Page 30 of Tracking Luxe

And one that came out of left field like Tiny, more of a shock than most, the club was still reeling from the loss. He’d left a gaping giant-sized hole that couldn’t be replaced. Not to mention the guy had made the best food, it was a wonder they all didn’t starve now.

Was he walking into his own death trap if he helped Luxe steal from the Russians? Chances were high. But the risks would be worth taking if it advanced theSoulsin getting thebratvaout of town finally.

All good solid questions he didn’t have answers to, and it troubled him, he liked to fix, not chance and hope for the best. Now it felt as though he was going to have to take risks he had no way of knowing the outcome, because what was the alternative, let Luxe do this alone? Not atone for his mistakes to her? Both were unacceptable to him. With so much secrecy already under his beanie of late, he’d told her he wouldn’t keep her request from his club. Anything to do with Grigori would have the potential blowback for the club, and he wouldn’t be the one who put his boys in danger they didn’t see coming.

Not even for Luxe Reyes that maddening, beautiful woman and the trouble she was involved in. Though his every instinct was roaring in the background to scoop her up and do whatever he had to. As it was, her morning scent was still playing in his nose, strong and sweet, lickable, making his body ache.

The woman went right to his head.

And that was fucking nuts.

Where Luxe was concerned he was fast accepting his thoughts and actions or lack thereof for logic drastically sprinted off in the wrong direction, every single fucking time.

He’d kidnapped … Jesus, he hated that damn word---detained---a woman for days, trailed her for longer than that, watched her patterns, mentally documenting every man she talked or smiled at and when his control had snapped he’d done the unthinkable. It was as though his mind was acting out all on its own and his poor idiot body got took along for the ride.

Crazy shit and he hated himself.

Now he was willing to put his own neck on the block to atone somehow, if this was what it would take, he’d do it, to apologize in the only way she’d accept, by helping her steal something that belonged to the most dangerous men he’d come across in a long while.

No big deal.

More dangerous because theSoulsknew so little about theBratvaand their true reasons for being in Colorado, making them unpredictable. So far Rider and the boys had managed to stay out of their way, for good reason, pacifying their existence all the while giving Grigori no inch to take that Russian mile.

Damn the thief. Of all things, she could have asked him for, he would have gladly provided, this was giving him pause, catching him between the club and a woman.

He’d asked her why she couldn’t walk away from this job.Would you walk away from one hundred grand, kidnapper?Money was a great motivator, and still, he’d told her she didn’t have the first clue who she was getting herself tangled up in.

Grinder found Rider dishing out orders to the overly eager prospects. He hung back a bit and listened to Slider volunteer to go into town and pick up some supplies.

That one was his boy. One of his Pop’s friends had asked Grinder to give the boy a chance with theSoulsbefore he got himself thrown into jail. Grinder would never sponsor just anyone for a probationary membership into the MC, so he’d watched the younger guy for a few weeks. It usually took only one sponsor to bring in a prospect, luckily for Slider when Grinder had put him forward to the table, talked the younger guy up, his brothers had agreed he was goodSoulsmaterial.

So far so good. If Slider kept up the good work Grinder knew he’d be patched in soon.

“Yo, Grinder Sir.” Slider grinned and walked over to slap his hand to Grinder’s outstretched palm, he ruffled the shaggy hair swept back with his black and white bandana.

“Being a kiss-ass to the boss again?”

Slider grinned and dipped his head, scratching the fluff he called a beard, no longer the kid who would boost cars two and three a night. “Ah, you know, just doing as I’m told, getting shit done.”

“Good, keep doing that.” He sent him off to do the shit that needed doing.

He had his own to see to. “Got a minute, Ri?” he asked his prez, boss and friend. “Can we go talk in church?”

Rider’s brow lifted into his hairline. “Sounds ominous. If this ends with you needin’ help diggin’ a shallow grave, Zara is gonna be pissed if I’m late home to dinner.”

Once behind the sacred door, Grinder shrugged out of his jacket, he took a minute to roll up his sleeves, not exactly practicing what he’d say to his prez, but he knew how to carefully choose his words. Deciding to stand when Rider took his seat at the head of the table, he didn’t beat around the bush.

“There’s this chick…”

“Doesn’t all things start with ‘there’s this chick?’ again I say I ain’t diggin’ no fuckin’ grave, my brother.” Joked Rider, though his face was straight, his dark brow rose in that arrogant way only a club president could have.

This was a man Grinder respected the hell out of. He’d been at Rider’s side almost from the beginning of his reign and watched him drag the club from the dirt into the light and make something out of it that no predecessors ever could. The Renegade Souls MC were a feared and revered club throughout the country now and Grinder for one was proud to be an outlaw associated to them.

It was all because of Rider Marinos. A fair but powerful boss. Tenacious and brutal. A president who didn’t think twice to do what was right for the club.

Club first.

Club first.

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