Chapter 3 A gigantic biker blushing made me laugh out loud.

Catalina’ pov

I crossed the room and wrapped Jenna in a fierce hug, grinning like an idiot. “God, I missed you, Gunner,” I said as she squeezed the breath out of me. We had not seen each other in two weeks and it felt like forever.

“I missed you too, Chaotic. We both missed breakfast with Daddy last week. He was not pleased,” she replied, smiling when we used our nicknames. We stepped back and bumped our wrists together. The matching tattoos on the tops of our right wrists read Beautiful Disaster. On the underside of hers was Gunner and on mine was Chaotic.

She gave me a quick once-over and shook her head. I shrugged and pulled up a stool at the bar. She set to work slicing limes with a blade that looked worryingly sharp and efficient.

“So, are you going to tell me what that douche canoe did this time?” she asked before I could open my mouth.

“What do you mean by douche canoe?” I said.

“You know I have never liked him. How many times have we talked about how controlling he is? How he wanted you to study Creative Writing or Photography because he thought those things suited a pretty girl better. He acts like you do not have a brain. You have complained about wanting more adventurous bedroom stuff and he keeps wanting the same routine,” she said, shaking her head.

“Funny you should mention the bedroom,” I said. “He told me tonight he wanted an open relationship or to have a threesome with another woman.”

Jenna slammed a shot of tequila in front of me and I downed it. “There is a difference between wanting to try new positions or being tied up and suggesting an open relationship or threesomes with strangers,” she said. “That crosses a line.”

“I would not mind a threesome,” I admitted, “but I said I would prefer another man and he flat out refused. He spouted off nonsense about how it would be good for us and that it would help in the long run to know what it was like to sleep with other people.”

“That sounds like he wants to cheat with permission,” she said, topping up my glass.

I emptied the shot and accepted the lime. I never did the salt because I avoided extra salt in my diet, but I took the lime anyway. “That is exactly what I said. So here I am. Now tell me which one of these hot bikers will give me the ride of my life,” I said, turning to scan the clubhouse.

“Honestly anyone could, but stay away from the viking at the pool table,” she warned. “I have been trying to get his attention for two years and he has not picked up on a single signal.”

“He is cute. Wink at him. He keeps looking over here and he definitely is not looking at me,” I suggested.

The moment she did it, I saw him go red. How adorable. A gigantic biker blushing made me laugh out loud. I turned to watch my sister and said, “That was adorable as fuck.”

She threw her head back and laughed, loud and bright.

“So why have you been working here, Jenna, especially for the last two years? Does Daddy know?” I asked.

“Do you see any corpses on the floor?” she shot back.

“So that is a no. How did you land this job? Surely the club ran a background check,” I pressed.

“And what do you think they would find in that background check, Chaotic?” she asked, folding her arms.

If they had checked two years ago, the file would have shown a plain life: daughter of a pig farmer, thirty, a college dropout. It would list a younger sister ten years her junior who was attending Columbia University. They would have our given names and nothing flashy beyond that.

What no background check could reveal was the truth, that we were the daughters of a Mafia assassin, born into blood and silence. That for the last ten years, the witness protection program had been our prison disguised as safety. That our mother’s death had been a message carved in loss, a way to keep our father loyal. And that my sister and I were not the fragile daughters we pretended to be, but weapons he had honed himself. Our lives were built on lies, and survival demanded we keep them that way.

“Well, I guess that is for the best,” Jenna said, leaning against the counter. “If they knew who we really were, Daddy would wipe them all out. You know how he gets about men being around us. When Jake started circling, I had to hide him until I turned eighteen.”

Her laugh rolled out, rich with memory. She had been the one helping me sneak around, after all.

“I applied here because I wanted a little danger,” she admitted. “These guys are fucking wild. They fight, shout, race their bikes like devils, and screw club girls right out in the open. Watching it all gets my blood going.”

“Have you ever hooked up with one of them?” I asked.

“Not yet. But I want to. There is this one, the viking. His road name is Torque.”

She handed me a beer, and I was grateful after those two tequila shots still burning down my throat.

“Torque?” I repeated.

“Yeah. He earned it in a fight. When he charges, he mows through people. Just keeps going until nobody’s standing.”

“Wonder if he could take one of us on,” I said, half teasing.

Jenna gave me a look that could peel paint.

“What? I am just curious. It is not like I am about to start something with thirty armed bikers. I may be reckless, but I am not suicidal. I could take on three, maybe four, but not a full club.”

