Page 4 of Bad Luck, Hard Love
“I have fun,” I say, though I don’t believe it.
“When was your last date?” she presses. “And no—Shadow’s vet visits don’t count.”
“That’s not the same.”
“Why not?” she challenges. “You deserve more than just surviving. You deserve to laugh, to feel alive again. It’s time.”
I exhale, her words sinking in deeper than I want to admit. “Fine,” I say at last. “Just the weekend.”
“That’s the spirit!” she beams, already hopping up. “Let’s pack!”
I can’t help but smile as I watch her bounce around the room. Her energy is infectious, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of excitement.
A few hours later, with Shadow squared away and a pet sitter on standby, we hit the road. Music blares, windows down, our voices raised in off-key harmony. I laugh, really laugh, and for a moment, the past doesn’t weigh quite so heavy.
Maybe this is exactly what I need. Maybe it is time to start living again.
THOR
The desert sun blazes overhead,scorching my skin as the wind whips through my hair. Sweat trails down my back, but I barely notice. Freedom has a price, and right now, it’s worth every drop. Raze, our club president, gave me a purpose, and that’s what keeps me pushing forward toward Vegas.
I joined the Heaven’s Rejects' mother chapter at a turning point, when the club needed someone grounded and unshakable. They became my family. That clubhouse was home until it went up in flames, literally. The explosion rocked allour chapters. Vegas, among others, tried to fill the void Upland left behind. But the once-solid bond between Raze and Ace, the Vegas president, had fractured over the last year while our chapter rebuilt. Too many missed calls. Too much silence. So now, I’m heading their way.
Truth is, I’ve felt unmoored for months. With the dust settled and Raze chasing peace, I’ve been struggling to find my place. Calm doesn’t suit men like me—or clubs like ours. That’s probably why I’m out here roasting on his bike while he stays behind in Upland.
As the Vegas skyline looms on the horizon, the sun dips low. The air cools, but something inside me heats up—a simmering anticipation as neon begins to flicker in the distance.
I roll up to the Vegas clubhouse just after dusk. The gate’s hanging open. Unusual. Most clubs keep their perimeters locked down tight. I hesitate, but curiosity wins out. I ride in.
The place is quiet—too quiet. A few bikes are parked outside, and the building looks like any other patched-up hangout. A large banner draped across the front bears the Vegas chapter's emblem, bold and proud. But no music. No chatter. Just silence.
I approach the front door, senses on high alert. Just as I reach for the handle, it swings open with a heavy creak. A hand clamps down on my shoulder, hard and sudden.
I spin, fists ready, only to find myself eye to eye with Ace.
The Vegas president stands tall, shoulders broad, eyes sharp as razors. Suspicion darkens his features.
“Who the hell are you?” he growls, scanning me like he’s looking for a threat.
“Thor. Mother chapter.”
“So, Raze couldn’t be bothered to come himself? Sends some grunt instead. You even an officer?”
I lift my chin and point to the patch stitched on my cut—the symbol of my rank within the chapter.
The proof he needs along with a subtle warning.
“Road captain, eh?”
Raze warned me Ace would test me at every turn. He’d been Vegas’ president since it was formed. Cracking him wouldn’t be easy.
“Might as well come in,” he says gruffly, leading me into the clubhouse.
The inside is dimly lit, the only light coming from the small lamps on the tables and the neon signs on the wall. A few chapter members are scattered around the room, nursing beers and eyeing me warily as I enter.
“Get him a drink,” Ace barks at one of the club girls, who scurries off to the bar. Ace motions for me to follow him to a small table in the corner of the room. We sit across from each other, and he leans in.
“You just making a pit stop, boy?”
