Let It Ride: Hell's Minions MC, #5

By Shay Michaelson

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. That was the slogan, right? Well, for Slate that wasn't necessarily the case.

What started out as a drunken celebration in honor of one of his club brothers getting married, ended up being a night he couldn't forget. Scratch that. It was a night he couldn't remember. Like in, he had no memory at all of what he might have done that night.

All he knows is that he came back with more than he had gone out there with. If the marriage certificate in his duffel bag and the silver wedding band on his finger were anything to go by, he was married. Married!? What the hell?

He has no memory of who this mystery wife is or even what she looks like. For that matter, where the hell is she? Someone suggested he scroll through his pictures on his phone to see if there were any clues.

His Hell's Minions brothers found the whole idea that he was married to some random woman hysterical. Slate, not so much. As far as he was concerned, his best course of action would be to hunt this woman down and ask her for an annulment. If that didn't work, he'd beg her for a divorce.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shay Michaelson
• Release date: May 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393180609

Book preview

1

Rrring! Rrring! Rrring!

Uhhhh. Slate groaned from underneath his pillow. Rrring! Rrring! Rrring!

"What the fuck is that noise?" he grumbled. The sound stopped as suddenly as it started, affording Slate’s pounding head a small reprieve. Before he could sink back into blessed oblivion the noise started again. He could’ve sworn it was louder than before. Like it was pissed off he didn’t respond to it the first time.

Realizing it was the hotel phone, he blindly reached out to his right and found nothing but air. His hand should have come down on the nightstand at the very least. He grunted in annoyance and tried again. He kept moving his hand around, feeling for where the phone should be and still couldn’t find it.

Motherfuck! He pulled the pillow off his face and cracked his eyes. What the hell? Somehow, he’d ended up sleeping at the foot of the bed and the nightstand with the hotel phone blaring at him was at the opposite end. How the hell did he end up down here? He shoved the blankets off his naked self and slowly sat up. Holy shit. Slate’s head was spinning along with his stomach. He thought he might die until the phone stopped ringing, the complete silence almost deafening in its wake. Just as soon as he thought the madness was over, the phone started up again.

Someone better be bleeding. He crawled up the bed and yanked the phone up to his ear. What? he barked at the person on the other end of the line.

Hey, man Ruger laughed. What crawled up your ass?

Slate ran a hand through his hair, his eyes closed. They weighed too damn much to keep them open. Is there a reason you’re calling this God damn early in the morning?

What time do you think it is? Slate could hear the laughter in his friend’s voice and wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. The only thing stopping him was the fact that Josie would be left raising their twins alone and Slate thought being the father of twins, one of which was a girl, was punishment enough. For now.

Five? he guessed. He wasn’t sure because the curtains were closed as were his eyes and he wasn’t facing that direction to see for himself.

Hate to break it to you, but it’s ten and our flight goes out at 11:30. I don’t know what you, Cole and Trojan got up to last night, but you need to get your ass up, shower and get here in the next thirty minutes if you plan on getting through security and making the flight.

What?! Oh shit, the sound of his own voice was hurting his head.

Get up, get moving and get here. Everyone’s here but you.

What? Why didn’t someone try and call me sooner?

We did. Everyone was calling your cell. You didn’t answer. We thought it was dead. Then we thought you were coming with Cole and Trojan, but they showed up here without you. They thought you left without them.

Some fuckin’ friends you guys are. Didn’t it cross your mind to knock on my door as your were leaving?

Get your cranky ass down here before you miss your flight. Ruger chuckled before disconnecting.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Slate stood slowly and shuffled toward the bathroom. Not even halfway there, he made a slight detour and shuffled his way to the minibar. He squinted his eyes open enough to see the little bottles of booze inside, spotted the Jack and pulled one out. He twisted the top off, brought it to his lips, tipped his head back and chugged it down. The hair of the dog and all that.

