Aces and Eights

The jukebox seemed to stop the moment Aimee entered the bar, several heads turned towards the door, and she could hear some poorly covered gasps. Yes, ladies and gents, the wild child has returned, she thought to herself, proudly raising her head and looking at each member, daring to stare at her directly in the eyes.

Her presence crackled with violence and confidence as she sauntered up to the bar, raising an eyebrow at the rotter sitting on her barstool; the middle-aged woman quickly vacated her seat, clearly not willing to get into things with a woman with such an intimidating presence, and Aimee curled her lip distastefully as she perched on it, barely sitting, finally shedding her suburban skin as the Presidents daughter settled back into her old life. It was second nature, effortless.

A lowly prospect was handling the bar, busy pouring drinks for the regulars, and it wasn't long before he sidled up to her.

"Dang girl, I haven't seen a pretty young thing like you here before. What can I do for you today?"

His sleazy look told Aimee everything she needed to know. This idiot thought she was just another bed warmer. Guess it was time to set the record straight,

She bit her bottom lip seductively, beckoning for him to come closer as she pouted, his eyes glazed over with lust, and as he leaned forward licking his lips, Aimee knew she had him.

Her hand reached up, sliding around the nape of his neck as she bought his face closer, their lips were almost touching, and some of the older bikers stopped what they were doing to watch this play out.

Aimee waited until he closed his eyes, sharing a breath before she deftly stepped to the side and smashed his head forcefully onto the bar top.

Laughter rang out across the pub as he struggled in her grasp, blood was coming out of his nose, and his face was bright red with rage and embarrassment as he tried to loosen her grip, but it was useless, Aimee had been taught by the best.

A small dagger, concealed within one of her clunky rings, found itself resting against the prospects jugular, and Aimee leaned down to answer his earlier question.

"An audience with my father would be a good prospect," She stated coldly, and as he looked at her in obvious confusion, she clarified, "Your prez numbnuts, I'm Wild Bill's oldest daughter, but you can call me vengeance."

BRAXTON'S POV

The Henchman watched his woman from the safety of darkness. That prospect was lucky. He still had his goddamn teeth, and it had taken everything he had to stay where he was and observe as Aimee handled the situation.

Without a doubt, he would be paying that motherf*cker a visit. Later on, no one looked at his woman that way except him.

When Aimee left the club behind, after months of drinking and dangerous missions, Braxton had managed to convince himself that the young Alpha could provide Aimee with a better life than he could. After all, what use is alpha blood when he didn't even have a pack?

It had almost killed him watching her change to try and fit in. Of course, she never saw him. He was always in wolf form when he lost the fight to stay away from her.

He would watch the heart of his heart from the shadows, much the same as he was doing now, until one evening Connor had caught him, skulking around outside her apartment and made it clear that Aimee belonged to him, Braxton couldn't beat an Alpha with full pack support, and Connor knew it, so he promised to stay away.

It was easier to lick your wounds, surrounded by humans who didn't know what you were, but his ruthlessness during missions hadn't gone unnoticed. Wild Bill began delegating the more dangerous liaisons to the henchman's special skillset.

He didn't mind. Over the years, it helped dull the pain of Aimee's rejection.

Until he walked out the door today and her scent hit him like a freight train, now he couldn't bear to have her out of his sight. Why was she back?

His eyes traveled the length of her, memorizing every curve, dip, and feature he could see. Did she still bear the Aces and eights mark? Their patch was a set of four cards, two black eights (clubs and spades), and two black spades.

It was known as the dead man's hand in gambler's circles, and Aimee's brand was on the small of her back.

Brax should know since he was the one who'd put it there, if she had stuck around, she would've had a crown next to the mark by now, symbolizing her status as a queen, his queen, but she'd left before they could complete the bond.

Aimee Carter had just announced her return in the bluntest way possible, and Brax couldn't help but be impressed.

The dagger he had given her for her sweet sixteenth aimed straight and true at the prospect's throat, her classic evade and attack move was swift and lethal, just like he'd taught her, and once released, the boy had wasted no time heading to Wild Bill's office.

The sound of the president's angry roar disrupted the club's easygoing vibe, and his thundering footsteps sounded ominous as they neared the bar.

Braxton readied himself as the door separating the club bar from the business quarters flew open, the hinges screaming in protest as the huge man barrelled through,

William Carter was a scary sight. One look at him, and you could swear on your grandma's bible that he was more animal than man; he always reminded Brax of a bear, a massive, very angry, psychotic bear.

The years without his oldest daughter at his side had intensified the animal within, and The Aces and Eights president was a heaving ball of fury as his eyes finally settled on the lone figure calmly waiting at the bar.

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!" Wild Bill bellowed, spit flying from his mouth as he stalked over to her, bigger men would have cowered in the face of such aggression, but April remained calmly seated.

"Hello, Dad."