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  ORIGIN

  Ana Jolene

  ORIGIN

  GLORY MC SERIES, BOOK TWO

  Copyright © 2017 Ana Jolene

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by Arie Bea

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  ISBN: 978-0-9952412-3-7

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  DEFINITION

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  EPILOGUE

  NIRVANA

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER TITLES

  For my UTC girls

  Angela, Francesca, and Suzanne

  ORIGIN:

  The first stage of existence; beginning

  PROLOGUE

  Lucky

  She was cold.

  Frigid.

  And in hell, men flocked to her as if beckoned by a siren’s call.

  Seven Douglass tossed back her shot and grinned. I didn’t dare fall for that charming smile like all the other fools who were staring at her, starry-eyed and half in love with her already. A girl like her dodged bullets and broke hearts. She was a man-eater, guilty of chewing and spitting out men after she was through with them.

  Still, Seven was the hottest babe in Ward Four.

  She drew her hand up to wipe her mouth before tapping twice on the bar with her fingertips. “Gimme more!” she cried. Around us, a chorus of cheers erupted as another shot glass was placed before her. Without hesitation, the fiend threw that one back too, giving a little shake of her head as the burn coursed through her tight, little body.

  I had to admit, she was interesting to watch. Men tuned into her like the Super Bowl, complete with the same eager eyes and foolish belief that they could score with someone like her. With her long blonde hair and clear bright blue eyes, Seven could easily be mistaken for a supermodel. Whenever she walked by, people stopped and stared.

  When one of her girlfriends slapped her on the shoulder, Seven grinned at her before pinning her eyes on me. They were glassy, devoid of the defiant spark that usually ignited when those oceanic blues met mine. I decided I like this look on her. In this moment, she was less uptight. Warm. Wild.

  Free.

  Her lips curled into a grin. “Game over already?”

  My eyes flashed at the icy challenge in her words. She and I were always like this—always at war with one another. Tonight was no different.

  Without removing my gaze from her, I grabbed the shot of whiskey in front of me, tossing it back. The second shot went down with the same swift efficiency, and the burn of alcohol streamed through me like a lightning bolt, awakening my senses. “You should know by now that I don’t give up easily, darling.”

  “Neither do I, sugar puss.” I winced at the ridiculous nickname she used for me. It was a game we played, to see who could annoy the other the most with sickeningly sweet pet names. Sugar puss was just one of many that I learned to hate as of late.

  “How many is that for me?” she asked Indy. The bartender was her best friend and she was dating my best friend, Hastie.

  “Six shots,” Indy answered.

  “Damn, I’m just beginning!” That wide-tooth grin made another appearance as Seven smacked the bar top playfully. “Come on, girl. Make it quick! Let’s show this biker how a chick can drink him under the table.”

  I couldn’t help the grin that spread over my lips. The fiend was chatty when she was drunk. Likable, even.

  “Look at me, sugar puss.” I leaned into the bar with a forearm. A flicker of irritation glimmered in her eyes as I used the same ridiculous nickname on her. “I’m six foot two and I probably weigh twice as much as you do. There is no way you can take more than me.” I didn’t even have a buzz yet.

  Cerulean blue flashed bright. “I can and I will,” she vowed. “Just watch me.” She took two more shots in quick succession, smiling widely when I arched a brow. I had to admit, she could hold more alcohol than most women could. But by the glassiness of her eyes and the slight slurring of her words, I could also sense that she was nearing her limit.

  Apparently, Indy also recognized the signs because she said, “Take a break, Seven. Dance for a bit.”

  The concept of dancing lit up Seven’s entire face. Twirling on her stool, she gave me a look.

  “Sorry,” I told her stiffly. “I don’t dance.”

  And there was the rolling of the eyes again. “Figured your ego would stand in your way.” I laughed. I was beginning to wonder when the insults would come spewing out of her mouth. Even with all that alcohol, nothing could tame the wildcat that was Seven Douglass. “Whatever.” Irritation was clear as water in her voice. “I’ll find someone else.” She presented her back to me as if to say, you are dismissed. Then louder, over the rhythmic pounding of the music, she called out, “Who wants to dance with me?”

  Immediately, four men stepped up to volunteer. Two of them were twins, identical by the looks of them. The third was smiling all goofy-like as if Seven was a fucking earthbound goddess. And the fourth had a twinkle in his eye that told me he was game for anything she wanted to do tonight.

  Fools. All of them.

  Seven was never short of suitors vying for her attention. The opposite sex was just drawn to her. She and I both had that in common. The problem was, she chose the worst of the pickings.

  When you were in Glory MC, the ruling authority in Ward Four, you learned a thing or two about sensing trouble. My internal danger meter was blaring urgently, indicating to me that Fool No. 4 here could cause a helluva mess if he didn’t stop tossing back the shots. Unless he was two-steppin’ towards Seven, I’d say he was already drunk with the way he was hopping and weaving about. Yet I’d bet my left nut that Seven would pick him. The fiend had a taste for idiocy when it came to men.

