by KL Donn
“Yes, they want to become an ol’ lady, to wear a brother’s patch, but no brother will pick a whore to carry his kid. There are twelve of them at the moment. Sometimes they bring friends to party with them.”
"Do you all live here on the compound?"
"Yes, they live in the outer buildings. Some members have their own houses but mostly stay here. "
I'm a little overwhelmed. My dad has this whole life that I never knew anything about. Did he not want me to know about it?
“You said ol’ ladies?” I got a feeling it's nothing to do with age.
“Yeah, they are women the brothers have claimed, who mean everything in this world to a brother. When you become an ol’ lady, you get the respect of all the brothers, the club. No one messes with an ol’ lady.
"Want toast?" she laughs. "There's no proper food. The girls have gone shopping, so until they get back, there's only toast or leftover pizza." She squints at it. "Although, I can't guarantee how long that's been there for."
"Toast is fine, thank you."
Footsteps sound behind me and my entire body freezes. Women chattering filters through and I glance at Callie.
“Ah, that’ll be the ol’ ladies.” She has a smile on her face and I relax a bit. She reaches for me and pulls me toward her. “You’re fine. Breathe, Harla, you look like you’re about to faint again.”
Before I can say anything, four women are standing in front of me, each of them with a curious look on their faces and hands full of bags.
“So, it’s true?” a voice says, the owner of which starts pushing past the women and comes to stand in front of me. Her blonde hair is straight and to her shoulders, and she’s wearing a tight leather skirt with a t-shirt. She looks as though she’s in her late forties, if not into her fifties. I don’t miss the way the other women don't seem too pleased to be around her either.
“Rhonda,” Callie says, her voice tight, “meet Harla.”
Rhonda gives me a sweeping glance, a look of disdain on her face as she does. “So, she’s his daughter?”
“Yes, Harla is Prez’s daughter,” Callie says as though she’s talking to a child.
A sharp intake of breath comes from the woman standing behind Rhonda. She’s in a tight pair of leather pants and a black t-shirt with a black leather cut over the top. Unlike Rhonda, she has a smile on her face, and tears in her eyes.
“You’re Maggie’s daughter.”
“Um, yes,” I say softly. “Hi.”
She waves her hand as she walks toward me. As soon as she’s within touching distance, she pulls me into her arms.
“Your mama was my best friend. I’m Monica,” she whispers. “It’s been a long time since I saw you. You’re beautiful, just as she was.” Her arms squeeze me.
“You’re going to have to tell me about her someday,” I tell her as she pulls away. I don’t know much about my mom, other than my dad truly loved her and she was an amazing woman. Whenever I’d bring her up, both Gigi and Dad would change the subject. In the end, I stopped asking.
Her shaky hand reaches for my cheek, and she rubs it gently. “Harla, that is a date.” She smiles at me, still talking softly so that only I can hear her. “Come on, let me introduce you to the other ladies.” This time, she’s loud enough for everyone else to hear her.
She walks past Rhonda, not saying a word to her. “This is Pam. She’s Milo’s ol’ lady,” she says, introducing me to a woman who is also wearing a black leather cut. Pam smiles and nods.
“Hi,” I squeak.
“This is Julie. She’s Hammer’s ol’ lady.” She points to the extremely thin woman with grey hair. She’s the eldest of the ladies in the room.
“Hi,” I reply, having no idea who Hammer or Milo are.
“This here is Bee. She’s Ace’s ol’ lady,” she says, pointing to the curvy woman. She’s gorgeous; long, thick black hair that falls down to her waist. She looks as though she’s in her mid-twenties.
Bee smiles at me. “Hey there, Harla. You look like you’re wasting away, girl. You hungry?”
I nod eagerly. “Starving.”
Bee laughs. “It’s a good thing we went shopping then, ain’t it?”
Rhonda huffs. “I’ve got things to do.” She walks out of the kitchen, glancing back to glare at me as she does.
“Ignore Rhonda,” Callie tells me. “Everyone else does.”
