by Nicole Reed
“You good? I need to run in and see if Hound’s around,” Badger asked, removing his helmet and nodding toward the clubhouse.
“Yeah. I’ve gotta get back. I need to check on some things,” she said, digging through her purse for her keys.
“Hold?” he asked, his voice sounding like he wasn’t too enthralled with the idea.
Shyla glanced up to see Badger moving to stand before her. His massive frame dwarfed hers, blocking the sun and leaving her in his lightless shadow.
“No,” she answered, wanting to look away from his disapproving glare. The thought did occur to her to at least check in on him—even after his hurtful demand this morning.
“What game you playin’, girl? These boys been through enough shit. They don’t need anyone else messin’ with their heads,” Badger said, leaning down to crowd her space even more.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, knowing exactly what he meant. Shyla nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not trying to play any games, Badger. Hold’s not looking to get involved with me.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Everyone knows whose bike your ass hopped on last night. Hold’s eyes ate you up and swallowed you down. Then you told me earlier Mikey dropped you off at your apartment this morning. You’re not some sheep they’re dippin’ their dicks in. They’re brothers. And it’s fucked-up.” He shook his head, giving her a hard look of disgust.
“You’ve no idea,” she muttered quietly under her breath. Her heart beat like the expeditious wings of a hummingbird. What did he mean, by the way Hold looked at her?
Since the moment Mikey dropped Shyla off this morning, she’d questioned her own sanity. These intense feelings she’d developed entirely too fast for Hold scared the bejesus out of her. They dominated Shyla’s thoughts. It was physically hurtful to know he obviously didn’t feel the same way. And she felt bad about Mikey, but she never led him on. She wasn’t into emotional three-ways.
Badger tightly wrapped his fingers around the fleshy part of her upper arm, jerking her body to collide against his. “Not to mention the hell you put your Aunt Diamond through last night, worrying ‘bout you. You don’t know the landmine you just stepped on. There’s no way out and no easy way in this life.”
“What does that mean?” she asked in a whispered voice. The impact of his words, the thinly disguised warning, stole her very breath. Shyla searched his dark eyes for answers.
“It means you’re up shit creek without a paddle.” He released his grip and she stumbled backward. Regret marred the grooves of wrinkles in his bearded face.
Shyla watched him stalk away without another word. Her already crowded mind expanded once again, allowing Badger’s warning to dominate her every thought. There was so much she was missing. Nothing made sense and all common rationality had fled. Every single emotion she felt was magnified by the fear quickening the blood flowing through her veins.
The short walk to her Ford Focus saw that it was in the same place. She glanced back to see if Badger had returned to his bike, but only noticed several men loitering around the outside of Dawson’s Garage. At the sound of an over-revved engine, Shyla looked up in time to see a little red sports car careening straight for her. The screech of brakes woke her from her reverie, and her butt collided painfully against her car.
Carrie shot out of her convertible like a cannon. Her brunette locks flew angrily behind her. Shyla saw that her eyes appeared red and swollen. She readied herself for the onslaught she knew was coming. The hurt morphing into a quiet rage silently filled her and Shyla was glad to finally have someone to direct it toward.
“You bitch! Hold’s mine!” Carrie screamed, pointing her index finger directly in Shyla’s face.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought it was his daddy’s dick in your mouth last night? My mistake,” Shyla sarcastically stated. Her eyes narrowed at the slut before her. Shyla watched Carrie’s once beautiful features scrunch together in hatred. How did she ever think this girl was pretty? There’s no way in hell she was backing down from this cold-hearted bitch.
“You don’t know shit! The MC is my life, not yours. Stay the fuck away from him or I’ll kill you!” Carrie yelled, her face twisting into an ugly mask.
Carrie pounced, knocking Shyla down on top of the hood of her car. A whoosh of air escaped her lungs at the harsh contact and she felt a stinging pain at the scrape of Carrie’s fingernails digging into her skin, gouging the flesh of her neck. The bloodcurdling scream was the only warning Shyla gave before attacking this crazy-ass slut. Shyla yanked a fistful of hair with one hand then swung her other fist, connecting with Carrie’s face.
