The Dirty Dozen: MC Edition

by Kay Maree

  If there’s one topic all of my brother’s know to avoid, it’s my wife. I did what I needed to, admitting she existed when I first patched into the club, but I made it abundantly clear that was where it ended. What happened between us, why I left her, and why after three years I still set every set of divorce papers she sends me on fire is none of their fucking business. Period. They knew her name, a vague description in case she came looking for me which I highly doubted she would but that was all.

  Bluntly put, my situation with Mae, my wife, the love of my life is complicated. When we met, I was passing through Texas on my way to meet up with a buddy of mine that’d just been sent home from Iraq injured, and set to be medically discharged as soon as they knew he was stable. We’d served two long tours together and I hadn’t heard from him since he landed stateside. His parents were worried about him; his sisters too, so I took it upon myself to pay him a visit and do what I could to get his head out of his ass where his family were concerned.

  See, I’d been there, done that. I’d come home after seeing what I saw, doing what I’d done all in the name of protecting and serving our country so I knew some of the hell he had to be going through. But regardless of rationalizing every fucked up thing I’d done was because I was ordered to do it, I was still a complete head case. And by the sounds of it, my buddy was no better off. The only difference was; he was dealing with that shit while missing a leg, whereas I merely had a few extra scars to show for it.

  It was at one of my stops for gas and food that I met, Mae. Tired, desperate for a shower and hungry as fuck, my mood couldn’t have been worse but Mae didn’t give a shit. Her bright smile, gorgeous eyes and a killer sense of humor worked a miracle that day.

  At twenty-two, working at a roadhouse to support herself while she attended college online and waited for her brother to get out of prison, Mae was the definition of a fighter. Her parents weren’t around and she didn’t have any extended family to lean on, besides her brother that is, and obviously, given the circumstances, he couldn’t be there for her. That said, Mae made her shitty situation work as best she could and I respected the hell out of her for it.

  I spent longer than I’d planned in Mount Pleasant; an hour or so turning into a week before I knew my time had run out and I had to get back on the road. In that short amount of time, there was no denying the fact that I’d fallen in love with Mae. Thankfully, the sentiment was returned because by the grace of God, Mae confided in me that she loved me too.

  As soon as she said the words, I convinced her to pack only what she could carry and get on the back of my bike, leaving the town she’d grown up in and her past behind her.

  Everything after that went at warp speed. We got married in Vegas two weeks later, post paying my buddy a visit whereby Mae managed to work her magic on him too. The day we left, he was on the phone to his mom promising to get on a plane the next day and go home for a much needed visit. See, magic. Or, at least that’s what I liked to call it.

  Mae and I had six blissful months with each other before the life we’d created together came crumbling down around us. Six beautiful, fun filled months where I forgot the horrors I’d seen and finally understood the true meaning of what I’d been fighting for over in that sandbox.

  Then her brother called.

  In all the time we’d spent together, not a lot of it was spent talking about our pasts. I had a vague understanding of what Mae’s neglectful parents put her through and I knew a bit about the brother she believed could walk on water, but that was it. No details. No context that would help me understand what she’d do next.

  It’s probably important to mention at this juncture that I was already prospecting for Vengeance. I’d asked and it was agreed that I could take a leave of absence to take care of my buddy’s situation, but the plan had always been that I’d head back to Furnace and the MC sooner rather than later. I hadn’t broached that topic with Mae yet, but I was hoping when I did, she’d embrace my future in the MC the way she had me; with an open heart and support.

  That opportunity never arose, though.

  One phone call from her brother was all it took to derail the only thing I’d wanted more in life than to come home from overseas alive.

  Mae’s brother demanded she come home. He wanted to see her - no, he needed to see her - and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. It was then I found out exactly who her brother was and why Mae and I were doomed from the beginning.

  Synyster James, badass supreme and next in line for the Soldiers of Havoc President patch.