Flipping the light on in the bathroom had him jerking his head back in shock. Damn, it was bright in here. He turned the water on and fiddled with the knob until he found the temperature he wanted. He tossed the empty mini bottle in the trash next to the toilet and climbed in the shower. Ahhhh. The water was amazing. Leaning on his hands, his head under the spray, he peed down the drain for what felt like forever. How much did he drink last night? Were Cole and Trojan in as bad of shape as he was? Apparently not if they were already at the airport. Without him. Assholes.

Slate made quick work of showering and brushing his teeth. He was in and out in ten minutes. While he was packing his bag, he had set up his coffee maker to brew him a cup he could drink on the ride to the airport. He snatched it up as soon as he finished dressing and stormed out the door. He hoped like fuck there were some cabs waiting outside the door when he got down there. If he missed his flight, he’d have to wait until later tonight before the next one would be available.

Son of a bitch. Slate stowed his bag in the overhead compartment and plopped down in his seat next to Cole. He fastened his seat belt, heaved a huge sigh of relief and dropped his head back to rest on the headrest.

You look like shit.

Thanks, Sherlock. I feel like shit, too. He chanced opening his eyes and faced Cole. You look pretty rough yourself. He leaned over and took a sniff. Didn’t you take a shower?

No. I didn’t take a shower. Cole sounded a little miffed himself now. Good. Fucker should’ve woken him up or checked to make sure Slate hadn’t already left for the airport.

Well, you need one. He leaned his head back against the seat again and closed his eyes. He was planning on sleeping the whole flight home. He wouldn’t be able to do that if Cole decided he wanted to talk. Deciding to poke the bear one more time to ensure Cole’s silence, he said, And you could’ve at least brushed your teeth. You smell like a fucking bottle of Jack.

You are such an asshole. Cole laughed, knowing exactly what Slate was trying to do. Go to fucking sleep, you grumpy ass. Hopefully, you’ll be in a better mood when we land.

Slate’s need to take a piss woke him from a much needed sleep. He saw that Cole was staring out the window. Hey, how much longer until we land?

Cole turned to answer. He looked him over once before saying, Glad to see nice Slate is with us now. He smiled big at Slate’s scowl. Twenty minutes.

Thanks. He stood, making sure not to hit his head on the overhead bins. He nodded his head in greeting as he passed his friends. He couldn’t help but smile as he spotted Ridley passed out on Blue’s shoulder. His brother was having fun tickling her lip with a strand of her own hair. She kept swatting at it and he kept fighting not to burst out laughing. Slate shook his head and continued toward the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him before he tried to turn in the tiny space. These bathrooms were not built for people with wide shoulders and stood six feet three inches. He quickly relieved himself, feeling somewhat human now that he’d slept and emptied his bladder. It was while he was washing his hands that he noticed it. A silver wedding band on his left ring finger. "What the fuck is that?!" he shouted.

How the hell did he end up with a God damn wedding ring on his finger? Were the guys playing some kind of joke on him? He tried to remember what all he’d done last night and getting married didn’t even register. Surely, he didn’t get drunk and marry someone. Did he? No. He couldn’t have. If he’d gotten married he wouldn’t have woken up in his bed all alone this morning. He didn’t remember seeing any signs of a woman being anywhere in his room. So, yeah, it had to be a joke Cole and Trojan were playing on him. Just wait until he got home. He was going to kick their asses.

Sir? Are you all right? a female voice asked from the other side of the closed door as she knocked.

Yeah. I’m good. He opened the door to find one of the flight attendants and felt heat flush his face. Sorry. All yours.

He stepped out of the bathroom, trying to get by her in a hurry without knocking her over. He rushed to his seat and dropped down. Before he could confront Cole, his friend burst into laughter. Dude, do you need to see a doctor when we get home?

Slate’s face scrunched up. What? What are talking about?

You know. When you shouted ‘what the fuck is that?’ while you were in the bathroom. He shook his head. I thought since you eat so many fruits and vegetables that you didn’t have any problems with that.

Trouble with what? What the fuck are you talking about?

Cole leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially. He cleared his throat and said, Constipation.

Slate jerked back. What the fuck is wrong with you? He leaned back in and growled through clenched teeth. I don’t have constipation. I shouted that because of the ring. Which one of you fuckers put the ring on my hand?