“You stupid slutbag. How could you?” Shyla screamed, an uncontrollable fury engulfing her. “You whore!”
Shyla didn’t waste any time, leaning up to push Carrie off of her. She threw her body against Carrie’s, the force carrying them both to the ground. Luckily, Carrie’s backside took the brunt of the fall against the cement. Shyla’s open palm repeatedly slapped Carrie’s cheek. Each contact made a loud cracking sound that fed the rage inside of her—a release of such blackened emotion was a scary natural high, yet overwhelmingly alien to Shyla. Caught in the frenzy of bloodlust, she scored her own nails down Carrie’s skin.
One second she was beating the ever-loving shit out of the woman who’d hurt Hold and the next Shyla was flying backward through the air. A heavy arm had wrapped itself around her waist, jerking her body upward and off of the vile slut.
“Let me go, dammit it! How could you do that to Hold?” Shyla yelled at Carrie, fighting her captor to return to clawing her face.
However, Carrie didn’t spare one glance for Shyla. Her eyes were drawn to the woman who now loomed over Carrie as she cowered on the ground.
“Sage, he made me,” Carrie begged, her demeanor changing when faced with the head old lady. Fear now showed plainly across her face and her arms lifted in terrified surrender. “I’m not a Hell’s old lady yet. I have to do what he tells me.”
Shyla calmed except for the air she fought for to refill her lungs. The arm stayed locked around her waist, holding her in place. She didn’t dare turn to see who it was attached to, not wanting to miss a second of the unfolding drama.
“You stupid little cunt. Did you really think after this shit you’d ever be my son’s old lady? I thought you were smarter than that—a wolf among sheep. That’s what these men need. What they’re lookin’ for in a Hell’s old lady—not some fuckin’ whore whose belly is full of club cum,” Sage said, her voice barely audible, but the lethal tone unmistakable to anyone listening.
Sage reared her arm and backhanded Carrie across the face. A high-pitched whimper was the only sound Carrie made. She smartly didn’t attempt to strike Sage back. Blood welled from the corner of her mouth, joining the red drops left from Shyla’s attack, mingling with the tears sliding down her cheeks. Shyla had firsthand knowledge of Carrie’s temper, but Carrie didn’t attempt any retaliation toward Sage. It was obvious she was scared to death.
“That was my dick you sucked. Did you honestly think I was goin’ to sit back and do nothin’?” Sage calmly asked, rearing her foot back and planting it in Carrie’s rib cage. “I’m not a fuckin’ idiot. I know the game, but I damn well don’t take to lettin’ the bitches who get my husband off think I sit around and do jackshit about it.”
The next several seconds blurred when Sage leaped onto Carrie and started whaling on her. Carrie tried to fight back, but the older woman knew what she was doing, each hit and kick targeted just right for maximum effect. Shyla was transfixed by the sight. The younger woman’s screams filled the muggy air and she almost felt sorry for Carrie. Almost.
“Fun’s over! Someone get Sage off the girl!” Ward yelled, his voice booming all the way from the garage.
Shyla couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The man actually seemed to be enjoying the sight of his wife beating his whore. Ward laughed and clapped one of his men on the shoulder who stood next to hi
m. The arm that held Shyla captive released her. She turned to investigate who it belonged to and was terrified to see the lunatic Aunt D had repeatedly warned her to keep far away from, Sandman. He winked as he stepped around Shyla to reach for Sage, this time pulling the old lady off of Carrie.
“Get your goddamn hands off me!” Sage yelled, stumbling away while trying to straighten her hair.
Sandman went over to an injured Carrie. The younger woman wept loudly on the cement, her face bloody and already swelling from the injuries both Shyla and Sage inflicted. Shyla felt ashamed at what transpired. She didn’t feel victorious in the least, but more horrified at her own actions.
“Don’t help that bitch up,” Sage calmly commanded, sneering at Sandman. She squeezed her fist open and shut, out in front of her. “I’d better not have fuckin’ broke my hand, Carrie. Don’t let me catch your ass ‘round here for a while.”
