by Kim Jones
I sure as hell hope so…
I wake up to an empty bed, but the smell of coffee invades my senses and I know he’s here. I drag my ass to the kitchen and pour a cup—trying to ignore Marty and his cheerful morning voice. I’m not used to sharing my mornings with anyone—not that I’m complaining. Having him here isn’t an inconvenience, I just wish he wouldn’t talk until after noon.
“Who’s Whitney?” His words have me pausing mid sip and looking at him over my cup. He gives nothing away—only stares at me with expectant, green eyes.
“Who?” I ask, feigning innocence. And wishing like hell I had something stronger than coffee. Or that damned bag of magic holes.
“You never were a very good liar.” His voice is eerily calm. His big body is too relaxed. He’s just sitting on the stool, fingers laced together on the counter in front of him. Meanwhile, my heart is beginning to beat out of my chest, and I hear a buzzing sound in my head. I recognize it as panic—something I haven’t felt in a long time.
My eyes follow his movements as he reaches for something on the stool next to him. I feel the blood drain from my face when he places a duffel bag on the counter. But it’s not just any bag. It’s her bag.
Whitney.
Fuck.
“You have two choices here, babe,” he starts, threading his fingers together and taking on that relaxed position once again. “You can either tell me what the fuck is going on, or I can find out myself.”
That’s not a choice. There is only one correct answer here. If I don’t tell him, he’ll dissect the past five years of my life and find out on his own. He’ll pull phone records. Harass anyone I’ve ever been in contact with. Get the club involved. My life will be more exposed than if I were to write a journal and post that shit on Facebook.
If I tell him everything—if I lay it all out on the table, things between us will never be the same. I like who we’ve been together since he got home. I like knowing that in this moment, I still hold tight to that little bit of independence I’ve worked so hard for. And I’m not ready to let that go just yet. If that means what we have is over, then it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to take.
“My life is none of your business.” There’s grit in my tone.
“You are my business, Maddie.” There’s no room for negotiation—not that I expected there to be. He opens the bag and pulls out a long, black wig and lays it on the counter. “Now, tell me why you put this on, went to a bar, pretended to be someone you weren’t, then lured a man to the parking lot and nearly killed him with a baseball bat.”
“I didn’t lure him anywhere. I can assure you he went willingly.” I’m seething with malice and hate just at the memory. Marty’s jaw tightens and I’m sure he’s feeling the same rage I am. But fuck Marty. Fuck. Him. “And since when the fuck do you take the word of some guy in a bar over mine?”
“I never said I believed him. That’s why I’m asking you.”
Anger rips through me, though I’m not sure who it is I’m angry at. Me? Marty? The prick from last night? I toss my cup in the sink—shattering it to pieces. It makes me feel marginally better, so I look around for something else to throw. My eyes fall to the wig and I snatch it from the counter, then throw it in his face. He doesn’t even blink.
I’m not just angry, I’m hurt. I might have spent the last three years throwing gasoline on a fire but, like Dr. Yarborough said, Marty is the spark that started it all. Now, I’m changing my mind. I think it is time to lay it all out for him. Starting with how I got here in the first place.
“You want the truth?” I spit. “Here’s some fucking truth for you. Our three-month anniversary you left me at a restaurant waiting on you all night. And you never showed.” Tears burn the back of my eyes. I start to fight them, but know it’ll be a losing battle. “I was drugged. Nearly raped in the parking lot, and when someone saved me, I thought it would be you. It wasn’t.”
My vision is blurry as I glare at him, then clear for a moment as the tears fall down my cheeks. Before they build again and distort my vision, I can see the regret written all over his face. It overpowers his anger. And even though it shouldn’t, it hurts to see him so pained.
“Who was it, Maddie?” he whispers, drawing his brows together in preparation for the blow that will never come. That is one secret he’ll never know. So I ignore his question and give him the truth he wanted so badly—knowing I’ll get no satisfaction out of hurting him.
