𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲

Chapter 50

— Chapter 50 —
Given and Taken

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N O A H

Bass-heavy music reverberated through my eardrums in the VIP section of Crave.

By the time midnight had come around, the club was full to the brim. Sipping fancy drinks from shiny glasses, people were dancing endlessly on a floor illuminated by neon lights, their happy chatter adding to the cacophony of noise that was putting me on edge. Strobe lights seemed to blare right into my pupils—hues of red, blues and purples, highlighting the figures of the rowdy Mayhem bikers ahead of me. They were busy laughing and indulging in booze, filling up the VIP sections on the second floor which overlooked the rest of the club below.

Chains followed by my side as we made our presence known to the gang of bikers. Silver-white hair fell loosely at the sides of his forehead from beneath his hoodie, a stark contrast to the black vest hanging off his shoulders. He was like a cobra, Chains. He stalked behind me with the eyes of a hunter, masked behind a calm aura... but always alert to his surroundings.

You could see the surprise flash across the faces of Mayhem bikers who turned in our direction.

Nobody had seen me since the broadcast—the night I'd been shot. Rumors had been circulating that I'd been put out of commission.

"Holy shit," I heard someone murmur off to the side, "I thought he was dead."

Another biker answered him with slurred speech. "Yeah, man... that's a fucking ghost."

It wasn't hard to tune them out. With my hands buried in the pockets of my worn jacket, I zeroed my focus on the one person I'd come to see tonight.

Tats. He was busy playing a game of poker at one of the tables when he saw Chains and I coming. You could see it in his posture—his newfound lack of confidence at the sight of us. He knew why we were here.

Dropping his cards on the table, he ignored the bitter grumbles of his companions and stepped out of his booth. A dispirited frown weighed on his lips. He headed in our direction, and with only a brisk nod from me, Chains went and slung an arm over the biker's shoulders. His strong grip and wry smile gave Tats no choice but to follow us into one of the separate rooms.

Finding one that was unlocked, I pushed the door open to the sight of four guys slinging back tequila with cigarettes between their teeth. Two women stood at their beck and call, one holding a tray of shots while another danced on the table before them. Snapping their attention to me when Chains and Tats came in behind, I gave the strangers an annoyed stare.

"All of you," I said, "leave."

Thankfully, my reputation seemed to precede me. The women were the first to leave. I heard a few very audible cusses from the men, but after downing their last shots and putting out their cigarettes, they eventually followed out. Chains kicked the door shut behind them and gestures for Tats to take a seat on the red leather couch in the middle of the room.

It wasn't a massive space, but the room was illuminated by a dozen small lights that reflected off the black marble flooring. A grey carpet sat beneath the glossy, coal-black table before us. Hell, if that carpet could talk. The centerpiece of the room, though, was the seven-seater couch made from a bright scarlet leather, matched only by a red floor lamp in the corner of the room.

I took a seat across from Tats as Chains leaned against the door to the room, standing only a few feet behind the Mayhem leader.

He twirled a butterfly knife between his fingers—metallic clicking filled the air.