Page 9 of Undone

My cell vibrated from the back pocket of my pants, eager hands that weren’t mine plucked it out. My hand grabbed around the wrist of the one who dared touch without permission.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I growled, taking my cell from her hand, dismissing her with a glare. I took the stairs two at a time, only returning the call I missed in the privacy of my office.

“Rog? What’s up brother?”

“You all set for tomorrow?”

“We should be. Will’s staying here to keep an eye on the clubhouse when we’re away.”

“Good. I need a favor.”

“Oh?” Rog never asks favors of anyone. This should be good.

“Dev is coming with her friend from Chicago. I need you to be my wingman… flirt with Dev’s friend… show her a good time.”

“Christ, Rog. I’m the Prez not a babysitter. You worried this chic might cock block ya’?”

“I know brotha, but tomorrow I need you to be one. Dev’s gonna worry about her friend. I need you to distract her… make sure she feels welcome so I can be with my girl.”

“She’s done a real number on you hasn’t she?”

“I’m all tied-up in friggin’ knots.”

“I’m going to enjoy watching this. See you tomorrow, but you’re gonna owe me.”

His answer was a grunt followed by ending the call.

Shaking my head, I picked up my keys. I’ll do this favor for Rog. It should be easy enough. Although he should’ve asked Mac or Federico to do it. The two of them are more charming than me, I’m more likely to send her screaming into the woods. I haven’t shaved or cut my hair in months. I’ve been too busy to care. Besides, scaring people by looking like a beast is better for my image.

My men in the army used to call me “pretty boy”. I have natural dimples that I never outgrew and when I shave and use a level two on my hair; I clean up so well I could be mistaken for the President of a company not an MC.

But I don’t have time to worry about myself tonight, I need to get to Ma’s and make sure she’s not crumpled on the floor like she was two days ago. She’s only in her late fifties but suffered a few bouts of vertigo. The doctors are running tests and we should know why soon. Until then, all I can do is watch over her like a hawk.

Nodding to each of my men as I walked down the stairs, Vasyl followed me out. I don’t need a fuckin’ shadow but my men insisted. The Prez never goes anywhere alone. Vasyl—hell, the man even scares me a little bit. You’d think he’s mute, that’s how much he talks. But he can shoot with the best of them. He’s a retired UFC fighter and one mean mother-fucker. His family immigrated from the Ukraine. Hell, even when he does talk his thick accent makes it difficult to understand what he’s saying.

But I didn’t hire him for his conversation skills. The man is an excellent bouncer, enforcer, and overall—he’s the best damn man to earn a patch in years. He’s the exact kind of man you want watching your back. He knows just about everything from engines, to the underground mafia running LA, and the man in s damn genius at the game of chess. We have spent many long, drunken nights in my office battling it out on the board. I made him my Sergeant in Arms, but I still need a VP.

Will won’t take it, saying he’s too old. Mac’s been proving himself, but he’s still young. He grew up hungry on the streets and Rog took the boy under his wing, paid him to do odd jobs and fed him hot meals. When Mac turned eighteen, he moved into a small storage room in our clubhouse. The boy turned into a man and each of us had a hand in it. I’m damned proud of Mac and astute enough to see that this life isn’t enough for him.

Every new member of Creed has been handpicked. We’re more than a club; we are family.

Even though, Duke built up the club during his watch, we’re still light on our numbers. Earning a patch in Creed is sacred. We don’t let just anyone in. We choose our members carefully because once you’re in—you are in for life. To fuck with one of us is to fuck with us all. You’d have to be a real stupid son-of-a-bitch to pick a fight with one of us. The men that wear the Creed patch on their cuts are men I’d walk into any war with. We are capable motherfuckers; most of us ex-military and Vasyl is more bad-ass than most.

“Boss?” He said in a thick Eastern European accent. I hesitated, my eyes looking back at the clubhouse.

“Keep an eye on the girls. There’s too many. I don’t like the smell of skank in the clubhouse.”

“Understood.” He nodded, eyes going hard as he glanced around the crowded room as he held the door open with one hand.

He’s one hell of a bouncer. “I’ll be back Monday. Will is staying behind with you.”

“No. I go where you go, boss.”

“Not this time. I need you here. I’ll have six plus men having my back at the lake. As soon as we ride out, our enemies will know. I’m staying at my Ma’s tonight. Bunk here until we get back.”

He muttered something in Ukrainian under his breath.

“What’s that?” My voice was low and deadly.

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