“I’ve been coddled and shielded my entire life. The club … Luke … you … and what good did it do?” I let out a small laugh that holds no humor. “All it did was make me weaker. Y’all ruined me. I became so dependent on you and the club and for what? To be kidnapped? Assaulted? Hurt? Scared? Screaming the names of people who promised to protect me didn’t do me any good. Do you know why? Because you never fucking showed!” I scream, but the sound is muffled by his chest.
For the past three years, I’ve taught myself to be dependent on only one person—me. I’ve faced my fears. Handled my own problems. Protected myself. And others. I became Whitney—the polar opposite of Maddie. Strong. Reliable. Free. If she is who I am now, why does it feel so good to have his arms around me? Why am I breaking down? Why am I sobbing into his chest and clinging to him like he’s the rope dangling from the side of a mountain—the only thing keeping me from falling?
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he tells me, raining kisses on the top of my head as he holds me—silently promising me he won’t let go. He doesn’t ask why I never told him. Doesn’t try to defend himself. He’s telling me he’s sorry—something I’ve never heard him say. Because in this moment, he does feel sorry. Sorry for not being there. Sorry for hurting me. Sorry for not being the man I needed him to be.
But I don’t need him anymore. Maybe I never did. Instead of blaming him, maybe I need to thank him for not showing. After all, that’s the reason I’m confident I can take care of myself. His absence was all the assurance I needed that I could do this.
“I’m here now.” His words flip a switch inside me. My tears stop. My back stiffens. And I pull out of his hold—ignoring the yearning to fall back into his embrace. Something in my eyes halts him and his arms fall to his sides. He looks haunted—torn. But that’s not my problem. Just like I’m not his problem. Not now. Not anymore.
“I’m not a victim anymore, Marty,” I start, crossing my arms to keep from reaching out and touching him.
“You don’t have to be a victim for me to take care of you.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” I fire back. He didn’t mean it as an insult, but it sure as hell felt like one. “You don’t get to just come in here and say things like that to me. Not now. Not after being out of my life for so long.”
He frowns down at me—a reaction I wasn’t expecting. He studies me as if I’m some foreign creature. Then his brows draw together as something sparkles in his eyes. Realization?
“Are you in trouble, Maddie?” he asks, his voice soft—understanding. His face thoughtful. He makes me want to throw myself in his arms and tell him everything. But I refuse to be weak in this moment. So I square my shoulders and stiffen my spine.
“What’s happening in my life is no longer your concern. The girl you knew isn’t the same one standing here now. She’s only a distant memory. Just like us.” The words hurt now more than they did when I said them six years ago. But I push forward, because I’ve come too damn far to stop.
“I’ve never asked you for anything. But I need something from you now.” I stare at the bridge of his nose to avoid the pain in his eyes.
“Anything.”
I hide my emotions. Like the façade I’ve worn for years, I mask the feelings I have in this moment. Having him back in my life has made me happy. But this is bigger than me. I won’t be weak. I can’t.
“I want you to leave.” I take a breath and force the next words from my mouth. It’s not fair to say them, but it might be the only way to get through to him. “Just like you
did five years ago. I want you to walk out of my life and not look back. I might’ve needed you then, but I don’t need you now.” The words nearly kill me. I can only imagine what he’s feeling in this moment.
His piercing stare demands I meet his eyes. When I do, I find them full of understanding, pride and remorse. He takes a step forward, but I’m prepared to fight him on this. The Marty I know will take me in his arms, growl that he refuses to leave me and demand to be mine.
My protector.
My confidante.
My rock.
My lover.
My man.
But he doesn’t do any of these things. Instead, he places a lingering kiss on my forehead, before doing just what I asked him to. He turns and walks away.
And he doesn’t look back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Marty
“When you coming back?” My PO, Emily, doesn’t even look up from the folder on her desk as she speaks.
“Three days.”
