Page 25 of Blood Revealed

Half the contingent thinks we should hit up Lady Sings the Blues for our night’s entertainment, but there’s this new steakhouse that’s opened up on top of the hill and it’s getting some great reviews. The other half, including myself, wants to try the new steakhouse. Eventually, we get the Lady contingent to agree.

I could use a mixed cocktail that I don’t have to make. The brothers like their alcohol, but it’s beer, tequila, whiskey, vodka, and gin. Ask for a piña colada and they’ll laugh you out of the clubhouse. I’m getting a damn piña colada tonight.

So calls made, I walk back into my room to shower—well, since he decided we needed to quit dancing around making me his old lady, and I accepted, but he left before moving me into his room, I took the liberty of moving myself intohisroom, which means it’s nowourroom. I curl my hair, pick out a kickass outfit of tight plumb-colored jeans, a black camisole with a plumb-colored thin sweater with a scoop neckline and slashes over the fabric so the camisole is visible underneath. I wear my black leather jacket and black, leather, spike-heeled boots. To finish the look, I drip silver from my neck and ears. My makeup is on point. It sucks my man is so far away because I’d definitely be getting laid in this outfit.

I let the boys know I’m heading out. Rig, a giant of a man who looks like he was smashed in the face with a cast iron skillet is one of the brothers left in charge of the compound while the others are away. He orders one of the new prospects, Benedict, to follow me. Benedict is about my height with dishwater blond hair and brown eyes. But he has a scar above one eye that gives him character. I think growing some facial hair would go a long way to making him hot rather than meh.

Though, I have Blood, so I’m probably not the most objective on what makes a dude hot. No one is as hot as Blood. Not even Chaos or Hero. I know all the men, but the ones left aren’t the inner circle of men I’m the closest with. Still, he was left in charge so I’ll be a good old lady and not argue about the prospect coming along. Besides, it’s a big deal for him. Protection duty is huge for a prospect wanting to patch in as a full member. It means the brothers trust you with the lives of their women and families. I walk outside to stop at my sister’s place first. She’s already home.

“You good?” I ask. “Need anything?”

“Nope. I’m good. Caitlin is dropping off the kids in a bit and she’s bringing us some kind of alfredo pizza she made and snacks. We’ll be good. You look hot, by the way.” Brin grabs her phone. “Let me take your picture. Send it to Blood so he knows what he’s missing.”

I let her snap off a few shots and she sends them to my phone.

“Okay, well, tell Caitlin that I’m heading down to get us a table.”

We exchange cheek kisses and I leave her to it. The new guy waves me through the gate and I head down the mountain, ready to get my drink on. It only takes me fifteen minutes to reach the new restaurant. I get out of my truck and walk inside to get us on the waiting list.

The hostess hands me a light buzzer that will flash when my table is ready and I take a seat at the bar to wait for the other women. A couple men try to buy me a drink. One man in particular, who wears a suit well but otherwise isn’t particularly noteworthy, is pretty persistent.

“Come on, dollface. It’s just a drink.”

“Dollface, huh? That usually work for you?”

“Look, I’ve seen you dancing at that club. I know how your kind operate.”

My kind? Oh, this should be good. “Tell me about my kind,” I offer.

“I’ll buy you a drink, hell, I’ll even spring for dinner, but I don’t pay for sex. You girls like it for free, though, don’t you? As much as you can get.”

My vision goes blurry with thoughts of ending this douche. I stand to move closer to him. He stands too, smiling like he thinks he’s getting some tonight. I catch him off-guard by grabbing a fistful of his balls and squeezing with all my might. “If you’ve seen me at the club, then you know it’s a club owned by the Brimstone Lords. My old man doesn’t take kindly to jackasses like you making passes. I tell him, and rest assured, Iwilltell him, you’ll have a target on your back the size of Wisconsin. Now, sit your ass down, drink your drink, and don’t say another word to me or any woman until you leave, got me?”

The man’s face goes from the flush of pain of having his balls in my vise grip to ashen white when I mention the target on his back. No one wants to mess with the Lords. They may not live the lives of a lot of bikers, but they’re formidable and aren’t to be messed with. And that includes their women.

Lucky for him, right as I get to the part where I threaten his life, the light buzzer blinks, so I let him go, straighten out the lapels of his suitcoat, and pick up my buzzer and drink, heading back out to the hostess station.

She takes the blinking light from my hand and leads me over to a large table by the window facing the parking lot. It’s nice inside. Sleek. They use dark walnut wood and stone in a way that makes it look modern, not “country” or homey. The chairs are all fabric-covered with a clamshell shape. They’re dark gray with big buttons at the tufted points. They have that same dark walnut legs as the table and flooring.

I set my drink down in front of a spot perfect for seeing the girls arrive and I wait. It’s not too long before Caitlin shows up with Frankie. I stand and wave to get their attention. Liv shows up next, her gorgeous, long hair the same color as Blood’s swishing behind her on that incredible, tight ass of hers. God, I would love to have an ass like hers. That’s one place I’m not as streamlined because of my job. After seven years, I’ve got the thick, muscular thighs and bubble booty of a dancer.

As the women approach the table, I stand and give cheek kisses, inviting each of them to sit. The waitress comes to take their drink orders, too. We wait to order our appetizers or dinner until Elise shows up.

Not five minutes later, I see her Jeep pull into a parking spot near the window. I stand up to wave at her through the window when a man in jeans and a black hoodie, with the hood up over his head, approaches her, taking her attention. He has something in his hand, hanging down at his side. I squint my eyes hoping to get a better look when he raises that hand and presses it against Elise’s stomach.

I scream and take off running as she drops, getting tripped up by people walking from the bar, entering and leaving the restaurant or going to the restroom. A million people seem to come out of nowhere exactly when I need them to move the hell out of my way. When I get out to the lot, he’s dragged her to his van. I keep running, but he’s shoved her into the back and gotten into the driver’s seat before I reach them. The other women follow. I make contact with the hind doors of the van, pounding my fist on them as he tears away with Elise unconscious in the back.

Okay, keep calm, Han. Keep calm. What am I supposed to do? Caitlin has her phone out pointed at the tail end of the car as it speeds away, taking pictures. Benedict, who apparently dropped the ball on his protection duty comes running out from around the restaurant zipping up his fly. I don’t want to know what he was doing. His one job tonight was to sit on his bike and watch. To keep track of everyone entering the parking lot while we dined inside. Instead of owning up to his mistake, the punk jumps on his bike and takes off, leaving us behind in the dust. Guess we won’t be seeing Benedict again.

Right as I’m dialing 911, Tommy Doyle, also known as Sgt. Tommy Doyle to the good people of Thornbriar, shows up to drop off Maryanne. We descend on his car, all of us yelling over one another at once.

“Calm down. What happened?” he asks.

Caitlin speaks for us. “Elise got taken.”

“A man approached her in the parking lot with something in his hand,” I explain. “He touched it to her stomach and she dropped. I’m assuming a Taser. Anyway, he shoved her in the back of his van before we could get to her.”

“Fuck,” he bites out, going full cop mode. “What did the car look like?” Caitlin hands him the phone with the pictures she took. He grabs the radio and calls it in—what do they call those? An APB or something? I’m not big on police lingo, seeing as I avoid having to deal with the police outside of socializing with the Doyles. “You got Maryanne?” he asks Caitlin.

---