Innocent (The Exiled Eight MC Book 3) Read online

  Elton didn’t speak.

  He swallowed, though it looked painful.

  I guessed it probably was when you took your whole foot and shoved it in your fucking mouth.

  He cleared his throat, looking to the two men beside him, who seemed to be shitting their fucking adult diapers. “Moving on to the point at hand, I’d really like a more in-depth list of the things the investment money would be spent on and where the profits would go,” Elton explained in this soft, almost mother-talking-to-her-baby kind of voice. “I’m sure you understand.”

  I took my seat again, sitting forward, cupping my hands together on the table. “I actually don’t. How about you explain?”

  He laughed nervously and cleared his throat. He was sweating, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “Given the way your… family… has been in the news recently, we don’t want to be seen supporting or funding gangs and thugs.”

  “Gangs and thugs?” I repeated, unsure of what to fucking say because losing my shit at this little bastard any more than I already had would only prove his point.

  “Yes,” he said this time managing to speak without his voice shaking, doubling down on his comment. “We want to be sure where our money will be going. Drugs, prostitutio—”

  “Get out.”

  His entire body jerked as if I’d pulled out my gun and shot him.

  “You… I… we can’t—” he stammered, erratically shuffling through the papers in front of him. “I’m sure—”

  “No, I’m sure.” I got to my feet, rolling my shoulders back as I stood over the little bastard. “Sure as hell we’re fucking done here. And next time you think about walking in here and disrespecting my fucking family, just turn around and walk back out because I’m telling you now, the only thing you’re going to get from it is a broken nose.”

  The old guys beside him were already frantically packing their shit while Elton simply looked at me, his eyes wide while his mouth opened and shut over and over again like a fish.

  I knew why.

  Because he expected to walk in here, talk to me like some fucking idiot because of my background.

  He thought I was just some dirty biker.

  It wouldn’t be the first time someone I’d attempted to do business with had underestimated who they were dealing with. And I could tell you now, I wasn’t afraid to lose business if it meant correcting them.

  “Sor—”

  “Elton, I swear to God,” Reed warned with a growl. “Just get the fuck out.”

  I kept quiet, falling back into my chair while that oblivious dumbass and the two crypt keepers wandered out of the meeting room, Reed closing the door behind them before leaning his forehead against it and letting out a long sigh. “I thought you were gonna kill him,” he finally said, releasing a breathy laugh before standing and turning to face me.

  I scoffed. “For a second there, I thought so too.”

  Reed knew the day we met about the club and the lifestyle I grew up in. He didn’t look at me any differently and didn’t question my motives or where the fuck his money was going when he invested in our projects.

  Because it didn’t matter.

  Not to him.

  The problem was it mattered to bastards like Elton, who were running the wealth of rich companies and individuals we needed support from.

  I tugged at my sleeves.

  One, then the other.

  It had become a force of habit. Most days this suit felt like home. It gave me confidence and power. But there were times like this when it suddenly felt like some kind of costume.

  I’ve never been ashamed of that part of me. I wore my colors with pride, and I’d defend my family until my last breath, and if that meant walking away from bastards like Elton, then so be it. It was disappointing, but I wasn’t about to pretend to be someone else just because some fucker didn’t like that I wore leather and rode a Harley.

  It was another reason Reed and I had become such good friends. He had tattoos crawling up his throat and down over his hands, a silent ‘fuck you’ to the people who were watching, waiting for him to fail, proving to them and anyone else he could be successful through anything.

  We weren’t the type of men whose enemies could use our flaws to try and defeat us because what they thought were flaws of our character were actually our biggest fucking strengths.

  “Man, I’ve gotta run and get to another meeting,” Reed interrupted, looking at his watch and knowing that if he scheduled another meeting so close, it was because he’d been concerned before we walked in here that there could be a problem and knew this shit was going to be cut short.

  “You knew about—”

  “I’d heard rumors our buddy Elton was fucking shit up,” he answered with a shrug, and that was it. “You want a ride or you good?”

  I shook my head. “You go. I’ll call the driver they hooked me up with from the hotel. I need to go do something to clear my head.”

  There was apprehension in Reed as he reached for the door. “If you’re gonna do something stupid, call me first. I’ll come do it with you.”

  I let out a sort of chuckle and waved him off. “Go, you fucking idiot.”

  It’s good having friends here in Boston I can rely on when I’m away from the club.

  It wasn’t the outcome I wanted.

  My first instinct was to call Rip when I needed a pick-me-up, but with him being across the country, it wasn’t exactly ideal.

  So I guess I might just have to deal with a bar somewhere, a dark corner, and a bottle of something strong.

  DRAKE

  “Pull over here,” I snapped, slamming my palm against the back of the driver’s seat.

  The car eased over to the curbside and jerked to a stop. I grabbed the handle and shoved the door open, almost sending it through an elderly couple walking along the sidewalk.

  “You want me to wait?” Simon, my driver, asked. He worked for the hotel, and they’d assigned him to drive me around for my entire stay.

