Chapter 1
Stone’s POV
“Oh yeah, that’s right—girls take everything off!” Rabbit’s voice cut through the bass-heavy music, his drunken shout echoing across the clubhouse. The rest of the crew roared with approval, bottles clinking, smoke clouding the air. Club girls moved between the chaos, hips swaying, lips painted red, some already half out of their clothes, giving the guys a show.
The room smelled of whiskey, sweat, and bad decisions. The boys were eating it up—shouting, cheering, tossing bills at the dancers like this was their own private strip joint.
I leaned back in my chair, beer in hand, watching the scene unfold. Same shit, different night.
I wasn’t the kind of guy who bonded with the crew, and they all knew it. That’s why I stayed back, away from the chaos, drowning in my own thoughts while they lost themselves in cheap thrills.
The truth? I hadn’t grown up wanting this life. Hell, I didn’t even know what brotherhood was supposed to feel like. My old man was a ghost—never around, never gave a damn—and my mom… she did what she could until the bottle swallowed her whole. By the time I was sixteen, I was running the streets, fists bloody, stealing to get by.
One bad job went worse than usual, and I thought I was done for. Then came the Phoenix MC. They didn’t save me out of kindness—they don’t save anyone—but they saw something in me. Something useful. Gave me a patch, gave me rules, gave me a place where violence wasn’t just survival—it was business.
And I took it. Because when you've got nothing, you take what’s offered.
Still, nights like this reminded me—I wasn’t like Rabbit, or some of the others. I didn’t chase women or lose myself in smoke and whiskey. I carried my past with me like a scar, and no amount of noise or chaos could drown it out.
Across the room, I spotted the president watching the madness same as me. Our eyes met. He gave me a slight nod, and I returned it. No words needed. That was how it was between us.
The door creaked open then, almost drowned out by the music, and in she walked. Hell on heels—at least, that’s what it felt like. A stranger, standing out like a flame in the middle of all this smoke. She hesitated, eyes sweeping the crowded room, heels clicking against the floor as she muttered, “Excuse me… can anyone help me?”
Not a damn head turned. The boys were too wrapped up in tits and tequila to notice her.
I sighed, low and bitter, already knowing how this would play out. Of course it’d be me. It was always me. The one who ended up dealing with strays that wandered into the fire.
Pushing out of my chair, I made my way through the haze and noise until I stood in front of her. Up close, she didn’t look like much—tall, slim, good-looking in that polished way that screamed wrong place, wrong time. She glanced up at me, and for a split second, I caught the fear in her eyes. Then it vanished, masked behind something steadier, like she was forcing herself not to flinch.
“Um, yes… my car broke down a few miles from here,” she said. “I was wondering if anyone here would be able to help me, but…” Her gaze slid past me toward the chaos of the clubhouse—the laughter, the music, the girls grinding against leather cuts and the guys too drunk to care. “It seems I interrupted.”
Interrupted? Yeah. She had no idea.
Love it already