She hands me a sheet of paper to sign. I scribble my name next to the X, then pull a wad of cash from my wallet. Serving time wasn’t my only punishment when I was convicted—I was fined twenty-five grand on top of it. I guess I should be thankful the state was nice enough to let me pay it in installments—not that it mattered. I’d have paid it in full, but wanted to avoid any suspicions about where the money came from.
“A thousand?” I ask, tossing the bills on her desk.
“Unless you want to leave a tip.” She’s feisty. “Let me know when you get back. If you have any problems, call me. If you get into trouble, call a lawyer.”
I nod, then realize she’s still not looking. “Okay.”
“And stay away from fire,” she calls, just as I’m shutting the door to her office. I flip her the finger, and even though she can’t see it through the frosted glass, it makes me feel better.
Luke is waiting outside, and I shake my head at what I see. “Really, Luke? A fucking ski mask?”
His eyes sparkle with amusement. “Too much?” I ignore him as I straddle my bike and close the shield on my full face. We pull into traffic, and soon we’re less than a foot apart, riding ninety down the open highway.
I’m not in the best mood today. Not because of my weird ass PO or my brother, but because of Maddie. I’m still not sure exactly what it is she’s doing, but I have a pretty good idea. She’s become some kind of fucking modern day Catwoman—protecting weak women from the same kind of assholes she fell victim to.
She’d pretty much told me to mind my own business. Only she sugarcoated it by asking me for a “favor.” Even though she was trying to hurt me, I knew it was all an act. So, I walked away, just like she asked. But I didn’t agree to shit. Which means I can’t be accused of lying, although I’m sure that’s exactly what she’ll say when she realizes I’m not going to back off. If she’s doing something crazy and dangerous, I want in. And knowing Maddie, that’s exactly what she’s doing.
Maddie might claim she’s different, and in a way she might be. But she’s also the same. The only difference is she doesn’t need me when she goes out to find trouble. She’s handling shit on her own. Before, she always knew I had her back. She may not know it, but I still do.
Which is why I put a GPS tracking app on her cell phone this morning while she was asleep. With the click of a button, I know where she is at all times. Or at least, where her phone is.
Throughout the three hour ride, I keep trying to tell myself that Maddie ain’t my problem. She ain’t my ol’ lady and I ain’t her keeper. But I’m lying to myself. We’re more. I don’t know what that more entails, all I know is that where Maddie is weak I am strong. I want to carry whatever burdens she has. It’s my duty. It’s my desire. And after everything we’ve been through, it’s my fucking right.
We’re sitting around the table at church in our Mobile chapter’s chapel, and Luke is getting more pissed by the second. Because he’s pissed, I’m pissed. “What the fuck you mean you don’t understand?” My eyes move to the VP Luke’s addressing and I don’t like the way he looks down his nose at my President.
“I’m saying I don’t understand why you over here trying to play hero. We got a president.”
I’m on my feet in a split second. Before he can stand to defend himself, I slam his face down on the table—splattering blood all over me and his brother. “He,” I say, turning the bastard’s head so he’s facing Luke. “Is the only president that matters. And you’ll show him some fucking respect. If you don’t I’ll break your neck instead of your nose.” With a push, I release him and reclaim my seat—eyeing everyone in the room to let them know my offer is extended to them too.
“Hattiesburg is the mother chapter. I am the National President. I call the shots. And when a soldier steps outta line, he answers to me.” Luke’s voice is deadly. His threat is real. He’s the man you face when you fuck up. And I’m the man you face when you fuck with him. It’s not a battle you want to fight.
The members of this chapter aren’t going through anything the rest of us haven’t. The difference is, they’re handling it wrong. The President is letting his VP take the heat for fucking up. Club life is simple for those of us who understand it. But you can’t fuck your brother’s wife, and not expect a divide in the table. Some say the patch holder deserved to have his wife taken from him. Others believe that it’s messed up, but they’re trying to keep the peace by being quiet. Luke and I believe a brother’s property belongs to him—only him. You disrespect it, and you’ve broken the golden rule.
