Page 1 of Rough & Ruthless

CHAPTER ONE

STRYKER

The roar of my custom bike engine tears through the heavy air, vibrating up through my steel-toed boots and locking into my bones. The cold spray of the Pacific ocean bites at the bare skin of my neck. I twist the throttle, pushing the bike hard and fast, desperate to outrun the relentless noise crashing around inside my head.

It doesn’t work. The memories are too loud. I think back to nearly a decade ago, stepping up to lead the Rebel Kings MC during our darkest, most violent period. The previous president was drowning himself in a bottle while the club was fighting for their territory.

It took blood, grit, and sacrifice to pull us out of the mud, but I earned a unanimous vote for President when the dust finally settled. I earned this patch, and I’m damn proud of the men I call brothers. Right now, however, the patch feels like an anchor. I guess the old saying is true: heavy lies the head that wears the crown.

My bike and I lean into the next curve of the winding road, the rumbling of the engine keeping me grounded. The beauty of the Pacific Northwest never gets old. It’s a rugged beauty, filled with jagged peaks and thick forests laid against a rain-drizzled background. A lot of people think we get more rain out here than the rest of the country, but that’s not true. It’s more of a constant mist rather than sporadic days of down pouring rain.

The gray, cloudy skies suit me just fine. I’ve never been much for hot, sunny days.

My phone call with Wolf earlier today is still ringing in my ears. My Vice President confirmed the discrepancies in our shipping manifests. I worked tirelessly to transform the Rebel Kings into a legit, highly lucrative operation through King’s Logistics & Hauling. We have a fleet of freight trucks, a sprawling port side warehouse, and a custom garage.

It’s my empire. And now, someone is messing with our delivery routes from the inside out. Someone is threatening everything I’ve built, and the tension is a live wire in my blood. It’s challenging enough to keep the club running, my brothers happy, and managing a multi-million dollar company. The added stress of potentially losing it all might just be my breaking point. Not that I’d let anyone else see the defeat threatening to swallow me whole. That’s my burden to bear.

I roll into the town I’ve called home for the last fifteen years, finally conceding that my hours-long ride did nothing to relieve my stress. Port Royal is a gritty coastal town that’s more than worn around the edges. Kind of like me.

Pulling over, I hit the kill-switch, letting the roaring engine die down as I try to catch my breath. Racing along the coast with my motorcycle has always been an escape for me, a place to let my thoughts go as I fill my lungs with the ocean air. So why am I still so amped up?

I close my eyes and rub my temples, willing the racing thoughts to slow. When I open my eyes, I see that I parked right in front of a floral shop I’ve never noticed before. It must be brand new. The simple, peaceful, and clean decor stands in stark contrast to the town's roughness.

Hanging greenery fills the windows, while concrete sidewalk planters with overflowing, vibrant, unique blooms frame the front door. An undeniable, unexplainable force draws me toward the glass. I’m a moth to a flame, wondering if there’s light inside or if I’m just looking to get burned.

The moment I step inside, the heavy noise in my head cuts out completely. I experience a rare moment of genuine calm. It is not the hyper-vigilant control I usually maintain, but pure peace.

Just as I’m marveling at the sudden silence in my soul, a soft, melodic singing voice drifts from deeper in the shop. I follow the sound like a man possessed.

She’s standing there among the flowers, and the breath leaves my lungs. Whoever she is has lush curves, an effortless grace, and an overwhelming physical pull that yanks at my chest. Every instinct in my body roars to life.

The woman turns around and gasps, startled. Her hand flies up to her throat in a delicate, pearl-clutching motion, while a pale flush of pink blooms across her round, adorable cheeks. An uncharacteristic and confusing urge grips me. I want to step close, wrap my hands around her, and kiss the color from her cheeks.

"Holy rose petals!" she exclaims, breaking the heavy silence. She looks embarrassed. "I'm sorry. You caught me singing to my plants."

I stand there speechless, completely spellbound by this goddess of light. Her silky auburn hair is swept back into a ponytail that swishes back and forth, hypnotizing me with the movement.

She fills the silence with ease, her hazel eyes wide and bright. "Singing to plants is scientifically proven to help them grow, you know," she explains playfully.

I blink, wondering if she’s even real. Holy rose petals? Singing to plants? She’s too pure for this world. Certainly too pure for this town and the likes of me.

I should walk away. Leave her be. Crawl back into the darkness I came from. Instead, I say, "Probably just the extra carbon dioxide you're exhaling on them. Not the music." The rumble of my own voice sounds foreign in this quiet sanctuary.

She tilts her head, a playful smile curving her lips. "Are you suggesting I go around huffing on my plants?" she asks. "Because that's ridiculous."

"Most people would consider singing to plants the ridiculous part," I counter.

She just shrugs with a bright, amused smile. "Most people are no fun."

The statement lands straight in my chest. As President, I don’t give a damn about anyone's opinion. But looking down at this sweet, curvy woman, I find myself caring deeply about what she thinks. I want her to look at me and see something more than a hardened biker.

"What are you looking for?" she asks, her voice soft and bright against the quiet hum of the shop.

You. The word sits right on the tip of my tongue. I bite it back so hard my jaw aches. I fumble for something, anything else to say. My mind, usually sharp and calculating, goes completely blank under her wide gaze. "Peace," I finally grit out.

She tilts her head, her deep hazel eyes filled with questions. Then, a slow, radiant smile spreads across her face. "I have just what you need."

The enchanting woman turns away, moving deeper into the greenery. I only need you. The baffling thought sits in my head while I try to recover. Am I having a stroke?