Ruined: A scorching hot romance book with a bad-boy. Perfect for fans of Fifty Shades Freed
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cat
IT’S ALWAYS BAD when you’re in the kind of trouble that requires the help of an outlaw motorcycle club. It’s especially bad when you know you’ll do anything to get that help.
But what do you do when your kid’s in danger? You fight any demons, slay any dragons. It’s hard when you can’t slay those dragons on your own, though. When you have to pay in order to have them slain for you.
I would have paid anything to get Annie away from her father.
Which was why I’d ended up standing outside the Knights of Ruin MC’s clubhouse, in the rain, at midnight on a Saturday. In the middle of one of the loudest parties I’d ever heard.
I didn’t want to go in. I always swore I wouldn’t.
But when the devil has your kid, and the cops think everything’s fine, what the hell are you supposed to do? There was only one person who could help me, and unfortunately he was inside.
Dane Kingsolver, aka Smoke, my best friend since I was a kid and a Knights enforcer.
Who was not answering his goddamn phone.
The Knights’ clubhouse was in an old brick warehouse on the outskirts of Brooklyn. There were hogs lined up like toys outside, a couple of prospects hanging around looking after them, a couple more on the door. Music blared—the hard-driving beat of heavy rock. A bunch of girls were talking to the prospect on the door, their hair in artfully styled manes, their skirts up to their navels. All looking for a piece of danger, of wildness.
Idiots. They didn’t know the real danger they were getting themselves into, and I almost wanted to go over there and tell them. But I didn’t. They wouldn’t listen. I’d done it enough times to know that.
As they disappeared inside I walked up to the prospect, who was standing with his hands in the pockets of his low-slung jeans, probably thinking he was God because he got to say who got in and who stayed out. He was young, with pretty blue eyes and still a hint of softness around his mouth.
That wouldn’t last long. Soon he’d be a monster like all the rest.
He eyed me suspiciously, clearly not knowing who I was. Not that he would. I never came down here if I could help it.
I met his gaze—never look away from a snarling dog. ‘I need to see Smoke.’
My voice sounded flat and definitely don’t-fuck-with-me. Don’t give them an opening, because the next thing you know you’re on your knees with two black eyes, your dignity and strength in pieces on the floor.
Never again. Never fucking again.
The prospect looked even more suspicious. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘Cat. Cat Livingston.’
The kid’s gaze took me in and I knew what he was seeing. A frazzled-looking older woman in skinny jeans and a faded Ramones T-shirt. No make-up. Stained sneakers with the rubber coming off at the toe.
Unimpressive. Deeply unimpressive.
I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t here to impress him. I was here to see Smoke. To save my kid. Because if there was one thing I knew, it was that Smoke loved that kid nearly as much as I did and he’d do anything for her. He’d do anything for me, too—we had each other’s backs like that.
‘Yeah... See, I don’t know you,’ the prospect said, ‘And I don’t fucking think—’
‘I don’t care what you think.’ I cut him off curtly. ‘I’m Smoke’s best friend, and he’s going to be pissed if you don’t let me in right now.’
I didn’t want to tell him about Annie. I felt like a big enough fool as it was, without this asshole knowing all about my business.
‘Hey, watch your mouth,’ the prospect growled, full of his own self-importance. ‘Show a little goddamn respect.’
Great. So I was going to be put in my place by a teenage asshole while my violent ex had my kid. And all because of a little ‘respect’. Typical biker.
I’d opened my mouth to tell him what he could do with his goddamn respect when Tiger came out through the doors, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. Tiger was one of Smoke’s best buddies, tall and leanly muscled like Smoke. He had dark, almost-black hair that glinted with copper in some lights and strange amber eyes that had apparently given him his road name.
Tiger was an asshole, but he was less of an asshole than this idiot in front of me.
‘Hey, Cat,’ Tiger said as he spotted me, his deep voice rough. ‘What’s brought you down here?’
Ignoring the prospect, I looked over at Tiger, who was standing at the top of the steps. ‘Is Smoke around? I need to see him. It’s urgent.’
I didn’t particularly want to talk to Tiger about Annie either. He was opinionated about a lot of things, and kids was one of them.
Tiger leaned against the doorframe, lifted his beer and took a sip. He looked casual, but the gleam in his amber eyes was anything but. ‘Yeah, he’s around. But I don’t know if you’d want to see him right now.’
‘Why not? Like I said, it’s urgent.’ I shifted on my feet, not wanting to give away too much. ‘Like...life or death urgent.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Tiger’s gaze sharpened, though he kept on leaning against the doorframe lazily. ‘Well, he’s down the corridor. By the bedrooms.’
That was all I needed to hear. Not wanting to waste any time, I didn’t spare the glowering prospect a glance as I went quickly up the steps. ‘Thanks, Tiger,’ I murmured as I slipped through the doors past him.
He gave a low laugh. ‘Don’t thank me. Just remember that this is a party. Don’t blame me if you run into something you don’t like.’
I should have listened to him. But I didn’t. My head was too full of my kid and the asshole who’d picked her up from school and hadn’t brought her back like he’d told me he would. Who wouldn’t respond to my texts or calls.
Fear sat heavy and cold in my gut, but I tried to ignore it as I stepped into the clubhouse. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone—least of all Annie.
‘Watch out for yourself, Cat,’ Tiger called behind me. ‘You know what a Knights party is like. An unspoken-for woman is fair game.’
Actually, I didn’t know what a Knights party was like. I’d never been to one. But Smoke had told me enough about them. Lots of drinking, smoking and loud music. Drugs. Public sex.
Sounded hideous to me, but then again, I wasn’t a Knight and I didn’t go to parties, so it wasn’t my place to judge.
Still, as I made my way down the corridor I realised I was in the thick of it now. And, yeah, I was damn well judging.
The common area of the clubhouse looked like a group of frat boys had gone wild in a huge draughty warehouse—fat black leather couches, pictures of bikes and naked women on the wall, a couple of tables covered in beer bottles. The air stank of cigarette smoke, joints and spilled beer.
There was a bar down one end, where a guy was pouring shots onto the stomach of a mostly naked girl who was laughing and in danger of overturning the shot glasses.
I headed straight through the doorway without stopping or looking around, trying not to draw the attention of the mass of leather-clad bikers sitting on the couches or standing