Page 1 of Soul
1
Soul
New Years Eve
Nothing says home likea shot of whiskey, a haze of smoke, and slot machines ringing all around.
Las Vegas isn’t for everyone. It’s the city of sin. Overcrowded and loud. There’s a reason people come here to celebrate and let loose. To forget their boring lives and hope nothing too permanent sticks with them when they leave.
But to me, Vegas is home.
“Royal flush.” I grin, laying my cards on the table.
“Fuck off,” Chaos grumbles, taking a sip of his beer.
We shove off our stools, and I offer a final wink to the pretty dealer we’ve been flirting with for the past thirty minutes. Her blonde hair is pulled in a neat bun I’d like to unravel, and her uniform molds to her every curve. I’ve debated asking her what time she gets offwork. Especially when she pulls her lower lip between her teeth and looks me over. Only, something holds me back.
Usually, nothing stops me from going after what I want. But this past week, something has been off.
In the air.
In the universe.
Something doesn’t feel right, and it’s got me on edge.
My brothers give me shit about it every time I bring it up. Bikers aren’t known for worrying about misfortune or fate. We make our own.
After all, we’re Twisted Kings, members of the most feared MC on the West Coast. As the club’s vice president of the Las Vegas chapter, I shouldn’t be letting something like recurring nightmares and an indefinable gut feeling get to me.
But it’s been settling in my bones this past week.
Something is brewing. I’ve been waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night like the universe wants to tell me something.
I don’t know what’s about to go down; I just know that something will soon.
Chaos and I wander the casino floor until he stops at a bar to flirt with the tattooed redhead serving drinks. New Year’s is the worst night for us to be roaming downtown. There are too many people, and with most of the guys back at the clubhouse celebrating, we don’t have enough coverage watching our backs if shit goes south.
Maybe we should have stayed home like everyone else. But I’ve been fucking restless and needing to get out. Thankfully, Chaos and Venom felt the same.
Where is Venom, anyway?
I scan the room, but he’s nowhere in sight. He went to grab a shot when we sat down to gamble and has yet to come back.
“He’s chatting up some chick by the slot machines.” Chaos tips a beer to the other end of the casino floor before handing it to me, reading my mind.
Sure enough, Venom is flashing a smile to some pretty little thing in fishnets. Judging by the hearts in her eyes when she looks him over, she must be from out of town. Locals see the patches on our cuts and know to keep their distance, but tourists don’t realize the things they should fear. They come to town looking for an excuse to let loose for the weekend and figure a biker will know how to give them a good time before they return to their cookie-cutter lives.
If I gave a shit, I might feel like they’re using us, but no attachments are what I prefer.
It’s smart. It’s safe.
It keeps shit simple. At least, when it comes to women.
Being in an MC is a shitload of fun, but just as much trouble. I’ve seen it play out plenty over the years. One second, I could be having the time of my life, drinking and smoking and fucking, and the next, I could take a bullet to the back of the head.
Lights out.
I sip on my beer. It’s cool on my throat but does nothing to settle what’s stirring in my chest.