“She has a problem with me? Is it because I’m here?” I ask, glancing around at the women in front of me.
“She has a problem because of who you are,” Monica says as she begins to unpack the shopping.
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“Harla darling,” Bee says, “that woman is West’s mom.”
I suck in a sharp breath. Oh, shit.
Bee nods. “Yep, now you’re getting it.”
“She’s wanted to be your dad’s ol’ lady for as long as I can remember. Shit, I reckon she got herself knocked up just to force him to make her it.” Monica shakes her head. “Your dad’s sharp as fuck. He knew what she was like, knew what she was doing, and he wouldn’t give in.”
“Why do I feel as though she hates me?”
“Harla baby,” Monica begins, “the whole world knows your dad had one love, your mama, and that bitch knew it too. Your mama had everything she wanted, everything she thought she deserved. You represent that. You’re a reminder of your mama.” She smiles brightly at me. “You’re the spittin’ image of her.”
Pam nods. “Mmhmm. Dead ringer. Beauty like yours is rare to find. From what I can tell, you’re the same as your mom; softly spoken, polite… Not meant for this world.”
Her words wash over me and my heart shatters.
“But that don’t mean you don’t belong in this world,” Pam continues.
“What she means is, you’re pure, Harla, just like your mama. Your mama’s love was fierce; for you, for your dad, and for her friends. If I were a betting gal, I’d put my money on you taming that beast of his.”
I frown. What the hell is she talking about?
Callie laughs. “Oh, I’ve seen it. I’d take that bet in a heartbeat.”
“Have I missed something?” I question. I feel stupid, like I’m the butt of their joke.
“Harla baby, it’s so fucking good to see you,” Monica says as she begins to put the groceries away.
“Some advice, Harla darling,” Bee says, and I turn my attention to her. “Keep that soft side for your man and your friends. There’s bitches in this place and they’ll be gunning for your man. You need to stand your ground.”
I blink. “My man?”
They all smile. “We know about your man.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have one.”
Monica laughs, a full-bellied one. “Oh, you may think that, but trust me, you do. There’s no way he’s letting you get away, not from what I’ve heard.”
“Enough of that, let’s get some food into you. You’re going to need it to recuperate,” Julie says softly. “The men won’t be back for a while, so you can shoot the shit with us while we cook.”
I smile. That sounds good. I grab Callie’s hand as she turns to leave. “You’re staying too, right?” Even though I phrase it as a question, it’s more of a statement.
“Of course.” She squeezes my hand in return.
I spent the day with Callie and the ol’ ladies. The club girls arrived but I didn’t go to meet them. My entire body aches and I’m barely able to keep my eyes open. The men still aren’t back yet, and I’m saddened that I won’t see Saint.
Crawling into bed, fear grips me. I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want to close my eyes and see that man killing Gigi.
It takes a while for me to fall into a fitful sleep.
6
Saint
Normally, this is what settles the beast within; the open road with the wind at my back. But not today. Every mile away from Harla feels like someone is pulling away pieces of my soul. My body is tense and my knuckles
white from their grip on the handlebars. This feeling is foreign to me. I’ve never cared about anyone but my brothers before and it’s tearing me apart.
Reaper signals to turn, and as if we’re all one, we all follow suit. My jaw tightens when I think of our conversation in church, when he warned me off Harla. It took every ounce of control not to say anything. I’m pissed that he thinks I’m not good enough, even though I know it myself. Hearing it from the man I respect above everyone else fucking gutted me, those words like a dagger in my heart. But fuck if he wasn’t right. The blood might wash away, but it’s stained me, deep down to my soul.
I’m not a good man, and I’ve never claimed to be. I’ve killed men and women, tortured them too. There’s no doubt I’ll do it in the future. But Angel calms the beast inside me.
I have never wanted a woman. I’ve seen some of the older guys claim their women, but it was never on my cards, wasn’t a life I ever thought about. Until just one look from Harla. That’s all it took to have me wanting something.