Cole’s brows dipped in confusion. Or was it? Maybe he was playing like he didn’t know what Slate was talking about, but in reality he knew exactly what he was talking about and planned on blaming it all on Trojan to stay out of trouble.

What are you talking about? What ring?

Don’t play dumb. It’s not going to get you out of an ass kicking.

Seriously. What the fuck are you talking about? Cole was getting a little pissed now himself.

This, asshole. Slate whipped his left hand up between them, wiggling his fingers. He pointed at the shiny silver band with his finger from his right hand. Does this look familiar to you? Which one of you fuckers put it on me?

Cole’s eyes flew wide and his mouth fell open in shock. Uh oh. That wasn’t good. If he didn’t know anything about it, that meant maybe it was real. He was back to wondering if he got married while he was drunk and who he might have married last night. There was a whole chunk of time from last night he didn’t remember. He couldn’t help but wonder again, that if he did get married, why wasn’t she there this morning when he woke up?

Dude. Did you get married last night?

Slate swallowed hard around the lump growing in his throat. I don’t know.

You don’t know?! How can you not know?! Cole was half twisted in his seat, freaking out as badly as Slate.

Well, if you were with me all night, shouldn’t you know if I got married? Slate was trying to think logically so he could maybe figure out how he ended up with a ring on his finger.

Cole held his hands up in front of him, warding off Slate’s wrath. Hey. Don’t look at me. You were single and ringless when me and Trojan went off to take a piss and play a couple slots. What you did after that, I haven’t got a clue. We just assumed you found a woman and headed up to your room when we came back and you were gone.

You left me alone that drunk?

I’ve seen you worse, Cole defended himself.

Not in Vegas, you asshole. He let his head fall back against the seat once more. He closed his eyes and whispered to himself, I am so fucked.

Two of the prospects were waiting at the airport to pick everyone up. Shooter, Quinn, Ruger and Josie piled into one SUV and Slate, Cole, Trojan, Blue and Ridley in the other. Slate sat in the front seat with his duffel in his lap, hoping to see if there were any clues about what happened last night inside. He unzipped his duffel thinking maybe there were receipts or something in his jeans from last night. Nope. He pushed the jeans aside and froze. What the fuck?

Cole laughed from the third-row seats. What’d you find?

Slowly, as if picking up a bomb that could go off with the slightest movement, he pulled out a piece of paper. A marriage certificate. His voice was hoarse and full of disbelief.

Blue leaned forward between the seats. The fuck you talking about, a marriage certificate?

You know on the plane when he was in the bathroom and shouted what the fuck is this? He found a wedding ring on his finger and before you ask, no, me and Trojan didn’t have anything to do with it. Cole filled Blue, Ridley, Trojan and the prospect, Drew, in.

You got married!? Why? Who did you marry? At least his brother, Blue, was as shaken up about it as he was.

It appears that I did although I have no memory of it. Why I did it, no clue, other than I was drunk off my ass. And according to this marriage certificate, I’m married to someone named Sophie Ferguson.

They pulled up to the front gate at the Minions clubhouse and was let in. Slate hopped out and went straight to his room and pulled out his phone. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a picture of himself with this Sophie woman. If not, he’d see if Cole or Trojan had anything.

Slate found his friends already outside at a picnic table, the club’s wedding reception for Shooter and Quinn already in full swing. He lifted one foot over the picnic table seat and dropped down. By the time he’d joined them, word had spread among his brothers that he’d gotten married last night and he had no idea to who. No doubt there was going to be a lot of teasing at his expense.

I think Sophie might be one of these three women. He turned the phone for the others to see. You’ll have to scroll.

Let me see that. Cole took the phone and scrolled through the pictures. Yeah. I remember meeting these two, the blonde and the red head. The brunette I would’ve remembered. He laughed and passed the phone around. Damn, Slate. What if you’re married to the blonde with the crooked teeth?"

He can get her braces, Shooter volunteered, earning a disgusted scowl from Slate.

What about the red head? Cole went on. She has tiny titties.

He can get her implants, Trojan offered, trying to be helpful. Not.