  “Nah,” I answered, shaking my head. My hair fell loose around my face, and I brushed my fingers through it, pulling it back out of my eyes. “The hotel is only a few blocks away. I’ll walk back when I’m done. Just need to clear my head.”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon answered with a snappy salute.

  I slammed the door shut and stepped back from the curb, waiting for him to pull away before I stepped out into the street, focused on the bar across the road.

  The King’s Line.

  It was written in fancy royal-styled writing across a rustic-and-weathered-looking old wooden sign, which hung above two large double doors. As I got closer, I could see the crown etched into the wood, the paint that would have highlighted it almost completely chipped away.

  Boston never failed to surprise or impress me when I came here for business. The architecture of its buildings was often like taking a rollercoaster ride through history from the old colonial style that came straight from England to brand new skyscrapers with all glass walls.

  And everything you could imagine in between.

  Sometimes, it felt like I was walking through another world.

  And that was exactly what I fucking needed right now.

  Another world.

  Somewhere I could relax and not have my business brain begin to list all the things I needed to do now to get this new project off the ground if I didn’t have that investment I was relying on.

  Could the company afford to go all-in on our own?

  I shook my head and unbuttoned my cuffs, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows as I maneuvered my way through several groups of people crowded around tall bar tables. I caught the odd look my way, a doubletake here and there followed by a whisper.

  Since spending more time here in Boston recently, I’d found myself on more than a few gossip channels and websites after dating a well-known socialite for a couple of months. We weren’t seeing each other anymore, but it seemed like it had earned me some kind of following. It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for after years of keeping out of the spotlight, but it had become unavoidable being in a city like Boston and with the age of social media running rampant.

  I tried to ignore the looks, instead doing what I do best and taking in the building around me. Everything appeared old and worn, even a little run down, almost like the place had actually been here since the English arrived, but its imperfections were strangely comforting.

  It reminded me of home.

  Bet the beer isn’t as good.

  I stepped up to the bar, leaning into it as I tucked my fingers into my tie and tugged hard, loosening the piece of fabric that some days felt like a noose. It hung limp around my neck, and I sucked in a long, deep breath while I patted my pockets, searching for my wallet. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

  Nothing.

  No wallet, no cell phone, no cash.

  I hung my head, cursing softly under my breath. I’d left everything in Simon’s car and sent him back to the hotel.

  A body moved into my space—I felt it instantly. But before I could step back and put some distance between the offender and me, a sweet voice questioned loudly, “Bad day?” I lifted my chin, using one hand to brush my long hair back from my face so I could see the young woman in front of me.

  She sat on one of the barstools, but her body leaned into mine, her eyes looking up slightly through long, thick eyelashes. Her heart-shaped face was framed by long brown hair, the slight wave in it curled around the curve of her cheek.

  The bustle of the pub wasn’t overly loud with some soft rock playing in the background and the hum of conversations swirling about, but I still found myself leaning in closer like we were in some thumping nightclub. “You could say that,” I answered, letting out a harsh huff of air and shaking my head. “Work. Sometimes it’s difficult to keep looking at the goal for tomorrow while dealing with the bullshit of today.”

  Her head fell to the side as she sat up straight, the smile that slowly grew on her face instantly feeling infectious. “I hear you,” she said loudly, her head bobbing up and down. “I’m in school and working too, trying to save and learn as much as I can so I can open my own business. But last week my landlord tells me he’s raising the rent next month, and there’s no way in hell me and my roommate can afford to stay there.”

  Her shoulders started to slump, the pressure of the crap she’s going through obviously weighing heavy on her, but before I could say or do anything to help lift her mood, she caught herself. She slowly pulled them back into place, sitting tall and proud and lifting her chin, her eyes catching mine once again. She shook her head and let out a breathy laugh. “Wow, I’m so sorry,” she apologized, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t mean to lay my problems on you like that.”

  “I don’t mind,” I responded, wondering for a moment if it would be too much to ask to hear more about her business plans, eager to know more about her and whatever it was she seemed so determined to work for. “Sounds like we could both use a drink.” I patted at my pockets again, hoping in the back of my mind that maybe I’d just missed my wallet before.

  But no.

  I didn’t have it.

  “I don’t have—”

  She waved her hand, cutting me off. “No, don’t worry about it,” she insisted, but fuck that. There was something about this woman that intrigued me. It wasn’t a feeling I got very often. My first instinct was always to be suspicious or question motives. I knew I could be standoffish—a fun trait I got from my dad. I didn’t trust easy and didn’t let people in, and it had got me called an asshole on more than one occasion, but I’d always been okay with that.

  It kept people at a distance I was comfortable with.

  Which was usually as far away as possible.

  Only, this felt different.

  “Seriously—”

  “Look, we’re both short on cash,” she countered, almost making me laugh. The need to correct her was right there on the tip of my tongue. I wasn’t short on cash, far from it. But my objections melted away when she pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, this thoughtful look washing over her as her eyes flickered to the bar for a second before returning to me. “Fuck it,” she cursed, grabbing my hand as she leaped down off the barstool, landing gracefully in her scuffed pair of white sneakers.