We pull up outside an old farmhouse only a few hours out of town. Fuck! She was closer than I had thought.
I watch as West gets off his bike, his whole body trembling with anger, his focus on Prez, his father.
“She was here!” he spits. “This fucking close!” he growls, his voice vibrating through us all.
Reaper grinds his jaw, shaking his head. He has nothing to say. What the hell can he say?
West pushes past him and storms toward the steps leading up to the house. I jump off my own bike, racing toward him. He is a hothead, has a wicked temper. We don’t know if any more of those fuckers are still here.
Lifting my leg, my foot connects with the door. It rattles, almost ready to fall. Lifting once more, I add more power as I kick it. As soon as I connect with it, it smashes against the wall, splintering into pieces.
West takes a few steps inside as I regain my footing. Within seconds he stills, turning to face me. I see his watery eyes as he covers his mouth with his hand. Shaking his head, he walks past me and out into the yard.
I don’t need to walk very far into the house to pick up the sickly sweet odor. Only a few people can handle it—death. The smell of a body decaying. It’s something that once you smell it, you’ll never forget it. It’s as though it seeps into your pores and never disappears. I walk further into the house and come to a stop when I reach the kitchen.
“Fuck,” Reaper growls behind me, his gaze on the bloodied body. It has flies circling it, and her skin is grey and bloated. A single tear burns down his cheek as he mourns his mother, the woman who raised his daughter, the woman who put her life on the line to save his baby girl. He pulls out the burner, making a phone call for the boys to collect her.
Studying the kitchen, I notice the small footprints in the blood, along with the bloody handprints on the kitchen cupboards, as if someone had slipped in the blood. I realize that it was Harla. She was the one who fell and scrambled around, scared out of her mind as she watched the woman she loved as a mother be shot down while saving her. No wonder she was fucking having nightmares.
I narrow my eyes at the pair of black boots that are in the doorway leading out of the kitchen, a ruby red river leading to another body. His body is cold, his soul already in the hands of the devil. Walking up to him, I see the Phoenix tattoo. Without hesitation, I kick him. He’s the one who brought the nightmares to Harla’s door, and he’s the one who showed her the darkness of the world, made her cry and afraid of her own shadow.
A large hand clamps on my shoulder, and I turn to see West, finding the same hunger in his eyes for the blood of the enemy.
“He’s dead, man. Save that anger.” He smirks. The Phoenixes came here with a message. We received it loud and clear. The tilt of his lips tells me we’re going to be answering them.
I nod, taking a step back, a growl reverberating in my chest. I want his—their blood, now. I want to soak in it, make them scream the same way Harla has been, watch as the fear shines in their eyes and seeps out of their skin, just like they made her. I want to enjoy having them beg for mercy, yet know it will never come, just like they hadn’t shown any to my girl.
That’s exactly what she is. Even if I can’t claim her, she has already claimed me. She’s imprinted on my soul. I’ll watch her from the shadows, make sure nothing will ever hurt her again.
We all gather in the garden, waiting for the boys to turn up to bring Reaper’s mom home. She deserves a decent funeral. Her family deserves it.
“What's the plan?” West asks, his gaze avoiding the house and his grandmother inside it. I watch as he swallows hard, his voice holding onto his emotion. Something that we all are feeling, knowing just how close Harla came to taking her last breath.
I scan the area, noticing a dark, almost black area. I walk over, rub my fingers over it and bring it to my nose. The metallic smell of blood instantly hits me.
“Motherfucker.” I turn toward the others, who are all frowning, West and Reaper already on their way over.
“Son?” I see the questions in Reaper's eyes, but the word ‘son’ has my jaw grinding so hard I am surprised I don’t break a tooth as we stare at each other. I’m not his son. I’m not good enough for his daughter.
“Saint?” West asks, breaking through our stare off.
I turn to West. “She said she hit someone as she drove off, the fucker that shot her.” I’m barely able to contain my emotions. “They fucking somehow survived. It’s fresh. I’d say less than two hours,” I growl, the vibrations rattling my chest.