But what’s he gonna do about that lazy eye? Jeff chipped in before passing the phone. He can’t fix that.

The whole table broke out in an uproar. Everyone was either laughing, or crying, or a combination of both. Yeah. He knew it. All at Slate’s expense.

He growled under his breath in frustration. He was suddenly second guessing his decision to have voted for the man to get patched in. Didn’t anybody realize the seriousness of the situation? Did no one care that he was married to a woman he couldn’t possibly pick out of a lineup if his or his brothers lives depended on it? Sure, if this was happening to someone else, he would be laughing his ass off, too. But it wasn’t and he wasn’t finding anything funny about it at all.

He watched as Shooter pat his chest, trying to calm his breathing down before the man asked, How did you end up married, anyway?

Slate rubbed his hand down his face and answered slowly, so everyone would know he was getting tired of answering this particular question. I don’t know. I was drunk off my ass.

Cole shook his head, a huge smile splitting his face. I can’t believe you’re married.

Slate glared at one of his closest friends and fought the urge to reach across the table and punch him in his face. Yeah. Thanks for that.

What? Cole shot up straight in his seat, his hand over his heart, as if wounded. Are you blaming me because you got married last night?

Yes. I most certainly am. If you and Trojan, Slate was sure to include the other man in his displeasure, hadn’t wandered off and left me all alone, in an unbelievably drunken state, this, he shot his hand sporting the wedding ring in his face, would’ve never happened.

You got married?! Shooter’s little sister, Mia, shouted in disbelief from where she was getting ready to take a seat next to Quinn. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she looked wounded. Her look of pain and betrayal couldn’t be right. That didn’t make any sense. He’d always thought of her like a little sister and enjoyed their back and forth teasing. Her attempts at flirting with him weren’t for real, were they? He’d always thought she was just teasing him, like he liked to tease her. He watched helplessly and somewhat confused as she bolted from the table and disappeared inside.

He looked to Shooter to see if he knew what that was all about.

Sorry, man. She’s been half in love with you for a couple of years now. Thought she’d grow out of it. Shooter shrugged, obviously uncomfortable having to explain it to him. Quinn leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, then went in search of Mia.

I didn’t know. Slate glanced once more in the direction Mia took off. I always thought of her like a little sister. I would never go there with Mia. She’s your sister.

I know, man. It’s fine. Give it some time and she’ll get over it. Shooter took a long pull from his beer. So what do you plan on doing with this mystery bride? Get a divorce?

Yes. Absolutely. I don’t even know the woman. Odds are she was as drunk as I was and doesn’t want to be married anymore than I do.

Uh, Slate? One of the prospects stood at the end of the table, trying to get his attention.

Yeah? Slate was starting to feel a little defeated. He knew his brothers were all giving him shit, but he was truly freaked the hell out. And now this whole thing with Mia, he felt guilty. For what, he wasn’t sure.

You got a visitor and she says she’s your wife.

Please be the brunette. Please be the brunette, he chanted with his eyes closed. He really needed to catch a break right about now.

Hi. I’m Sophie.

At the sound of the woman’s sultry voice, silence fell over their table. Shit. Did that mean it was a good thing or a bad one? He couldn’t see her as she was hidden behind the prospect. He prayed she was as hot as her voice was sexy.

She smiled a little timidly and waved as she stepped out from behind the prospect. I’m your wife.

Holy. Fuck. His wife was breathtaking. His picture didn’t do her justice.

Fuck. Me. Cole’s voice sounded a little strained.

Hell. Her voice alone was enough to cause every man here to have wet dreams. Her long ash brown hair fell to below her shoulders and had the prettiest gold highlights that complemented her tan skin. Her large light green eyes slanted slightly up at the corners and twinkled with mischief. She had full, lush lips that were tipped up at one corner at the moment, not sure whether to smile fully or not. Her breasts looked to be a little more than a handful and her hips were nice and curvy. The kind of hips a man could hold onto. He couldn’t wait for her to turn around so he could check out her ass in those faded blue jeans. Her nipples were getting hard under her white tank top the longer he looked at her.