“Catalina, sometimes I really cannot tell if you are serious,” she said, shaking her head.

“I am not serious about starting a fight,” I told her, smirking. “I am serious about getting dick-drunk.”

Jenna snorted, laughing. “You and that fucked-up vocabulary. Listen, if you really want to fuck someone, you do not need to work for it. Just say the word. Half this place would line up.”

“Do you think they are clean?” I asked.

“They are,” she said. “Club rules. Everyone gets tested every six weeks. If anyone tests positive for anything contagious, they are benched. If it is something serious, they are cut out of clubhouse life. They stay affiliated, but no one wants a walking infection hanging around.”

“Good to know,” I said, finishing my beer. “But what about these women? Am I stepping into someone’s territory if I take one of their men?”

“One, they are the club sluts. No one’s girlfriend, no one’s old lady. Just entertainment. Two, most of the guys cheat anyway. The few who are faithful will make that clear. And three, if you mess with a man who is taken, his woman will come for you. She will not win, but she will fucking try, and if you actually hurt her, the club will put a bullet in your skull before sunrise.”

“Noted,” I said dryly. “So how do I tell who is who?”

“The girlfriends do not dress like the club girls, their men hate that. The old ladies wear leather vests that say ‘Property of The Lords of Chaos’ and the name of their man.”

“Seriously? They brand them like that?”

“It is not branding. It is protection,” she said. “Keeps other bikers from crossing lines, especially at events or when they travel together.”

“Fascinating,” I said. “Now, line me up three more shots. I need a little liquid courage before I make a bad decision.”

“Since when do you need confidence, Catalina?” she asked, smirking.

“Since my own boyfriend decided I am not enough for him,” I said flatly.

“Catalina,” she sighed, lining up the glasses. “You know that is not true.”

“Is it not?” I downed all three shots in quick succession and bit into a lime. Pulling it from my lips, I looked at her and said, “Then tell me why the fuck he wants to sleep with other women.”

“Did I walk into something I should not have?”

The voice came from behind me, low, smooth, and sinfully deep. It poured through my chest like warm whiskey, slow and dangerous. I turned, and fuck, the sight of him dried my throat.

He was well built. Auburn hair, cropped close at the sides but longer on top, slicked back in a way that looked both deliberate and careless. A few days of reddish-brown scruff shadowed his jaw, framing lips that looked far too tempting to ignore. His nose carried a small imperfection, slightly crooked like it had once met a fist, which somehow made him even more magnetic. His eyes, warm, whisky-colored and full of heat, dragged across my body as though he were deciding where to start.

He had to be around six-foot-three, all broad shoulders, carved arms, and muscles that looked like they belonged to someone who could destroy a man with his bare hands. Tattoos climbed down his forearms to his big hands, the ink dark against his skin. His black short-sleeved Henley stretched across his chest, half-hidden beneath a worn leather vest. Faded jeans clung to thighs that made my brain go blank, and his boots looked like they had kicked in more than one door.

“I like your vest,” I said, just to hear my voice again.

“It is called a cut,” he replied, amusement glinting in his gaze.

My eyes roamed over the patches decorating it. On one side, Viper sat boldly above Enforcer, followed by another patch that read I Am My Brother’s Keeper. Five small metal skull-and-bone pins gleamed beneath it. The opposite side bore an ace of spades, a circular emblem that said Ride Forever, Forever Free, and a small rectangle with FLLF. Below all that was a large patch marked New York- NYC.

I gestured for him to turn around, and he did. The back of his cut was dominated by a massive skull and crossbones, crimson diamond tears under its eyes with 1% carved inside them. Above the skull, The Lords Of stretched across, and below, Chaos. A smaller MC patch rested beside it. It was brutal and beautiful at once.

He faced me again, catching my stare. I extended my hand, and instead of shaking it, he caught my fingers and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his lips hot against my skin.

“Pensa di essere un tipo tranquillo, vero?” I murmured, the Italian rolling off my tongue. (He thinks he is smooth, does he not?)

Jenna snorted beside me. “Si, ma tutte le ragazze dicono che sa leccare la fica come un dio.” (Yes, but all the girls say he eats pussy like a god.)

“Pensi che dovrei scoprirlo?” I asked, keeping my eyes on him. (Think I should find out?)

“Si, fallo,” she said, grinning. (Yes, do it.)

I smiled back at him, slow and deliberate. “No, you did not walk in at the wrong time,” I said. “If anything, your timing is fucking perfect.”