  Notorious in more ways than one. Synyster was the man you sent to correct the problems no one else had the stomach for. His reputation was that of being unforgiving, unwavering in his dedication to his club and brutal when the situation demanded it. Synyster’s headcount rivalled career military snipers, not that anyone had a definitive number but if the rumors were to be believed he’d racked up dozens of confirmed kills.

  So thus began the end of us. Mae, the only woman I’d ever love was lost to me the moment she told me why she had to go back. My wife wasn’t stupid, she knew that her brother would use everything in his considerable arsenal to find her if she didn’t, and both of us knew I couldn’t go with her, regardless of how much I wanted to.

  Vengeance wasn’t at war with Soldiers of Havoc, but we weren’t allies either. Fucking with the sister of a ranking member of another club, wife or not, wasn’t something that would be forgiven in our world. I’d lose my shot at earning my top rocker, but more than that, I’d lose the only family I had.

  The MC took me in when I came home. They promised me brotherhood, a place to rest my head, a home when I’d never had one before and for that, I wouldn’t, no, I couldn’t turn my back on them. Not even for Mae.

  Yeah, it was a dick move. One I’ve regretted since the moment I left Mae in that shitty motel room in Vegas alone with nothing more than her backpack, a wad of cash, and a note that promised I would never stop loving her. But even though my heart aches for her every day, the pain in my chest becoming more acute and unbearable as the minutes tick by, I still truly believe I made the right decision for both of us.

  “You seriously spaced out there, brother, and based on the look on your face, I can’t work out whether that’s because you’re trying to work out how to kill me and dump my body or not,” Pyro mutters, snapping me back to the present.

  “Death is too good for you,” I growl in response. “You need to suffer through the shit you caused with Soph before you take a trip to meet your maker. And I might love you, brother, but not even that will save you if you mention my wife again. No word of a lie, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in you somewhere that there’ll be no coming back from.”

  “That’s gonna be hard, brother,” he snarls the last word. “Because from where I’m standing, the woman behind the bar looks an awful lot like the woman you described to us in church. Add to that the pretty little things name is Mae, and I’d hazard a guess you’re about to have your day of reckoning, not me.”

  “The fuck you say,” I growl, hoping for Pyro’s sake he’s joking.

  “Welcome to the world of we fucked it up with our women and we’re getting our just desserts,” he says before levelling me with a sharp look. “Oh, and fuck you too, brother. I might have one hell of a mess to clean up with Sophie, but I’m willing to bet you it’s got nothing on the shit storm you’re going to have to weather.”

  Yeah, he’s not wrong I think as my eyes lock with my wife’s.

  Not fucking wrong at all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sophie

  Pick up, pick up, pick up, I chant to myself.

  “Please tell me this is an emergency because if it’s not, I’m going to cut a bitch,” Scarlet’s voice echoes down the line.

  “It is, and no you won’t,” I say unable to suppress the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I need tequila and as much cookie dough ice cream as your scrawny arms ca
n carry, STAT.”

  Scoffing at me, Scarlet reminds me, “It’s ten in the fucking morning, woman. No human should consume that many calories this early in the day.”

  “Yeah, and? You should count yourself lucky that I waited until now to call you then, shouldn’t you? And as for my calorie intake, you should be grateful I’m not indulging in other more dangerous pastimes.”

  “How long have you been in need young alcoholic? And why do I feel like it’s safer for me to ignore the latter part of that diatribe?” She laughs over the sound of rustling sheets.

  “Ah, since about five seconds after I saw Pyro banging the Whore of Babylon’s brains out and half a second after I found out she’s knocked up with his kid,” I admit sarcastically. “Oh, and you’d be damned right about claiming ignorance to the latter seeing as plausible deniability is always handy on the off chance one of your friends is incarcerated.”

  “What in the ever-loving fuckery? Repeat that please, because I swear I just heard you say Pyro put his man meat in a rotten hot dog bun and created a parasite.”

  Well, that was disgusting and horrifyingly accurate now, wasn’t it?

  “As repulsive as that was, it is not an inaccurate representation of the extreme hideousness of yesterday afternoons events,” I mumble, shuddering a little.