Well, if that last observation along with the erection he was instantly sporting now was any indication, they would get along physically just fine. On the outside, she was beautiful and her voice sexy as hell, but what was her personality like? Would they be compatible that way? Why did he care if he was planning on divorcing her? He blamed his dick. From the dawn of mankind, man’s dick has always gotten him in trouble. Then he looked at her again and thought, who wouldn’t want to fuck someone as fine as Sophie?

Glancing around the table, seeing his brothers’ expressions, he could almost bet money that if Cole stood up right now, he’d have an erection. Probably best Cole didn’t stand up right now or Slate might knock his ass out for looking at his wife like he could eat her alive. Deciding he needed to get her away from everyone’s prying eyes, he stood.

We need to talk. He bid his friends goodbye, took her by the hand and led her inside.

2

Sophie’s heart had sunk at Slate’s words. He wanted a divorce already? He didn’t even know her yet. How could he make that judgment without first taking a chance to find out what kind of person she was?

One of the men at the table, the one that resembled a Viking, said something, but she wasn’t sure what since she was busy watching Slate check her out. He clearly did not remember her, which she kind of expected given the fact that she continued to ply him with drinks while she got to know him a little. It was while he’d been talking about his family and his club that a plan started forming in her head. It wasn’t the best idea she’d ever come up with by a long shot, but if she was lucky, it just might keep her and her brothers safe in the end.

We need to talk. Slate rose from his seat, his eyes focused solely on her. He wished everyone goodbye with a distracted wave and moved toward her.

Shit. Her heart started pounding in her chest. She had to figure out a way to get him to fall for her. Fast. Everything depended on him falling for her and wanting to keep her around. She couldn’t think about what would happen to her, Parker, Kyle and Colt, if Slate decided to divorce her without giving it a shot.

Remembering how she’d become Mrs. Slate Landry, she knew it was a very good possibility that he would tell her to fuck off and go back to Las Vegas.

---

Sophie was just clocking out for the night when one of the casino security guards told her that Mr. Miliano needed her to come to his office.

Great. What did Tony want now? All she wanted to do was go home. She was tired, she was hungry and if one more sleazy old man grabbed her ass right now, she might go ape shit on them. The thought of crashing on her crappy, lumpy sofa and sleeping for eight hours straight sounded like pure heaven right now.

She thanked the guard and turned to take the elevator up to the top floor where her boss kept his office. Ugh. She despised the man. He was such an arrogant asshole and she hated being alone in the same room with him. He made her skin crawl. He was a touchy feely kind of guy, always in her space.

Sophie had only been called to his office two other times. One was when he had her escorted from her old job to his office to inform her that she would be working for him now, paying off her mother’s debt and the other was to welcome her to the Colosseum family her first day on the job. Yeah, she’d gotten the warm and fuzzies both times. Not.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. As she suspected, one of his goons was waiting to escort her down the hall to the only door on this floor. Why she needed the escort, she didn’t understand. She was pretty sure she could find it on her own. The goon knocked on the door, stuck his head in and mumbled a few words. There was a mumbled reply, and then he waved her through.

Like the last two times she’d been summoned, the lighting was dim except for a handful of strategically placed lamps and spotlights. one spotlight showcased some expensive painting of reddish orange poppies on the wall behind his desk, another shined on an antique sword hanging on the wall to her left and another shined on a large blue vase in the seating area. The lamps on each end of Tony’s huge desk reflected a cleared, shiny surface. He sat behind the desk watching her with a calculating gleam in his eye that she was afraid did not bode well for her. Lastly, she noticed there were four lamps lit in the seating area off to her right. A group of Steel Disciples stood with drinks in their hands, their eyes all directed at her.

What the fuck was going on?

Come in, Sophie. Have a seat. Tony waved her forward.

Until that moment she’d remained standing near the door, unsure how to proceed. She felt like she might be interrupting something. She cautiously ventured into the room on a straight path to Tony.

She mentally shook herself, reminding herself to quit calling him Tony in her head before she slipped and said it to his face. The man loathed being called Tony. His name was Anthony Miliano and nobody better forget it.

