Fender: Soulless Kings MC

by Andi Rhodes

  I walk down the dirt path feeling numb. I can feel the wind on my face, but that’s all I seem to be feeling. Not abandoned. Not betrayed. Just numb, or maybe resigned is a better word for it. Resigned to the fact that I’m a Black Savage, he’s a Soulless King, and neither of those things will ever change. Love can conquer many things, but it doesn’t stand a chance among our rivals. We lost.

  I lost.

  The clubhouse is the first structure down this road, and when it comes closer into view, I see Leal and Mercenary working on their bikes in the front yard. Mercenary sees me first and nudges Leal before pointing.

  As soon as our eyes connect, he shoots to his feet and races toward me.

  “Charlotte!” he yells, throwing his arms around me and lifting me into the air.

  I close my eyes to hold the tears in and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder. He smells greasy from working on his bike, but it’s distinct from Fender’s scent.

  He sets me on my feet and holds my face in his hands while he searches me for bumps and bruises. “Are you okay?” he asks, insistently. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Char, we were coming to get you today. We would’ve come and got you sooner, but we wanted to hit them when they least expected it so we could make sure you weren’t heavily guarded. Those fucking animals don’t know what they have coming to them.”

  There’s a defensiveness in his tone, almost as if he doesn’t want me to think they weren’t coming for me. As I look at Leal’s worried eyes and the crease in his brow he gets when he’s concerned, guilt filters into me for not calling him to tell him I was okay.

  “They don’t want a war,” I say.

  His eyes narrow, and he pulls back. He wraps his hand around my arm and urges me toward the clubhouse. “Let’s get you inside and taken care of. You look dehydrated.”

  “Leal.”

  He pauses and turns toward me.

  “I’m fine, really. They just… had me hang out for a few days. They didn’t hurt me, and they let me go so we can all avoid something no one wants.”

  “This is what they want,” Leal says, his temper flaring. He checks himself, then takes my arms and looks at me compassionately. “Charlotte, they took you because they’re bastards and they want a fight. I’m glad they had the sense not to harm you, but you’re one of ours. They can’t fucking touch you.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Trepidation creeps in and I grow more worried watching Leal’s gaze turn cold. I don’t know why I didn’t fear this or how I didn’t recognize that this was coming, but of course it is. Of course Black Savages aren’t just going to let this go. Just like Soulless Kings wouldn’t.

  Images of the people I’ve come to know and love—Widow, Joker, Piston, Margo, Fender—dead on the wooden floor I walked hours ago fill my head and makes me want to scream.

  “We need to get you inside, hon.”

  Now I feel a little faint, so I let him guide me inside and into the kitchen. I hop on the counter and Leal brings me a cold washcloth and a bottle of water. I press the cloth to my head.

  When he pulls out a phone, my eyes go wide. “Who are you calling?”

  “Your mother. She’s been worried sick.” He gives me a sympathetic smile then puts the phone to his ear.

  I try not to listen as he talks to my mother. I don’t want to accidentally hear the lack of relief on the other end of the line or for my suspicion that he lied to me about her worry to be confirmed. It’s easier than I think it will be to block out the phone call because I can’t stop picturing what happens next, and now it isn’t only Fender and his family’s dead eyes in my mind, but my own family’s as well.

  This could get Leal killed. Leal, the man who has helped my family through the death of my father and taken us as his own. The man who welcomed me home with open arms, not once but twice, despite being one of the only ones to do so.

  I can’t let any of that happen.

  When Leal hangs up the phone, I hop off the counter and toss the cloth into the sink.

  “Your mom’s coming to get you. Do you want to go wait outside? Some of the other brothers are in the living room and would love to see how you’re doing, but I understand if it’s too much—”

  “Leal, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

  He raises a brow and leans back on the sink, arms crossed over his chest. “Okay?”

  “I don’t want any retaliation against the Soulless Kings.”

  “What?” He shoves away from the counter.

  I hold up my hand to stop him before he can begin his protest. This is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I don’t want to lose my nerve.

  “Their president, Fender, and I used to have a relationship, back before I left.” I take a deep breath and give him a second to process that. He doesn’t seem to be able to. Actually, he doesn’t seem affected by it at all, but I wave it off as shock. “I was in love with him then, and I went to see if there was anything still there. They didn’t take me. I left on my own.”

  He gives his head a shake and squints so much I can’t see his irises. “Maggie—”

  “Maggie didn’t know Fender was coming to get me. I’m sure, to her, it looked like a kidnapping.”

  His eyes grow so cold I think they might’ve frozen over. He glances toward the kitchen window at the sound of tires on gravel, and I follow his gaze to see my mom pulling up in her Jaguar.

  Leal turns to me and straightens. He looks so much taller when he’s angry. So much more intimidating.

  “Tonight, we’ll put the Soulless Kings’ fate to a vote. I suggest you keep the information you told me to yourself.”

  He opens the door and gestures outside for me to leave.

  “You would still attack them, knowing that it wasn’t a kidnapping?”

  “I don’t think you want to know what would happen if anyone thought it wasn’t a kidnapping.” He breaks my gaze to look at my mother’s car. “Go, Charlotte.”

