Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Poppy Fairbanks always thought she was too much, but Ace acted like she’s exactly what was missing from his life. And when Poppy ended up in someone’s crosshairs, Ace was more than ready to show them how far he’d go to protect his woman
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
ACE
The rhythmic sound of my fingers flying across the keyboard was soothing. I leaned back slightly in my leather chair, my gaze fixed intently on the three screens arranged in front of me. The soft glow illuminated the scattered piles of paperwork that littered my heavy oak desk, each stack representing a prospective new member of the Hounds of Hellfire MC.
I paused to roll my shoulders, easing the stiffness from hours spent digging through every detail of the prospects’ financial histories. It was tedious but necessary. One of my roles as the club’s treasurer meant I wasn’t just responsible for our money but also ensuring every man we brought into our inner circle was financially clean, with no ties that could compromise our operations.
We’d always required background checks on anyone looking to prospect. But after we’d discovered a mole among them a couple of years ago, our president had our resident tech genius, Wizard, and me do deeper dives into each of them.
We were a family—not by blood but by choice. And whether or not we were single, we weren’t reckless bachelors living in a clubhouse circus. There were no club bunnies, no messy drama. This wasn’t a frat house; it was a home.
The club wasn’t always like this, though. More than two decades ago, the Hounds had a reputation for the patches being assholes with no respect for anyone and for crossing lines way past the gray zone. But shit had been cleaned up long before King patched, which was shortly before I prospected and earned my full rocker. When King became our president over seven years ago, I earned the office of treasurer and began building the financial backbone that enabled us to operate like a fortress.
Now, anyone hoping to patch had to earn our confidence before they could wear the colors. We had to know that we could entrust them with our lives and those of our families. Not to mention the details of our less-than-legal endeavors.
The Hounds of Hellfire MC could easily be seen as a group of outlaws, but we were far from the stereotypical chaotic biker gangs portrayed on TV. Sure, we operated outside conventional laws—leveraging connections, authority, and carefully placed donations to navigate around an imperfect legal system. But our brand of justice, which sometimes included violence, was precise and purposeful. Controlled until necessary. And even then, calculated rather than cruel.
Loyalty and honor weren’t just words stitched into our cuts—they were principles etched into the marrow of our bones. Any breach of the code, especially concerning women or children, was dealt with swiftly and permanently.
We had many legal businesses that kept the MC flush when combined with my wicked financial skills. However, our core business involved identity erasure and relocation—making people disappear into new lives. The operation was a good source of income, though in some cases we didn’t require payment. But those scenarios were closely guarded secrets to avoid having to deal with too many assholes with sob stories trying to get something for nothing.
Sighing, I reached for my coffee mug. The ceramic was cool against my fingertips, a disappointing reminder that it had gone untouched for far too long. The bitter taste lingered on my tongue as I took a sip and grimaced. Cold and stale—just like the rest of my fucking afternoon.
A soft ping echoed from the central monitor, and my attention snapped to the alert. A frown creased my forehead as I leaned in, my eyes scanning the series of tiny micro-probes hitting our shell companies. My gut tightened. It wasn’t theft since none of the transactions had attempted to move money, but the pattern was clear. Someone was testing our reaction times and mapping our financial perimeter.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, reaching up to run a hand through my hair. I traced the probe’s trail, quickly connecting it back to a regional compliance firm downtown. One of the few businesses in Riverstone not directly owned or managed by the club. The building was ours, but the company was a tenant. They had always seemed harmless enough. Apparently, not anymore.
My jaw tightened as I watched another micro-probe flicker across the screen, pinging lightly against one of our carefully shielded accounts. Not invasive. They were just testing our boundaries.
It pissed me off—like someone deliberately tapping their finger on glass, just to see if the thing behind it would react.
Honestly, the probe would most likely have been missed by anyone who wasn’t me. And it irritated me that they thought they could get this shit past me.
I’d earned my road name before I ever started handling the club’s finances.
As a prospect, I’d cleaned out plenty of the patched members in underground poker games without raising my pulse. I could count cards blindfolded, calculate odds mid-hand, and read betting patterns like spreadsheets.