A movement to her right brought her attention back to the bikers. She suppressed the shiver she felt when one of them licked his lips and grabbed his junk. Her heart raced and her stomach dropped. Frankly, they scared the shit out of her. She’d seen Steel Disciples come and go during the time she’d been working here and rumors had it that Anthony and the biker club did a lot of business together. In fact, she’d heard that whenever Anthony wanted a certain deal and the other party didn’t like the terms, the Disciples were sent around to persuade them to reconsider.

Hurrying across the room, she took the seat in front of Anthony’s desk, grateful that she’d had time to change into her regular clothes before coming up here. If she’d had to come to his office in her work uniform of super-short shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank that covered nothing, she might have freaked out.

You wanted to see me?

Yes, Sophie. He paused for a moment, staring at her as if he could read her mind. She found it very unnerving.

How long do you have left on your contract, Sophie? Anthony sat with his elbows on the armrests of his plush leather chair, his hands clasped, first fingers steepled and resting against his lips.

What? Why was Anthony asking that? He knew exactly how long she had left. She cleared her throat. One year and ten days.

He didn’t say anything in response right away. He sat behind his desk continuing to observe her for enough time to make Sophie want to squirm in her seat. One year, ten days. That’s awfully specific. One would think you’re looking forward to ending your time with me. One corner of his mouth kicked up as if he thought it was funny.

What did he expect her to say? Of course, she was counting the days until she would no longer be working her mother’s gambling debt off. Her mom racked up a rather large debt then skipped town, leaving Sophie to clean up her mess. Before she left, she apparently told Anthony that Sophie would pay him back, or so he said. Since Sophie had no money to speak of because it was taking everything she had to keep a roof over her and her brothers’ heads, Anthony was allowing her to work off her mom’s debt. So far, he’d only had her serving drinks in the bar and on the casino floor. Thank God for small favors.

The day he’d sent his goons to drag her to his office so he could inform her that her mom had basically sold her into slavery, she couldn’t have been more shocked. She’d told him her mother’s debt had nothing to do with her, if he wanted his money, he could track down her mother because God only knew where she was. He laughed and threatened to call CPS and have her brothers taken away from her. He told her that if she worked for him for four years, her mom’s debt would be repaid. Seeing no way out of it that wouldn’t cost her her brothers, she’d signed the damn contract.

What did he want with her now?

I’ve got something I need you to do for my friends here. He motioned to the bikers who were still leering at her. Eww.

Did he want her to fuck them? No way. She’d grab her brothers and skip town, living out of her piece of shit car before she did that.

Wh— she cleared her throat. What do you need me to do?

See this man? Anthony turned his computer screen so Sophie could see who he was talking about. She leaned forward in her seat to get a closer look. The man he was referring to was terribly good looking. So good looking, she didn’t understand why he was sitting at a table all alone. He had wide shoulders and chocolate brown hair. He looked like a big man from the way he took up so much space in the booth. He, too, wore one of those leather cuts like the Steel Disciples were wearing, only his said Hell’s Minions on it. Did it say he was from Tennessee?

Yes?

I need you to get close to him and his club for the Steel Disciples.

What? I don’t understand. My contract says I’m only supposed to wait tables. And it doesn’t say anything about me working for anyone else. Sophie’s pulse sped up and her stomach tightened into a knot. She was starting to get a sick feeling in her stomach.

I know, but I’m changing your contract.

You can’t do that! We had a deal. You signed it. She accused, her anger boiling forth. Seeing his expression change from friendly to annoyed had her thinking she should really watch what she was saying and how she said it. She didn’t want to be one of those people she’d heard about that is driven out to the desert and never seen again. Her family depended on her and she couldn’t let them down.

You’re right, Sophie. Now, I’m going to make you a new deal. He pulled an envelope from his drawer, his tone a little harsher than before.

Sophie watched him suspiciously. He was up to something. Whatever he had in that envelope was going to be something bad. She just knew it. What kind of deal?

The kind of deal that has you working undercover for my friends. The kind that, if you do this, will void your current contract. You will no longer owe me anymore of your time or money.