  I walk tall past him, but inside I feel as crumbled as I did the day I showed up at my dad’s funeral. It’s the right thing to do, though, and for that, I believe my dad would be proud of me. It’s the only thing I think might stop the attack, and it still might not be enough.

  I pause just outside the door and glance at Leal over my shoulder. “They all have a right to know.”

  His expression doesn’t change. He closes the door in my face, and I’m left standing there, as hopeless as when I showed up.

  But I’m not hopeless. I can fix this. I just need a plan.

  My mother’s car purrs behind me, reminding me she’s there. I turn and walk to the vehicle and climb into the passenger seat. She’s facing me, but I don’t look her way.

  “You’re all right,” she states, matter of factly. I don’t think she means it to sound so uncaring, and it’s more awkward than anything else.

  “Yeah,” I say, deflating into the seat and mentally running through my options. “I’m all right.”

  “I’m glad.” She places a delicate hand on my thigh, and I spin her way. She looks like she’s aged ten years in the last few days, and her hair is a mess. Even with her words awkward and almost sterile, when I see her eyes I can tell this has been hard on her. And I guess I can see why. Not only did she just bury her husband, but she also just lost her daughter after getting her back.

  I lean into her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around me and shushes me softly when my crying comes. I’m sure she thinks it has to do with what they did to me, and I want to tell her the truth, that I’m in love with their leader. That I’ve been in love with him for years and he’s the reason I left. That I’ve been willing to betray my own family for him.

  But I don’t say those things. The sympathy she’s giving me feels too good right now, too right.

  After I’ve calmed down and we’ve been parked in the driveway for what feels like too long, I lean back in my own seat and
Mom puts the car in gear and drives away toward our house.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her voice soft.

  “No.”

  My voice comes out harsh, and I cringe but don’t correct myself. Then an idea comes and I sit up straighter. Leal said they’d be voting on what to do about the Soulless Kings tonight, which means nothing has been decided yet.

  They’re going to have church. If I can listen in without them knowing, I’ll know what they’re planning, and I can warn Fender.

  The images of bodies laid out on the ground of the Soulless Kings’ property fill my head again, and I shiver.

  I have to stop this.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  What do I do, mom?

  Fender

  “Maybe you should slow down, son.”

  Margo calling me ‘son’ is like metal grinding on pavement after a bad crash. There are times when I don’t mind it because I know she means well, but this is not one of those times. I’m not her son. She’s not my mother. That’s a title reserved for a dead woman.

  Rather than responding or arguing with her, I hold up two fingers to let her know I want two more shots of tequila. She shakes her head and scowls but gets the liquor bottle from under the bar and begins pouring double shots into the glasses in front of me. Before she even has a chance to put the bottle back where it belongs, I’m savoring the fiery path the liquid makes on it’s way to my stomach.

  “You can’t drink her away,” Margo says as she wipes down the bar with a rag. She glances at me, and when I make no move to shut her up, she continues. “We don’t get to pick and choose who we fall in love with. Believe it or not, this isn’t a problem that’s unique to you. Shit, it’s not even a problem that’s unique to MCs. Charlotte Dorn is a—”

  The glass that my fingers were curled around shatters against the wall behind Margo. I lean across the bar, bracing myself on slightly bent arms. I was hoping that my outburst would intimidate her, but it’s not. Instead, she’s got her hands on her hips and is tapping her foot on the hardwood floor.

  Goddammit! I can’t do anything right.

  “Don’t you dare say her name,” I growl. Margo’s eyes grow round, and I whirl around to face the rest of the now silent crowd. “You hear me? The next person to fucking utter that name will be permanently banned from the Soulless Kings.”

  Murmurs of agreement fill the air. They all know that that’s not a decision I can make, not on my own anyway. Permanent banishment is a matter that must be put to a vote, but at the moment, I don’t give a damn about rules or bylaws or tradition. I just want the pain to fucking stop.

  “Here, Fen.” Piston thrusts a joint in my direction.

  I stare at it like it’s sprouting wings. I want it, the calm it’ll bring, but somehow calm is a state of mind that I don’t feel I deserve the luxury of. I glare past Piston, toward the others, and my fists clench at my sides when I notice they’re all still staring.

  “What the fuck are you staring at?” I demand. “Can’t a man be pissed off without everyone looking at him with pity?”

  Piston pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and taps the screen. The music comes to life around us, and I am grateful that Squirrel connected all of our devices to the Bluetooth speakers so any of us could switch up the tunes when and if we wanted to. Piston scrolls through his music library and stabs the device with a pointed finger one last time before shoving it back in his pocket.

  Buckcherry’s ‘Crazy Bitch’ blares from the speakers, and everyone returns to what they were doing. I can’t help the upward tilt of my mouth. Bangin’ Betties are back to blowing whatever dick is in front of them, and the rest of the crowd is dancing like their lives depend on it.

  I grip the end of the joint between my thumb and forefinger and bring it to my lips, drawing hard on it and holding my breath to let the herb take effect. Piston watches me closely, too closely, and I take another puff before passing it back to him. This goes on for a few minutes, this puff puff pass, and then the joint is gone.

