Faith & the Dead End Devils (Sweet Omegaverse, #8)(59)

I rose from the chair immediately, pausing to stare down at him. If I was wrong, if he refused to acknowledge any connection to Faith, it would only be a matter of time before we had to leave. King had brought the Devils up from the ashes, and it wasn't a guarantee that he would lose his grip on the club if Chance and I took off, but it was likely.

I'd backed him into a corner, challenged his principles, and dangled the one thing almost no alpha could resist in front of him. But King wasn't most alphas or most men.

I didn't know what he would choose. I could only have faith.





23. GHOST





I gripped the handlebars of my bike a little tighter, added gas, savoring the roar of the engine and the vibration of the beast of machinery between my legs. The rest of the club grew small in the circular rearview mirror to my left as I sped ahead on the dry barren road, sun blazing down, baking me through the black leather vest on my back.

Most of the guys had groaned when King's official bidding came through on mine and Rider's phones, as if the crew had fooled themselves into thinking the ride would go on forever. At one point, I would've done the same.

I loved rides as much or more than any of my brothers, couldn't resist the urge to bolt ahead, explore the horizon first. I even loved the puzzle of repairing a bike in the middle of nowhere with nothing but my tools. I was road captain for a reason.

But this time, I'd been chomping at the bit to get back, and the order from King to return had come as a relief.

First order of business would be church, of course, but then the agenda was clear. Get my dick wet, get drunk, probably fuck another pussy ‘cause the girls would be so excited to have us back, and then…

See what Chance thought of that request of his after two weeks stuck in the club without me.

I'm asking you not to knock.

Because nothing felt as good after I'd gotten loose and sated at Chance's hissing voice in my ear as he stripped me down of all my ego and fucked me into a worthless heap on his mattress.

It'd been the first ride in years Chance had missed, and while his absence was a quiet and small void in general—he was surly and silent, lingering at the edges of our club—it was an irritating and impossible-to-ignore loss for me. A blank space at the corner of my eyes I kept searching for.

Little speckles of Dead End, all but dust on the wavering horizon, appeared at last, and I grinned under my bandana, leaning into the speed of my bike as I charged home.

Roars echoed behind me, the others catching sight of our decrepit little town. And those in Dead End would hear us too. I didn't know if locals would be relieved to hear the club returning and bringing our business with us, or mourn the end to the weeks of peace. But Dead End accepted us for what we were, visited our bar, used the laundromat and the other businesses King owned. Maybe we were their only option, or maybe we were part of the fabric of the town. I didn't care. It was home.

I beat the others back, but only by a few minutes, pulling my bike around the motel and into the vast garage King had built for me to work in and for us to store our bikes. In the morning I would come back, tune everyone up, spend a day in grease and metal and wearing out my body, but tonight I'd enjoy the sparse comforts of the clubhouse.

I crossed the yard to the back of the bar, slowing down at the sight of a bright yellow inflatable pool waiting in the middle of the open area. The water was clear, just freshly used, or would be soon. Gift for the girls? Or a gift for us to watch the girls in, maybe. I grinned and yanked open the door, marching into the relative dark, relying on muscle memory to guide me.

But my steps slowed as I entered. The club smelled…clean. My nose wrinkled at the blank-slate quality of the air, all the surfaces and furniture sterilized.

Had King really taken the trouble to clean the goddamn club out while we were gone, or had shit gone down to make it necessary?

My eyes adjusted enough to see into the dark, at the same time that sweeter notes reached my nose. Two figures were nestled into a booth near the door to the large conference room we used for church. I recognized the man immediately, all the traditional and poke and stick tattoos, the shaved sides of his head. My body tensed at the sight of him, then relaxed just as quickly in an instinctive relief to be near him again.

What I didn't recognize was the way he was holding someone’s face in his hands, the low sounds he made as he kissed the woman on his lap, the way his mouth stroked hers, deep and possessive. I didn't recognize the slack expression on his face as she pulled away, gasping for air. I sure as hell didn't recognize the way his cheeks swelled and his lips stretched and curved as he stared back at her.

I did recognize her, though, just barely.

"I thought the plan was to get rid of her," I said.

The omega on Chance's lap stiffened, eyes flashing to mine, and I grit my teeth as her hands dug into his shoulders. And that smile on Chance's face, the one I'd never seen before—so foreign I could barely believe I was staring at the right man, as if maybe he had a cheerful twin I'd never fucking heard about—that smile dropped.

Suddenly, I knew it was him because that dark, pissed expression taking over his face was absolutely Chance. It softened again as he turned back to her, leaning in and whispering in her ear, their cheeks nuzzling together, my stomach turning at the sight. She pressed her lips to his, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to tear that smile right off his face or take a picture of it. Because it was beautiful, painfully so, and I hated that it was for her, that it existed and I'd never known before now.