  “Give me half an hour and I’m there,” Scarlet informs me. “Do we need to call in reinforcements for this little man-bashing, dick-hating gathering. Like say, your other bestie or will little old me suffice?” She questions.

  “No,” I refuse quickly. “Violet is in a bubble of happiness now that Talon’s home and I don’t want to rain on her parade. Not to mention, she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut when it comes to defending my honor, and as we both know, her old man happens to be the man meat owners best friend so that’s a no go.”

  “Good point. Got it. No friends easily swayed by sexual coercion. See you soon,” she retorts, hanging up on me before I can reply.

  Twenty-nine minutes later, I’m opening the door to Scarlet who is laden down with more bags than it takes to carry a bottle of mind-numbing agent and a few tubs of cholesterol. “Move woman, this shit’s heavy,” is all she says when she gets a look at my disheveled appearance.

  Truth be told, it wouldn’t have killed me to run a brush through my hair and change out of the ratty sweats I have on, but I didn’t see the point. My attire matches my emotional state which is pretty fucked up, so Que sera and all that shit.

  Looking me up and down while she unloads my goodies, Scarlet asks, “Where are Lila and the She-bitch?”

  “School obviously, and who knows or cares?” I return, rolling my bloodshot eyes at her.

  “Well, one good thing to come out of this clusterfuck is your ability to finally admit your incubator doesn’t deserve your care or concern.”

  With another eye roll, I snort, “I’ve always been able to admit that. It’s just now that I’ve found the lack of give a fuck to voice it.”

  “I’m proud of you young Padwan, just make sure that no fucks given attitude sticks.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter dejectedly.

  It’s not as if I like my mother, or incubator as Scarlet calls her. In all honesty, I don’t think I’ve ever liked her, not even as a young child. Up until now, I have play nice, however. Why, you ask? Because she’s a means to an end. As pathetic as it is, the truth is that if I don’t dance to her tune and give in where otherwise I would have told her to go fuck herself, my mother would be inclined to do something stupid, such as running off with Lila simply to punish me and that would be a fate worse than death as far as both Lila and I are concerned.

  There are many names for someone like my mother; junkie, alcoholic, user, abuser, neglectful, toxic, waste of oxygen, you can take your pick. The fact that she hasn’t changed since I was a baby and never will should upset me, but honestly there’s been so much water under the bridge when it comes to her that nothing she could do would surprise me anymore.

  Time and time again, chance after chance, even when the glaring reality of her situation thrust in her face, Carrie refuses to accept she’s the problem, not anyone else.

  I’ve heard all her excuses; I ruined her life, my father wouldn’t have left her if it weren’t for her falling pregnant with me, I destroyed her hopes and dreams. Every hateful word and insult I took onboard, and with them came and innate hatred for the woman who I was supposed to love and adore.

  In the beginning I rationalized the fact she was only so hateful and spiteful because she was drunk or high, but in time I’d learn that couldn’t be further from the truth. She meant it. Every single vicious word of it. In Carrie’s mind, I was the source of all her problems, including her addictions. I was the reason she couldn’t keep a man or fight the demons in her head long enough to get sober. I was the bane of her existence and the arrival of Lila only seemed to amplify her hatred of me.

  “Hey, snap out of it,” Scarlet clicks her fingers in front of my face. “Whatever darkly disturbing path you just took a road trip down is not worth the frown lines you’re gonna get at the end.”

  If only she knew.

  “I’m fine,” I say waving her off. “Now, gimme,” I say, gesturing to the tequila I intend to drink straight from the bottle. No point wasting a clean glass now is there?

  “Not before you tell me about that letter on the counter over yonder. If what I read while not snooping in the least is true, I think we’ve got a lot more to discuss than just dickheads and slutty whores, don’t you think?” She prompts with an arched brow.

  I shouldn’t be surprised given the fact Scarlet has fewer boundaries than anyone I’ve ever met, but I thought that maybe, just for today she would take pity on my poor anguished self. I guess not, though.

