how to grind on the pole. Shit. At the lyrics "come on boo, gimme kiss" the blonde locked eyes with me. I coughed, smirking and turning away as Wolf gave me a slight head nod and left to go over to Trace.
I turned back towards my drink, running my hands through the long ends of my blonde hair again. I pushed the overgrown Mohawk to one side, tugging it back into a low bun at the nape of my neck. I grabbed a pack of Marlboro reds from the back pocket of my black jeans, not bothered that the carton was mostly crushed. I pulled a cigarette out, lighting it quickly and enjoying the smoke filling my lungs. Smoke and whiskey, nothing like it, baby.
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"Hey honey, can I get a light?" The cute blonde bartender was back from her routine, practically taking a seat in my lap. She was wearing nothing but a see-through white tank top that read "DRMC" with a motorcycle on it. Her black g-string left little to the imagination. I smiled coyly, leaning towards her and lighting her cigarette for her with my zippo.
Her navy blue eyes blinked up at me sleepily, her eyelashes reminding me of spider's legs. She pressed her huge, perky breasts into my arm, kissing me on the cheek in thanks. When was the last time I was even laid? Shit. Tonight had to be my lucky night. I grinned lazily.
