Betraying Beauty (Sons of Lucifer MC): Vegas Titans Series by Celia Loren Page B

the bike
handles. Hands I want to feel on my skin, in my hair. Hands that make me
tremble.
    My body hurts. My brain hurts. My heart hurts. But now, I’m just
too damn tired to be scared or in shock anymore.
    I just really, really want to sleep.
    But as Dominic pulls the motorcycle to a stop at the curb of
a business block, I realize sleep is probably a long, long way away.
    The corner we’ve pulled up to obviously once housed a
building, but now it looks like an empty lot filled with debris—something like
the pictures I’ve seen of bombings in Iraq. There’s nothing here but the
blackened, smoking remains of what looks like it was a pretty big building on
the corner, and sand. Lots of sand. For a second, in my tired state, I’m
confused.
    Are we back at the D.C. club?
    Dominic parks the bike and stands slowly, walking towards
the wreckage like a man in a daze. His habit of holding on to me by the wrist
is back, and I trail quietly behind him like a shadow until something crunching
under my heels makes me jump and look down.
    It’s shattered glass, from blown-out windows? And it’s all
over the sidewalk, spilling over into the street. That’s odd. If firefighters
had broken any windows trying to put out the flames, the glass would have
fallen in or around the walls. But it’s everywhere, as if scattered by an
explosion. And there’s no sign of any windows—or walls—left.
    “What happened here?” I breathe, staring at the violent scar
of the building.
    “Colt,” Dominic rumbles. The name is like a curse on his
lips. “That’s what happened. Fucking Colt from the fucking Depraved Club,
trying to annihilate me, the Sons, and everything we hold dear.”
    I remember the name Colt for some reason. He was who the
bikers were looking for when they raided the Depraved Club yesterday, when Danny
got killed and my life was destroyed.
    “Payback for what you did to his club?” I ask, my brain
reaching for understanding like a receding ocean tide.
    “No, this had to be pre-planned. We both seem to have come
to the conclusion that this town isn’t big enough for the both of us at the
same time. He wants us crippled and dead just as much as we want him out of
town.”
    Dominic crouches down, gingerly picking up what’s left of a
melted and warped purple vinyl pub sign. On it are the words, “The Thunders,”
and a picture of what looks like a Native American warrior with wings, holding
bolts of lightning.
    Dominic sighs and rubs his face. “They were always my
favorites growing up,” he grunts. “The thunder people. Seemed like the right
name for my own business, when I finally got it off the ground. It was a
miracle, just like something out of the myths my mother used to tell me.” He
stands erect, staring balefully at the demolished corner. “Almost too good to
be true. Obviously too good to last.”
    Surprised by this personal tone, I clear my throat. “Your
business?” I ask. “You own a bar?”
    He nods, his face as heavy as a storm. “Not just a bar. The
whole building.”
    And he’s moving again, dragging me along behind. Caution
tape is strung around the perimeter of the burned-out corner, but Dominic
ignores it and tugs me over what would have been the front door until we’re
wading through piles of debris.
    “Whoa,” I say, tottering on my 4-inch heels in the uneven,
dangerous new terrain. “Slow down, having trouble walking in this mess.”
    Dominic stares grumpily at me, down at my shoes, and back to
my face with a wry grin. “How do you survive in this world? Seriously. High
heels, expensive jewelry. You’re totally helpless.”
    At his words, my hand flies protectively to the silver chain
of the necklace I always wear, making sure it’s safely hidden under my
neckline. It is.
    “Excuse me if I didn’t know to dress for mass homicide,
biker gangs, and arson,” I snap, suddenly feeling judged. “I was under the
impression when I got ready for work yesterday morning that it was