“May I?” All eyes turn to the only Mobile patch in the room that doesn’t look like he just shit his pants. Luke gives him the go ahead, and he speaks. “First off, on behalf of my brothers and me we want to thank you for getting us set up in a legitimate business. The bar is bringing in good money and most of us have quit our jobs to run it full time.”
A few heads nod in agreement, and I make a count of the ones that don’t. Not surprised that the VP is one of them. To give him the benefit of the doubt, I’m gonna say it’s because he’s too busy holding his head back and drowning in his own blood. He is my brother, after all.
“The problem is we’ve forgotten what the patch means. Love can’t be shown if we’re always fighting. Loyalty is a thing of the past, and respect can’t be given unless it’s gave. The Prospects deserve this patch more than we do.”
The man speaking is the SA. I’ve met him before and he’s about as good of a brother as I am. To hear him admit his faults to the National President, takes balls. It makes me proud to know that we share the same patch. This is a real Devil’s Renegade. And Luke knows it too.
Leaning back in his chair, he studies the man for a few moments. “Vance, is it?” he asks, and the man gives him a verbal “yes,” which is another show of respect. “You know your brothers better than me. What’s your thoughts on how to fix this?”
“Eighty-six the man who caused it, and put every patch holder on probation. Maybe a blow to our pride will help us remember who we are and what we stand for.”
The man he’s wanting eighty-sixed, or put out of the club, isn’t present. He gave some bullshit excuse for not being here, probably because he knew what was coming. We’ll have to hunt him down, and I’m looking forward to the chase.
With a nod from Luke, I stand and pull my knife from my cut. One by one, each Mobile member stands as I remove his bottom rocker—our way of branding those who don’t live up to the MC name. Every time they put it on, they’ll be reminded of failure. Then they’ll work twice as hard to prove themselves. If they don’t, then they don’t belong.
When I get to the SA, I look to Luke. “Leave it.”
So I do. By the time I’m finished, I hold six bottom rockers with MOBILE, AL stitched in orange. I stand in the corner, waiting for Luke to tell me what to do next. Or for someone to do something stupid. I’m hoping like hell it’s the latter.
Reaching into his own cut, Luke pulls out a knife and leans ove
r, jerking the chapter president toward him. “You don’t deserve this.” Slicing the threads, Luke removes the PRESIDENT patch from the man. “I’ll be taking yours too,” he says to the VP who moves closer to Luke without hesitation. I guess he doesn’t want his neck broken.
“Vance,” Luke calls, holding the PRESIDENT patch out to me. I hand it to Vance who humbly accepts it. “Choose your new VP and SA. I’ll handle eighty-sixing Sly personally.” Banging the gavel, Luke adjourns the meeting before looking at me. “Let’s go.”
“Sly…” I call, beating on the door again, but no one answers. As Luke scans the windows to see if any blinds are open, my eyes drift to the swing set in the front yard. I become nauseated at the sight. This man had a wife and three kids and was too busy fucking his brother’s ol’ lady to take care of his own family.
Walking around back, my anger grows as I notice how unkempt his yard is. There’s shit everywhere—toys, old motorcycle parts, a broken table and a swimming pool that’s green and covered in branches and leaves. If he can’t take care of his own shit, then he can’t take care of a brother’s.
After I’ve made a complete circle around the house, I bang on the carport door once again. I’m growing impatient and am ready to kick the damn thing down when it opens. A woman who couldn’t be any older than thirty is standing in a nightgown covered in Kool-Aid stains. It’s not even 6 pm yet, but she looks like she’s just woke up. A baby sits on her hip, and I can hear children playing inside.
“We’re looking for Sly,” I say in greeting. Her brown eyes become sad at the mention of his name. Because I’m an insensitive prick and Luke knows it, he steps in.
“Devil’s Renegade National President, Luke.” He removes his glove and extends his hand. Her lips part and she pulls in a breath when he hits her with that infamous LLC smile. “This is Devil’s Renegade, Marty—Hattiesburg.” I nod in greeting, noticing her nipples harden from the cold weather—or Luke.