  “It’s nothing,” I lie soundly.

  “Uh-huh, and I’m a virgin. See how unconvincing that was? Try again. The truth this time missy and make it snappy.”

  Mumbling under my breath, I snatch up the letter and stuff it in the closest drawer. “I don’t know what to tell you,” I sigh. “It arrived yesterday in the middle of all the man-meat drama so I haven’t had time to process what it says yet, let alone give any thought to if it’s true.”

  “I’m not sure about you, but I highly doubt someone you’ve never met and don’t know from a bar of soap is capable of procuring a sample of your DNA and testing it against theirs. But even if they were, they’d have to have a damn good reason to do so, don’t you think?” she huffs in annoyance. “For what it’s worth, forget the fact it’s creepy as hell some stranger has your life’s essence for a second and look at the bigger picture. Whoever this Caspien Kidd is, there is no arguing the verified proof that he contributed to half your DNA. In my books, no matter how you want to slice it, that makes him your father, Soph.”

  I shake my head as I take a healthy swig of tequila, “Nope. Sperm donor maybe, but father he is not.”

  “Whatever you want to call him, Soph, he wants to meet you. He said as much in his letter. In between apologizing for not knowing about you sooner and promising to do it on your terms, the man seemed genuinely excited to find out he has a daughter.”

  “But why now? Why right when my life is so fucked up?” I question pitifully.

  Placing her hand on my shoulder, Scarlet shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe this is another one of Carrie’s attempts at fucking with your head. I mean, it’s possible. The bitch has done everything she can to screw with you after all. But Carrie’s head fuckery aside, the results don’t lie, babe. This Caspien guy is interested in having some sort of relationship with you if you’ll let him. If you want my two cents, which you probably don’t but you’re getting anyway, I’d give him a chance. Everyone needs someone in their corner, but no one more than you do, and if this pans out, by the sounds of it this guy could be just that.”

  With an exaggerated flourish of her hand, Scarlet changes the subject. Bless her. “Finding out
about absentee daddy aside, it’s time to get this man-hating party underway. You get the booze and I’ll get the snacks.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sophie

  “I can’t believe you got me drunk,” I slur at the blurry figure sitting across from me.

  “I did nothing of the sort,” Scarlet chuckles. “That was all you, babe. Or I should say, you and Jose over there,” she says, gesturing to what is now an empty bottle laying on its side.

  Hmm, she has a point. Not that I’ll ever admit as much. “Still, I blame you, though. If you hadn’t have bought it over, I wouldn’t have drunk it all and sent that stupid text on the first place.”

  “In the grand scheme of things, it could have been worse,” she muses. “You should be grateful you didn’t drunk text, Pyro because while that would have been amusing as fuck, you would have been way less impressed with yourself come morning.”

  I’m glad she thinks this is amusing because I sure as hell don’t. I mean, who allows one of their best friends to message the man who claims to be their long-lost dad while under the influence anyway? Someone with no sense of self-preservation, that’s who.

  “On the plus side, the guy replied. Three times at that,” she crows proudly.

  “Fuck you and your little dog too,” I mutter, wanting nothing more than to kick her ass. And if I didn’t think my stomach would revolt at the effort, I probably would too.

  “A, I don’t have a dog. And B, you’re welcome,” she chuckles. “Oh, and before I forget; Violet text you to tell you she’ll be bringing Lila back around eight. By my calculation that gives you about an hour to pull your shit together and hide the evidence if you don’t want her asking you any uncomfortable questions,” she warns.

  Dammit. God, I hate having to be an adult sometimes.

  I roll over and regret it instantly. “Thanks. But back to that other thing, what the hell do you suggest I do?”

  “Ah, answer the man,” she replies as if I’m a few cards short of a deck. “Get to know him a little over text and then see how you feel. If he gives off a creepy, serial killer type vibe, then don’t meet up with him. But if I’m right, and I usually am, then when you’re comfortable, set up a time and place to sit down with him and ask the burning questions I know you’ve got to have rattling around that thick head of yours.”