Page 100 of One Night with the Biker

Despite being an enforcer, patience had never been my forte. It was a skill I was forced to hone to survive and serve my club, not one I naturally possessed. There was an art to being a good fucking killer, and perfecting it took time.

Yet, it was an art that required goddamn hands, and those had been stolen from me.

Being dead would’ve been better, an opinion that was reinforced when I discovered Ainsley’s betrayal.

And yet, even with my life out of fucking whack—in partbecause of my little sister—I couldn’t bring myself to hate her. I was so pissed and hurt, I didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. But she was still my only relative, my baby sister who I’d spent a decade protecting and loving. Without her in my life, the Earth itself seemed to be tilted off its axis.

The road to recovery hadn’t been easy. I still wasn’t whole, but now, I was back to having hands. Medical technology has made major advancements, enough so that I didn’t need to walk around looking like a damn pirate with hooks for hands. Thanks to Bash, I’d acquired an array of prosthetics. Functional hands, blades of all kinds—and yes, a hook. I still hadn’t gotten the hang of my robotic hands, but my arsenal of attachable weapons meant I wasn’t entirely helpless.

It was two weeks away from Thanksgiving and, after nearly two and a half months, I was finally near my hometown. Last night, Bash’s two sons, Easton and Tio, stopped to rest in Topeka. If it’d been up to me, I would’ve powered through, but I wasn’t calling the shots. I was reliant on them for everything, and while Easton wasn’t so bad, Tio made my ass itch. He was an asshole, and how he pulled someone like London, I hadn’t a clue.

She was an angel, while he was one of Satan’s cruelest demons.

As much as I disdained the perilous situation she was in, her fucked-up relationship wasn’t my priority at the moment. Tio had spent the day sleeping off a hangover and a night of loud sex. I was in an entirely separate room, and it kept me up. I didn’t want to think about how Easton, who shared a room with his brother, fared.

Again, something else that didn’t matter to me. What did matter was the fact that Tio had given us a fifteen-minute notice of when we’d be riding out. Though he was the younger brother, we played by his rules. I was too helpless to pitch a bitch about it.

My annoyance was overridden by my anticipation. In an hour, I’d be back in Kansas City. That meant I could start crossing names off my list.

At the top of it? Nova fucking Wren.

I gripped a burner phone in my faux hand, the simple task requiring an embarrassing amount of concentration. Navigating it was even harder, making my movements clumsy and shaky, but I managed. London—sweet, beautiful,trappedLondon—had stayed by my side for two weeks, helping me get used to my prosthetics and giving me basic exercises to do.

Unfortunately, we’d been forced to part ways, but her guidance had helped me feel somewhat normal again.

Me: Nova?

That simple text had taken over a minute for me to write, frustrating me to no end. I didn’t intend to carry out the conversation via messages; they were evidence, and a pain in the ass. I just needed confirmation that I had the right number, which came just minutes after my initial message.

Nova: who the fuck is this?

I scoffed at the reply. Her bitchiness was her one constant, and what damned her to a death sentence. But in this instance, it proved useful, allowing me to confirm I had the right girl.

Nova: Louisiana?Is this you?

My brows snapped together.

Nova and her Cajun side piece were the ones who set Ainsley up with Sinclair, causing this whole mess.

Nova was a dumb bitch, to still be communicating with a motherfucker from a rival club—something she’d condemned Ainsley to die for. Rage swept through me, knowing she’dsnitched on my little sister for the same thing she’d done. It made me more eager to snuff out her life.

Fortunately for her, I wouldn’t share my revelation with her father, but it reinforced my need to end her miserable existence.

I took several deep breaths, needing tosoundcalm before I continued. When I was sure I wouldn’t cuss her ass out the moment I heard her voice, I pressed the call button, and three rings later, she picked up.

“Listen, asshole—”

“It’s me,” I said, interrupting whatever insult she was about to spew.

“Roman?” she asked, the venom leaving her tone. “What do you want?”

Her dead. To get to her, I’d let her think she’d finally ensnared me in her trap.

“I…I want to see you,” I answered, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. “The last several weeks have been hell, and fuck, babe, I need some comfort. I’ll be home in about two hours. You free?”

Her blood coating my flesh would comfort me like nothing else.

She was silent for several seconds, and I feared that her desire for me had fizzled out.

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