  “Feel better?” Piston’s expression is serious.

  “Do you need me to tell you I do?”

  “I need you to tell me the fucking truth.”

  “No, I don’t feel better.”

  “Be right back.”

  Piston turns and weaves his way through the party, tapping the shoulders of a few brothers as he passes them. When he disappears from my line of sight, I turn back to the bar. Margo is talking to Burly, and his hands are down the back of her pants copping a feel so it takes her a minute to register me staring.

  “What can I get you?” She asks and her tone is cool, clipped.

  Guilt rushes through me. She was trying to help, and I lost my temper. Not only is that not how we treat women—our women—around here. Bangin’ Betties are generally treated like the hangaround sluts they are, but a claimed woman? They’re treated like the queens they are. Or at least they should be.

  “Jesus, Mar,” I push out as I thrust my fingers through my disheveled hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

  I duck my head, shame mixing with the guilt. My mother taught me better than that. Hell, so did my father.

  “Ya want another beer?”

  My head whips up at her question. She’s letting me off the hook, and while I know I don’t deserve it, I take her forgiveness without another word.

  “Sure.” I glance at her husband and see the censure in his eyes, the disappointment. I rush to add, “Please.”

  Margo hands me a bottle of Hop Venom, and just as I’m about to tip it back and take a swig, I’m thumped on the back. I spin around and glare at the prospect, my lips twitching at the nervousness on his face.

  “Piston said to tell you church starts in five minutes.” Trainwreck stands a little taller and his face becomes a mask.

  “What the fuck?”

  “He said you’d understand once you got there.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. He said it’s being held at the secondary location. Wherever the fuck that is.” That last part is mumbled under his breath, almost as if an afterthought.

  “What’s that, prospect?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I glance over the prospect’s shoulder and notice a girl standing on the opposite side of the room, staring in this direction. She’s young, almost too young to be in a place like this, but who am I to judge? I teethed on beer bottles and biker leather.

  “Looks like you’ve got a fan,” I say to Trainwreck.

  He looks over his shoulder, and when his attention returns to me, his face is a ruddy red. He’s blushing and I can’t help the snort that escapes. Something tells me that he’s going to live up to his nickname in more ways than I could’ve predicted.

  “Ah, that’s just Corrie.”

  “Corrie?” I tilt my head as I try to place the name. I come up empty.

  “Corrine Mathers. She’s new to town, I guess. I met her at Chuggies, that dive—”

  “I know what the fuck Chuggies is,” I snap. “Our bar not good enough for you?”

  “No, sir. It’s just…”

  Trainwreck’s voice trails off, and I decide to let him off the hook.

  “I’m just fucking with you, Trainwreck. Welcome her for me,” I say, and I let a little hint of a hidden meaning drip into my tone.

  I stalk past him, slapping him on the back as I do. I hear him ask Margo for two beers and chuckle. Looks like the kid is taking my suggestion to heart. I shove the side door open and inhale the fresh air into my lungs. It’s a cold night, but that won’t matter in a few minutes.

  I follow the trail that winds from the clubhouse, through the woods and ends at the secondary location. The fire is already blazing when I arrive, and there are four brothers standing around it, passing a big fat blunt around.

  “Calling church to order,” Piston says, glancing at each brother before laughing like
he just told some hysterical joke.

  Joker, Greaser and Riker join in, and before I can stop myself, so do I. When the hilarity subsides, we all stand tall, no doubt thinking about how this ‘church’ started. The five of us, we’re the original five. We’re the ones who grew up Soulless Kings. We’re the ones who have been loyal our entire lives. We’re the ones who, no matter what happens, will never walk away or betray our family. But we’re also the ones who carry the heaviest burdens, the ones who sacrifice the most. We’re the golden boys of our MC world and the only ones who get to participate in this tradition.

  “So, boys, why’re we having church?” I ask, although I’m sure it has something to do with my foul mood over a certain brown-haired, green-eyed pixie.

  “What can we do?” Riker asks, jumping right to the point. When I glare at him, he scoffs. “C’mon, Chris, it’s us. We’re not bikers here, just friends.”

  “I dunno.” I shrug before taking a swig of my beer.

  “We could go burn their club to the ground,” Joker suggests. “Without her in it, of course.”

  “We could kidnap her again,” Riker says.

  “We could give the cops an anonymous tip about their drug operation,” Greaser chimes in. “Take ‘em down without getting our hands dirty.”

  “Or,” Piston draws out the word and focuses his attention on me. “You could just call her. Ask her to come back, be our queen and leave the princess life behind.”

  My chest constricts at the thought. Leave it to Piston to suggest the obvious, and also impossible. Even if I wanted to ask Charlie to come back, to be my ol’ lady, I couldn’t. Not after the way I left things. The image of her standing in front of me with a stoic expression on her face as she fights tears enters my mind, and I have to squint to keep it in focus.

  “You know no matter what you want to do, we’ve got your back, right?”

  I glance at Joker and note the serious expression on his face. He hasn’t exactly been Charlie’s biggest fan and he’s made that clear to anyone who will listen. But she’s started to win him over and it shows.