A Dream of Summer (Bleeding Angels MC Book 3) by Olivia Stephens

rooms of Wheels. It’s the emblem of the Bleeding Angels: a winged man in a crucifix position with blood dripping out of his wounds. Above the image are the words “Property of.”  It’s a big design across the top of my arm and it had taken hours for the tattoo artist to finish. I’d barely even flinched. It was the right kind of pain—one that I could tolerate. It was the pain in my chest that was the problem.
     
    Seeing the words cut into my skin makes me wonder why Scar had even bothered to pretend this was about a brotherhood. Ryan had chosen the wording that would cause me as much pain as he could. They knew that I never wanted to be one of them, so they’d made it clear that there’s no getting away from it. Not only am I one of them, but I belong to them. They’ve branded me like I was cattle.
     
    Tiny threads of blood are still coming out of the dark lines scarred onto my skin. They combine with the image and mix real blood with the fake blood of the Angel. What would Aimee think if she saw you now? I look at myself in the mirror and see a hard-eyed man staring back at me. She’s going to see you soon enough, I remind myself.
     
    Ryan had brought me to the bar to wait until it was the right time to make the play on Sunny Side Up. We were waiting until the late night shift because there were never any cops around and hardly any customers. It was also the time of day when the till was at its fullest. How am I going to do this? I rest my head against the cool of the cracked mirror. I’ve never stolen anything—not even a pack of gum from the corner store when I was a kid. But if I don’t do it, then I know they’re only going to raise the game. That’s how it works. If you can’t do the first initiation they set you, then they set another and another, each one more morally-challenging than the last.
     
    I take a deep breath and walk out of the rest room, steeling myself against the wall of noise that I know is going to hit me. Wheels is in full swing with drinks flowing and a crowd of bikers getting rowdy.
     
    “Another beer, handsome?” The pretty blonde girl behind the bar asks before winking at me and giving her low-cut top a little tug to make it drop even lower on her impressive cleavage.
     
    “Thanks.” I smile at her, wondering how she ended up in a place like this.
     
    “Sure, Sugar.” She smiles and giggles a little as she pops open the bottle. I go to grab the bottle but she doesn’t release it straight away. “If there’s anything you need… anything at all,” she says, leaning suggestively over the counter of the bar, “You let me know.” She plants a quick kiss on my cheek and I catch a scent of marshmallows as she sets herself back down on her side of the counter.
     
    She’s a pretty girl. Prettier than a lot of the girls I’ve been with. I know that she would make it so easy for me, I wouldn’t even have to try. But it’s not what I want. I’m not even remotely interested in anything that girl could offer me. It’s simple: she’s not Aimee. Aimee’s the only woman that I want, despite what she’s done to me. You’re fucked up, Summers, you know that? I tell myself. Yeah, I guess I do .
     
    I amble back to my seat and notice some of the bikers that were at the table have left. Their places are now filled by others. I was surprised to find that a lot of the guys, especially the older ones, seem more or less like normal people. Seriously tattooed people, but normal nonetheless. They don’t seem to have Ryan’s sadistic side or Elvis’s sycophantic streak.
     
    Unfortunately, when I get back to my table, those assholes are the only two that are left. Not only that, but they’ve both been hitting the powder hard. I wonder how they manage to stay upright with the amount of drugs they both do. I wonder what Scar thinks about his own bikers dipping into the stash—it can’t be good for business.
     
    “Here he is, the man of the hour!” Elvis announces