Fuckers had been back here. No doubt once their boys hadn’t returned, they went looking for them. We’ve just missed them. We would have been here earlier if I hadn’t been so fucking wrapped up in Harla, wiping those damn tears of hers away. Every time they fell it was as though my chest was burning.
“Saint, she needed you,” West whispers. My gaze is on Reaper as he walks off, shouting at the boys to ride and search the area, see if they can find anything. Turning back to West, he lifts his brow as if he understands the war inside of me.
I shake my head. “No. She needs to be kept safe. Reaper was right, a man like me is no good for her.” I storm off. Saying those words makes me want to fucking hurt someone. I light up a spliff, letting the smoke bury into my lungs.
After a beat, West walks over, snatching the spliff out of my hands. We are more like brothers than the rest. When Reaper found me on the streets, half dead, he took me to his house. West had helped bring me back to life as much as Reaper. Both watched over me as my body shook from the nightmares, held a cold cloth to my head until the fever broke, and fed me. I stayed with Reaper and West until I prospected, when I was given a room at the club, where I've been ever since.
“You’re different around her,” he tells me, but I don't speak. Instead, I snatch the spliff back, taking a large drag. “In all the years we’ve known each other, you’ve never given a woman a second look. Fuck, you don’t talk to women. Ever. But with her you don’t shut up. Those words of yours spill out.”
I swallow harshly as I frown.
West holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Ain’t saying it’s a bad thing. It is good to hear you. Never understood why you never spoke more than a few words.” I shrug. “Learned a long time ago what happens when you do, but with her…” He trails off.
“It comes easy—the words pour out.”
West nods as if he understands. “But Reaper is right; you need to stay away. She ain’t cut out for this life, ain't going to stay. She’s not said she will. You’re too messed up, like all of us. But her…” He shakes his head. “She's different.”
I can’t bring myself to say anything, because I can’t argue. She is different. My world is full of darkness, our world is full of darkness, and none of us deserve the sweetness that is all Harla. She’s not the sun, she’s the motherfucking moon. She shines despite all the darkness that surrounds her.
A rumble of an engine sounds and each one of u
s stands tall, every man going for their gun as a black van pulls up in the drive. Archie steps out of the van and Reaper walks over to him. Archie owns the funeral home not far from the compound, he’s been friends with Reaper for a long time, whenever he’s called, he comes, no questions asked.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Reaper says. He’s already composed himself. Every emotion he was feeling is now buried below.
Archie nods and walks up the steps to the house. Reaper sends Tank, Whistler and Sniper with him, all of whom go without complaint.
We all form a line of respect when the body is brought out. We stay this way until the van doors close.
“Let’s ride,” Reaper orders, his fingers circling the air. Ace stays behind to deal with the dead fucker lying on the kitchen floor. He’ll pour acid over him, so no one will ever be able to recover his body.
West looks at me. “Let’s go to Sweets. Fuck, we all need it.” Sweets is our strip bar. I nod along with the brothers.
By the time we arrive at Sweets, it's dark. My muscles are sore from all the riding. Like a pack, we descend on the club, walking through the door and heading straight for our seats. Before we even get there, there are beers on the table and a bottle of whiskey. I grab the bottle, unscrewing the lid, and take a deep pull, loving the burn as it flows down my esophagus.
We all watch as Pearl comes on stage, her hips swaying to the music. She is one of the favorites. She’s dressed, per usual, in the skimpiest outfit known to man. Every single move is sensual. She knows what she’s doing. Her fingers wrap around the pole, and she kicks her leg before twining it around the metal. Her routine has every cock in this club growing. Mine, on the other hand, is a fucking traitor. It doesn’t even flinch, nothing. Pissed off, I take another large swig of whiskey.
Three hours later and we make it back to the compound. As soon as I step foot in the door, my body relaxes. All the tension I had drains from me. It’s as though my body knows she’s close by. I head straight for the stairs and take them two at a time. I’m like an addict needing his next hit; all I want is one fucking look.