  “Um, are we going somewhere?” I asked with a frown but still allowing her to drag me out onto what looked like a dance floor.

  She hit the center of the space, spinning back toward me with this sparkling grin. It was confident, playful, and sexy as fucking hell. There was this wild, free-spirit energy swirling around her. The sparkly, over-the-top pink sequin top and the pair of dark wash denim shorts she wore were this strange mix between casual and chaotic.

  “You’ve had a bad day, I’ve had a bad day. We deserve a drink, right?”

  I raised my brow, not knowing what the hell I was about to get into but also not willing to walk away. Not yet. “Yeah. We do.”

  “Then play along.”

  She pulled her hand away, and I gritted my teeth together to keep myself from holding it captive, reluctantly allowing it to slip from my grasp. She wiggled the one ring she was wearing off her pointer finger and held it out.

  “What do you want me—”

  Her eyes quickly flickered around the room for a brief second before she let go of the ring, and it dropped to the floor. It bounced a couple of times, and my instant reaction was to grab it before it rolled away, so I crouched down, placing my hand over it as it spun, trapping it in my palm.

  “Oh my goodness!” Her delighted gasp jerked my attention back to her. She stood over me with her hand over her mouth and what looked like tears in her eyes. “Yes! So much, yes!”

  The people around us began to turn to see what was happening, and a wave of excited screams and hoots and hollers spread like wildfire through the crowd.

  And it was then I realized what was happening.

  Me on my knee.

  Holding a ring she’d just dropped to the floor.

  Was this a fucking publicity stunt?

  Did she know who I was all along, and this was her way of using me to get some kind of fucking fame?

  “Free drinks for the newly engaged couple,” someone called over the fervent murmur of the crowd, and I glanced over to see the bar staff with wide grins, a couple of the girls even standing on the bar applauding.

  I looked back up at her, this time seeing worry replace the confidence I’d seen moments ago. She took a step back, and I knew she was getting ready to run, thinking she’d messed this up. So before she could escape, I reached out and grabbed her hand, swallowing back every little voice screaming in my head that this was a bad idea as I slipped the ring onto her finger.

  I knew malice.

  And there wasn’t a drop of it on her face.

  The woman actually thought I had no money and was trying to help me get a drink because I’d had a shitty day. I’d been around a many beautiful women with a lot of great attributes, but this one, I’d take that any fucking day.

  I got to my feet and gently tugged her toward me, pulling her into my arms while the crowd exploded in praise. “What the fuck just happened?” I asked, my mouth brushing against her ear while I suddenly realized just how small she was. Barely five foot three, if I had to guess, but the way she tucked into my chest felt like a perfect fucking fit.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  She pulled back, her bottom lip once again caught between her teeth. “I think we just got engaged?” she answered, for the first time since we’d met, sounding a little nervous. “You still wanna have that drink?”

  This was fucked up.

  It was batshit crazy.

  And maybe it was just what I needed.

  “Do I get to at least know the name of my new fiancée?”

  She let out a breath, her body relaxing as if she’d been preparing for me to reject her. “Cass. My name’s Cassidy.”

  “Drake,” I replied, pressing my hand to my chest before holding it out to her. “Come on, let’s celebrate.”

  CASSIDY

  “Congratulations, guys,” the bartender said with a grin as she placed our drinks on the table. We’d moved to a booth in a quiet corner of the bar to escape the endless well-wishers. “We don’t get much of that kind of stuff here. It’s so exciting. Let me know if you want anything else… on the house.”

  “Thank you so much, you’ve already made this so special.” I beamed, wrapping my fingers around the stem of the tall wine glass.

  Drake simply nodded and lifted his glass in the air, his long hair falling into his eyes for a second before he brushed it back with his fingers. “Thanks.”

  A man of few words, so I was learning.

  The bartender stepped away, heading back toward the bar, and I noticed instantly how Drake sunk back into his seat as if in relief.

  “You’re not really a people person, are you?”

  He lifted the drink to his mouth—Hennessy, neat—which already told me a lot about my faux fiancé and sipped at the edge before setting it down again. “In general? No. People are horrible,” he answered with his brow pinched between his eyes, almost like he wanted to add duh at the end. One of my eyebrows curved upward, and I pressed my lips together, trying to contain my laughter. He must have caught it, though, because he let out a breath of air, and I caught the first sign of a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry. I deal with a lot of people for work, and today, they were particularly fucking rage-inducing.”

  The smile was instantly gone, replaced by a clenched jaw, but I could still feel the rough, gravelly tone of his voice vibrating in the air around me. It was low and masculine, the sound completely matching his features and demeanor to a T—the dark eyes, heavy brow, and square jaw that had the slightest smattering of bristles like he’d shaved yesterday but hadn’t had time this morning.