  I watched as Seven took the hand of Fool No. 4 and tried not to smile smugly about being right. Women could be so predictable sometimes.

  As the faces of the rejected men dropped and they merged back into the crowd, Seven guided her newest prey to a lonely corner of the dive. When they reached the far wall, she turned, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiled. I shook my head.

  Even in the dim lights of the dive bar, Seven’s mane of hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. The short skirt she wore exposed the slimness of her legs. Damn, the girl had a rack on her, that was for sure. I made it no secret that she had a great one. Tonight, her breasts were covered, but the skintight top she wore did the same job had she lef
t them all hanging out like some of the other mamas in this place.

  My eyes became distracted as a little piece of jewelry, exposed by her bared midriff, twinkled in the low lights of the dive bar. Confidence poured from her as she began to sway to the beat of the music.

  I watched as she continued to dance with the older man. Their bump and grind turned sexual in seconds, making me wonder what it would be like to touch Seven in that way . . . Would it be hypnotic like her dance moves? Addicting like the buzz of alcohol? Would Seven taste as sweet as she looked?

  Whoa. I stopped that train of thought before it reared its ugly head. What the fuck was I thinking? This was Seven Douglass we were talking about, for fuck’s sake. I despised her. She despised me. That was how it had always been between us.

  My eyes darted to the half dozen empty shot glasses scattered over the bar. Shit. Maybe the alcohol was getting to me because never in a million years would I be caught fantasizing about Seven.

  “Hey, Lucky.” My gaze slid to Indy. She was untying the apron from her waist. “I’m going on break. Do me a favor and keep your eye on her. Don’t let her leave with anyone, okay?”

  I nodded, focusing my attention back on the bump and grind happening in the corner. The motherfucker had backed her up to the wall now, lifting her leg so that his hand roamed over her upper thigh. She had a tattoo of a tiger there. I knew because she’d shown me once. My own hand twitched, remembering the soft, exposed skin.

  Holy shit, I was too wound up for this. The show in the corner wasn’t helping either. Experience made me popular with the sweet butts—the women who had a fetish for bikers. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought that the dickhead and Seven were fucking with the way the man thrust forward with his hips.

  The show worthy of being called soft-core porn had me thinking about what I wanted to do tonight. I scanned the crowd briefly. There would be countless volunteers willing and ready to help me with the problem that was growing in my jeans, but for some damn reason my gaze always seemed to return to Seven in the corner. Why the hell was that?

  The fool’s hand was getting adventurous as it slipped higher up her skirt. They still moved in a sensuous dance, bodies rubbing against each other, creating heat. I licked my lips to distract me from the sudden thirst I felt in my throat.

  The music changed, morphing into the rough sounds of metal. The crowd erupted into cheers, growing rowdy with each beat that pumped through the hidden speakers of Neptune’s. For a while, I lost myself in the music, bobbing my head to the rhythmic beat before I saw it.

  You could tell a lot about what a woman wanted by their facial expressions and their movements. If they wanted you, they were open, easy, smiling.

  Seven wasn’t smiling anymore.

  My brows knitted at the sudden change in her demeanor. She was stiff as a board. And when she placed her hands on the guy’s chest and gave one big shove, he stumbled back on a shout. But then he returned like a magnet, pinning her back in place.

  I waited for a few beats of time. Contrary to popular belief, bikers never jumped into someone else’s business. You had to think real hard about your actions when you dealt primarily with criminals or you’d have to deal with the disastrous consequences after. Some women liked to play hard to get or enjoyed the thrill of being roughed up. And since I didn’t have any experience with Seven, she could be a tease and I wouldn’t have known.

  But even over the booming music, I could hear her clearly. “No, stop it.”

  Within seconds, I was behind her. In the post-flare world, chivalry was a dead concept. I only jumped into action because Indy had requested I watch over her. If harm came to Seven and Hastie found out I was responsible for her, it’d be my ass on the line. I was only preventing trouble from falling back onto myself.

  The asshole posed no threat to me as I peeled him off her and gave Seven space to breathe. “What the fuck?” he cried. “We were just dancing!”

  “Sorry, asshole. She isn’t interested anymore.”

  The fool spoke quickly, the stench of alcohol strong on his breath. “Bullshit. I bet she’s ready for me.”

  Seven took a step forward. “You jerk—”

  “You must have a small dick if a woman can take you so easily when she isn’t even wet.” It was a goad and a damn well good one because the guy came at me, fists flying. I ducked and delivered a right hook that had him shaking his head and stumbling back. “Best leave before I show you out.” Taking Seven’s hand, I pulled her through the crowd towards the bar. The asshole must’ve had a brain underneath all that hair because he didn’t pursue.

