Niro (Henchmen MC Next Generation 1)

In a back corner, one of my cousins was blocked by a semi-circle of scantily clad women, one of them leaning in to whisper in his ear; another was running her long fingernail down his chest. Then lower.

"Told you," Hope said, reaching to hand me a bottle of beer, clinking hers with mine.

Gracie was already lost in the crowd, being much more of a social butterfly than Hope or me ever were. "Not bad, right?" she asked, looking around. "Sure beats the shit out of those skunky beer and cheap vodka parties we went to when we were underage. Plus, it's all the club guys and their close friends. No skeezy ass-grabbers to be found. Well, except him," she said, jerking her chin over toward Fallon who had just slapped a woman on the butt over her red leather skirt.

Fallon had always been a bit of a whore. And since he was sort-of family, we forgave it more easily than we normally would if it was anyone else. I wasn't surprised that it hadn't changed. From what I could tell from the snippets of stories I'd heard about when all our parents were younger, almost all the bikers had been man-whores before they came across their future wives.

"Andi," a deep voice called, making me turn, having to crane my neck up like I always did with his father and, as he got older, Malcolm himself. "You're back," he said.

"I, ah, yeah, I am," I agreed, giving him a smile.

"That's good," he said, giving me a nod, and moving off.

"You know, I once heard him speak two sentences all together once. Complete sentences and everything," Hope said, smiling before taking a long swig of her beer.

"I will believe it when I hear it myself," I said, feeling some of the tension slip from my shoulders as I raised my beer for a tentative sip—having never been a big fan of the taste, but starting to settle into the party vibe.

I promptly nearly choked to death on it.

Because as I drank, my gaze did another scan of the room.

And spotted someone I had missed before.

Niro.

His back was to me, but I would know him anywhere.

"I knew it," Hope said, snapping my attention back to her.

"Knew what?" I asked, taking another sip, telling myself it was to wash down the beer that had gotten a little caught in my throat somehow, but, really, I knew it was just to try to calm my frazzled nerves.

"That you and Niro had a falling out," she said, making my stomach drop. "But Gracie kept telling me I was being my usual anti-romantic, pessimistic self. And, to be fair, she is partially right about that. But I freaking knew it."

"It's not that..." I started, but got almost immediately cut off.

"Bitch!" another voice broke into our conversation, high and confident.

"Here's trouble," Hope said, shaking her head as Billie joined us, big white smile beaming out of her stupidly pretty face, complete with a dainty little septum piercing like her own mother still sported to this day. And while her mom was a fan of multicolored unicorn hair, Billie favored a pinkish-purple mauve color that suited her.

Billie had been born pretty and seemed to have confidence from the cradle to go along with it. Which I always understood. Even if I couldn't always relate to being so wholly comfortable in your own skin. But why wouldn't she be? She was fit, but round of hip and thigh with a butt we all envied almost as much as we envied her chest. She was practically perfect. And with her extroverted nature, she was always someone you wanted to be around. Even if just in small doses because she could get overwhelming at times.

"That's me. Trouble," Billie agreed, giving Hope a wink.

"Jesus Christ," Hope said, half scoffing, half laughing. "What are you wearing on your ears?" she asked, eyes wide.

"My pussy flower earrings!" Billie declared proudly, reaching her hand up toward them, running her light pink coffin nails over the reddish petal that, yeah, was very anatomical-looking. "Mom and I did them as a little DIY project last weekend."

"Of course you did," Hope mumbled, taking a breath.

"I have cock ones too."

"I'm not the least bit surprised by this information," Hope said.

"Anyway. You're home," Billie said, looking at me. "We need to catch up sometime."

"Word to the wise, Andi," Hope said, holding a hand up, palm out. "Be very, very specific about the parameters of a hang-out with this lunatic. Or you might find yourself at a cult gathering."

"Oh, my God. For the fiftieth time, that was not a cult gathering."

"Everyone was wearing white robes and chanting," Hope shot back.

"It was a guided meditation. They were mantras!"

"And then like there was some hidden cue, everyone suddenly stripped out of those robes. I was standing in a room with twenty naked-ass people. I saw things, Andi," she said, voice grave, eyes wide. "I saw things I can never unsee. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough," she went on, pressing a hand to her mouth, pretending—or at least I thought she was pretending—to gag. "Then they all leaned forward. They leaned forward, Andi," she said, and I was starting to think the gag was legitimate. "They leaned forward and put their hands on the mats. And I saw more things. I saw things that still give me nightmares to this day."