She wasn’t stupid. There was a catch. In Vegas there was always a catch. Why would I do this?

Because of what’s in here. With one finger, he pushed the envelope across his shiny desk top toward Sophie.

She didn’t immediately take it. Whatever was in that envelope was going to change her life forever. Anthony never made a deal unless he held all the cards that insured he got his way. When she made no move to pick it up, Anthony snapped. Open it.

With a shaking hand, she picked it up and opened it. She slipped the paper free and read it, her heart breaking in two. Her breath caught in her chest as understanding dawned. It was like a knife to her heart. Closing her eyes, she laid the paper back on his desk. Her mother had signed custody of her three brothers over to this man. Why would she do that? If she hadn’t hated her mother before, she damn sure did now. How could she give custody of her three little brothers to this vile, vile man? Why? She wanted to know.

Why did your mother sign over custody of your brothers to me? He leaned back in his seat, a look of smug satisfaction lighting his face. You knew your mother. She was a self-serving addict. She was addicted to gambling and to that shit she liked to snort up her nose. Why does this come as any great surprise to you?

It really didn’t come as any surprise. Sophie had just been holding out hope that some small sliver of her mother still loved her children. She shook her head, unable to speak. As usual, Anthony held all the cards. As long as he had that piece of paper, he would be able to use it to get Sophie to do anything he wanted. Anything. And he knew it.

So what now? she asked numbly.

Now? Now you go downstairs and cozy up to this man. I don’t care how you do it, but you will stick to this man like glue. Where he goes, you go. You make yourself a fixture in his life. Do you understand me? Anthony’s patience at playing this game with her was coming to end.

She took a deep breath and faced Anthony. Doesn’t that say he’s from Tennessee? She pointed to the patch on his cut.

He leaned forward and examined the screen. Yes. It looks like he’s from Tennessee.

What am I supposed to do when he leaves to go back to Tennessee?

I don’t give a fuck. Figure it out.

What will I be doing for the Steel Disciples? She really had no clue what he wanted her to do.

Anthony looked to the men in the seating area and raised a brow, indicating he thought they should answer that question.

The one in charge turned to her. We need you to get inside their club. Once you’re there, someone from our Tennessee chapter will get a hold of you and tell you what to do.

You understand? Anthony asked.

Yes. I understand.

Good. Finished with the conversation, he stood. I suggest you get down there and get to work.

Standing on shaking legs, she headed toward the door. She was halfway there when she came to a stop and turned to ask him something that had been nagging at her. If you’ve had custody of my brothers all this time, why didn’t you take them away from me already?

What would I do with children? I’m not raising some whore’s children. If I ever get them, they’ll be going to boarding school until they’re eighteen and then they’re on their own.

If I do this, I want your word that I get that custody paper. She pointed at the letter on his desk.

"If, Sophie? There is no if. You will do this. He walked to stand in front of her, raising one hand to rest on her shoulder. He bent to eye level with her and continued. Because I’ve always liked you, I’ll think about giving you that paper. He straightened, his smile cold and calculating. Trying to figure out what else he could get her to do as long as he held those papers, she was sure. Now, get out of here and get to work."

Without another word, Sophie left his office. She took the elevator to the ground floor, then made her way to the ladies’ room so she could splash some cool water on her face and give herself a pep talk. She gave herself ten minutes, then went in search of her biker.

Sophie wasn’t sure she could do this, but then again, she didn’t have a choice. It was more like she didn’t want to do this. He’d essentially told her to do whatever it takes to get in tight with this man. Why did it feel like her boss was whoring her out? Oh, thats right, he was! Asshole.

Anthony was holding her brothers over her head to get her to do his bidding. If she didn’t do this, she feared her boss might take her brothers away from her and hide them somewhere far away. The thought of never seeing them again was not an option. She couldn’t lose them.

She also feared if she didn’t do this he would constantly be holding the custody of her brothers over her head, forcing her to do whatever he wanted. Would he have used it to extend the amount of time she had to work? If this man and his club hadn’t wandered into the Colosseum, would things have continued running smoothly until her time was done? She’d never know now.

She spotted the man she was looking for at a