  “Indy,” I called out as we approached the back room. “I’m taking her home. She’s done for the night.”

  Seven’s best friend eyed us both before nodding. “Here are the keys to the house.” I caught them in the air as they came flying at me.

  “Mind if I use the Chevelle?” It’d be tough to make sure Seven got home in one piece on the back of my bike if she was too drunk to hold on.

  “Sure. I’ll grab a ride from Hastie when my shift is over.”

  “Thanks.”

  I held the door open for Seven as we reached the back entrance. “Thanks,” she mumbled as she turned to me. Her eyes didn’t have that glassiness to them now. The little mishap in the corner probably sobered her a little. “He got aggressive all of a sudden. But I’m fine to get home myself.”

  Fuck that. I employed my brook no argument tone. “No. I’m taking you home.”

  It worked because she followed me to Indy’s Chevelle, sliding into the passenger’s side with nothing but a long, drawn-out sigh. Awkward silence filled the void between us. As I keyed the ignition and felt the engine roll over, I cut a glance at her.

  Seven faced ahead, ignoring my penetrating gaze. A beat passed and I braced myself for a spewing insult, a complaint. Anything. This couldn’t be the first time a man had tried something with her. So why had the wildcat suddenly lost her claws? “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  I put the Chevelle in gear, hoping that she would elaborate if given time. I traveled the short distance from Neptune’s to her home quickly, thinking that maybe her pride must’ve been stunted with tonight’s mishap. I took the scenic route, which consisted of gravel, sand, and not much else. The first of the flares had wiped out a lot of the order in our society, leaving only broken, uneven roads that made driving a vehicle a major bitch. It required a lot more skill and patience than it did before. The conditions of the roads only got worse as the years went by.

  As I pulled up to the modest house I’d visited a few times since Hastie had started dating Seven’s best friend, I realized that the exterior hadn’t suffered from the extreme heat as some of the other buildings had. My own apartment, not too far away from here, wasn’t that bad either. I could easily walk the distance between here and Neptune’s to pick up my Harley tomorrow.

  Seven was dozing when I cut off the engine in front of her house. Stepping out, I opened her door slowly. “Hey.” Her eyes remained shut and she didn’t stir. “Hey,” I tried again, louder this time.

  Heavy eyelids lifted sleepily and she blinked, looking up at me so innocently, it almost took me a second to remember that this was the same fiend who spat insults like bullets.

  “I lost, didn’t I?” Seven asked with an awkward, sleepy smile.

  “Lost what, muffin?” Despite the drunken haze she was in, she glared at the horrible nickname I’d given her. It made me grin.

  “The drinking game.” She said it so miserably, I almost felt bad about smiling down at her.

  “Yeah. It looks like it.”

  “I’m pretty good at holding my alcohol,” she slurred.

  I dropped to my haunches, telling myself that it was easier to talk to her this way. Not because I was trying to get closer to her. “You do,” I told her, grabbing a hold of her arm to help her out of the car. “You drink like a fish.”

  She grinned then. Brilliantly. As if I
had told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

  Even though night had fallen a long time ago, I could still see the outline of her face and her body in the dim moonlight. Seven looked different sitting in the Chevelle with her legs half in and half out. She was no longer the wildcat, but something more like a panther. Dark and sleek. With eyes that pierced through the night.

  And her scent? Christ, this close she smelled almost elemental, like the air before an electrical storm. Damn, it had been a long time since we had experienced something like that. The solar flares came and went like waves in the sea, bringing forth damage faster than we could repair. Her scent was a refreshing reminder of simpler times. Something that I had missed.

  “Thanks for bringing me home.”

  My gaze lifted from the smooth skin of her thigh to her lips. Her cherry red lipstick was smudged across her cheek, probably from where she’d wiped her mouth of alcohol with the back of her hand.

  It must’ve been the shots earlier, but a strange sense came over me. My mouth turned dry. My hands became balmy and my head suddenly wasn’t working right, because any other time, I wouldn’t have ever thought about this.

  In this state, with her disheveled hair, her imperfect lips, and her skin flushed with heat, Seven looked sexy. Desirable. Lovable, even. And for the first time ever in my life, I wasn’t sure what to do next.

  As if of its own volition, my hand drifted to her thigh, to the exact same place where the dickhead’s hands had been. For some reason, I wanted to erase every trace of his hands on her, replacing it with mine.

  I glanced up to gauge Seven’s reaction. Any look of disgust that crossed her face would have me pulling back immediately. But instead, I encountered the opposite. Seven stared back at me as if entranced, her lips parted as she panted shallowly.

  I waited for it. For her to say something like, “I’ll give you ’til the count of ten to take your dirty hands off my thigh before I scream.” Or something equally worse. But Seven sat there waiting, anticipation burning in her cerulean eyes. She didn’t actually want me to kiss her, did she?