Hell on Wheels (Kings of Mayhem MC 4)

Yale was new to the club. A seven-foot Scandinavian who didn’t say a hell of a lot.

“She looks like a fucking angel. You bring her into the clubhouse and it’d be like dangling a carrot in front of their eyes,” Caleb added.

My brother wasn’t wrong. She did look like an angel.

An angel that was awakening something inside of me.

I looked away from her, my eyes shifting to the scruffy looking kid in dirty jeans and a hoodie acting shady as he leaned up against a brick wall, watching her.

It was second nature for me to observe what others missed. It was my job in the Navy; our marine patrols relied on my experience to spot things out of the ordinary. And this kid, he was definitely out of the ordinary. I watched him push off the wall and slowly walk past her.

She finished her song, and the small crowd in the coffee shop and bars surrounding the town square clapped politely. People walked past and dropped money in the top hat she had sitting on the ground in front of her. She smiled broadly and started singing a song about California. Which was fitting, considering she looked like she’d stepped right off the bus from the golden state.

My eyes shifted back to the kid in the hoodie. He was smoking and eyeing the top hat. He was up to no good, and if I was right, he was going to make a grab for it. I waited, watching him take a final drag from his cigarette and flicking the butt to the ground. Then just as I anticipated, he suddenly lurched forward, grabbed the top hat, and took off running through the town square, almost knocking an old lady over in the process.

I was out of my chair and chasing him down before Bull, Cade, or Caleb had a chance to react. I leaped over a small fence and sprinted after the kid, my mind focused on one thing and one thing only. Get the target. As he disappeared down an alleyway, determination roared through me, and I ran faster, ignoring the burning in my lungs as they screamed for oxygen. The kid was a fast runner, I’d give him that, but I was faster. Months of rehab and grueling post-hospital gym sessions helped. When he jumped onto the chain wire fence to escape the alley, I grabbed him and threw him down on the concrete.

Hauling him to his feet, I hurled his scrawny body against the wall.

The stench of poor hygiene hit me in the face. This close I could see the grey skin, the mouth full of decay, and the meth-dead eyes. This kid was a tweaker.

“Don’t hurt me, man,” he cried.

Every inch of me wanted to do exactly that. Hurt him. To jam his rotted teeth down his throat. Because thieves were scum and junkie thieves were the worst of the bunch. But then I realized it wasn’t about him at all. I just wanted to hurt something, and that sudden knowledge stopped me. I let him go and he took off.

But it was too late.

The blonde-haired beauty was running down the alley toward us. And she’d see me. Seen the monster. I could see the alarm on her face.

She ran up to me and suddenly I was engulfed in the sweet scent of her. Up close, I could see she was the kind of girl you lost your heart to and never reclaimed it. The flawless skin. The luscious, full lips. Eyes the color of the sky. Blonde curls swirling around a perfect face.

I tried not to notice any of it. But then she smiled up at me, and every cell in my body reacted like they were detonated by a fucking atomic bomb.

She was innocence and beauty.

Light and goodness.

And the last thing I fucking needed.

CASSIDY

Twelve dollars and fifteen cents. The would-be thief got an ass kicking from the hot guy who chased him down for a measly twelve dollars and fifteen cents.

I bent down to pick up the money scattered on the concrete then straightened to look at him.

There was no denying he was attractive. Dark hair. Eyes the color of a tropical ocean. A slight cleft in his chin with the right amount of scruff along his jaw. He had a deep scar running from his forehead, through his eyebrow and down his cheek. His scar looked like the wound would’ve been severe. Painful. Life changing even. Yet somehow it added to his beauty. It made him different. Stronger. Beautiful.

But I saw the look in his eye when he thrust that kid up against the wall. Sure, he had restrained himself from beating that kid to a pulp, but I’d seen what that gleam turned men into when they could no longer hold back.

Yeah. I had a few scars of my own thanks to that fucking gleam.