“S’up, Prez?” Tank slumped into the chair, knocking back his amber shot, all in one fluid motion.

Gotta job for Beauty, I signed. Tank was one of the brothers who’d been ’round long enough to understand my ASL. Him and his old lady, that is. Most prospects make learning sign a damn priority, a way to make sure they impressed. Made my life f**kin’ easier, that’s for sure.

“What you need?” he asked.

I slammed back a second shot. Need her to come and clean the Jane Doe at my place. No f**ker in here’s touching her. Beauty’s the only old lady I trust… and can stomach to be around.

Tank cracked a small, proud smile. “I’ll give her a call. Anything else?” He needed to smile. Brother knew he lucked out with his woman—older by a couple’a years, blond, busty, total f**kin’ sweetheart. The ex-white supremacy member done good. Still looked like he belonged in the f**kin’ KKK, but he was cool now. No beef with anyone so long as they don’t f**k over the club—his family—even went so far as to cover his Nazi ink with Hades shit.

Need clothes too. Tell her to get them from the club stash at her store. Put it on my tab. She’ll need to see her first for her size. She was wearing some weird white rag when I found her.

Tank ran his finger ’round the rim of his empty glass, eying me weird. “Why the special treatment, Prez? We’ve had injured dumped here before. They’d normally be gone by now, not sleeping in your bed. Why’s she different? You got the brothers talking.”

Only Ky knew ’bout that night years ago. Not into sharing it with the others. None of their f**kin’ business.

I rolled my head in his direction and just eyeballed the f**ker.

“Message received.” Tank flicked his phone open, and made the call to Beauty. Brother knew when to dig and when to quit. Years doing time inside, fighting rival crews for his life taught him that lesson.

I listened to him give his old lady the instruction, then hang up. “She’ll be here in ten.”

Send her straight in to my place. Backdoor. No one else disturbs me until then. Right?

“Right, Styx. I’ll let the brothers know.”

A couple’a minutes later, I entered my room, slipping off my leather cut, hanging it on the hook on the back of my door. The bitch lay motionless in the middle of my bed. Taking advantage of the alone time, I checked Rider hadn’t yet returned, then moved to the bed.

No change.

Walking into my bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair was sticking up all over the place, cheeks unshaven and hazel eyes tired. I glanced to the inked sleeves on both arms. The right depicting Hades on his throne with Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog. The left, a map of Underworld: Tartarus, the Elysian Fields, the Three Judges, the Five Rivers, and above them all, Persephone, the pure goddess wife of Hades, proud to be at her man’s side. My version of Persephone had long black hair and crystal-blue eyes.

Go f**kin’ figure.

I chuffed at my reflection. Styx, man, you’re losing your f**kin’ mind!

Slipping off my black shirt, I stared at my bare chest, free of ink, with my Hangmen patch tattoo covering my entire back. I worked out hard to relieve stress and for intimidation purposes—boxing mainly, bare-knuckle since eight years old. My old man pushed me to fight. Knew my damn signing would cause me shit in the MC world, so he decided to give me another way to communicate. Keeps me feared. Being Prez of a club like the Hangmen comes with some serious shit. I keep built to ensure respect. The fact that I’m six foot four and two thirty pounds helps too.

Jane Doe shifted in her sleep as I scanned her frame through the reflection in the mirror. I wondered what the f**k she’d think of me. Big, scarred, mute, and inked with Death himself. She’d be petrified, no doubt.

Switching on the shower, I undressed and stood under the stream, Jane Doe’s red blood pooling in the drain.

Chapter Four



When I cracked open my eye, Beauty stood before me, clutching two bags with Ride, the name of her biker store, written on the front. Tank leaned against the doorframe, quietly watching, taking in the scene before him.

After my shower, I’d dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, then slumped down in my chair. I must’ve fallen asleep. I turned my attention to Jane Doe.

Still the same.

“You okay, Styx.” Beauty’s voice pulled me ’round, her brows drawn down tight.

I nodded and signed, You good with cleaning her up? Tank explain?

Beauty edged closer, blond hair down, dressed in tight black jeans and a black Hangmen tank, her leather vest reading Property of Tank on the back.

She stopped at the side of the bed and caressed the bitch’s head. My body froze, my stomach churning with possessiveness. Didn’t like anyone but me touching her. Suddenly felt like ripping Beauty’s arm out of its socket.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I had to stop myself from tackling Beauty outta the way.

What the f**k, man? Get it the f**k together! I told myself.

Beauty fixed her blue eyes on me. She saw the conflict in my f**kin’ psycho glare. I was sure of it. “She’s beautiful.” Her forehead lined. “She just turned up outta nowhere, injured?”

Jerking my chin, I ordered Tank to split. He nodded, pulled the door shut, and I stood against the wall and signed, She turned up bleeding, dying and covered in dirt. She needs cleaning. Not gonna do it. I only trust you. That’s why you’re here. She can’t leave yet. Too many Feds on our backs. Need to find out who the f**k she is and why she’s here.