This time Sage turned toward Shyla. The unholy gleam in her eyes said more than words ever could. Shyla could tell this was not a solitary incident: this was Sage’s life. It’d worn her down to the woman she’d become. Knowing this didn’t change Shyla’s perception in the least—Sage was batshit fucking crazy.
“Let’s get you cleaned up. Follow me,” Sage said, turning to march back to the garage.
Shyla didn’t want to go anywhere with Sage. Common sense told her it wasn’t a good idea. She’d been wanting into this family, but now she wasn’t sure what she wanted.
“Go, little kitten,” Sandman said, leaning down to whisper into her ear. He pressed the front of his body closely against the back of hers. Shyla could feel how much he’d enjoyed seeing the women fight.
It was no surprise he was the enforcer for the Hell’s Highwaymen. If his murderous looks didn’t give you warning enough that he’s the badass he thinks he is, then the venomous tone of his gruff voice would. Shyla knew who was the lesser of two evils and followed Sage.
She watched Sage casually stroll by her husband, not sparing him a glance. With her shoulders held back and her head held high, she was the epitome of an MC’s head old lady. How much had this life shaped her, demanded her to be the villain when Shyla could tell she loved Ward and Hold more than anything? The short time Shyla had known her had proven that. It wasn’t pride that pushed Sage over the edge with Carrie, but love—a sick, toxic version of the emotion driving many to do fucked-up things.
“Sandman, bring me the first-aid kit!” Sage yelled back, opening the door to her office.
Shyla followed her in. The maven of the family she ate lunch with returned, and the crazy lady who’d just beat down a girl outside disappeared. Did everyone in this family wear a mask, switching them on and off faster than Shyla could blink? It gave new meaning to the term split personalities.
“I’m okay. Really,” Shyla said, sitting down on the chair opposite Sage’s desk. The scratches on her neck burned like a bitch, but she’d keep that to herself for now.
Sage’s office was neat, nothing out of place. She’d decorated the dull interior with green plants and pictures of Hold and Ward. One in particular showed a young teenaged Hold and his father on their bikes. Even back then they both scowled at each other. The intense rivalry that existed today must’ve been in existence for years.
“Well, it doesn’t look okay, baby girl. Those wounds are pretty deep. We need to get them cleaned out,” Sage said, opening a small fridge. She pulled out an icepack and covered her own hand. “No tellin’ what that little bitch had under her nails.”
Shyla’s fingers hovered over the painfully torn skin. She glanced down to notice blood dripping down the front of her button-up blouse. An hour ago it had been crisp and white, and now it was stained and ripped open, revealing her belly. Dirt coated most of the cotton material. One side of her jeans had been torn from waist to hip.
“Fuckin’ weak women. I thought that Carrie would be the one to straighten Hold out, give him somethin’ to look forward to, and me grandbabies. She knew the life. Wanted it, unlike Hels. I knew she kept her legs closed to everyone but him. It never dawned on me that Ward would push that boundary. Goddamn him,” she said, her voice breaking at the end.
“How?” Shyla asked, glancing up to see Sage staring back. “How can you live with the knowledge of what Ward does? That it’s fine for him to cheat?” She wanted to ask how he could do that to his own son, but couldn’t voice the question to the other woman.
Sage laughed out loud, the stark sound sending chills down Shyla’s spine.
“Does this look fine to you, sugar?” she asked, opening her arms to reveal herself to Shyla. “Just because you accept the truth doesn’t mean you let it walk all over your pretty little face. Carrie called hell and I answered. I was pissed about Ward, but I was hurt over what she did to Holden. And woman to woman, a pissed old lady may kill a club ho who oversteps with her old man, but a mother hurtin’ for her son will torture the bitch first and enjoy every second until she takes her last breath.”
Shyla said nothing, knowing Sage meant every single word. She undoubtedly would’ve finished Carrie off if Sandman hadn’t been ordered to pull her back. The assurance was in Sage’s speech and body language. Aunt D had warned her about Sage. Shyla now knew firsthand why.
“I’ve a question for you. Rumor has it that you left with my son last night. I also happened to have overheard you defending Hold to Carrie. Somethin’ I should know?” Sage asked, sitting down on the desk in front of her.
Sandman peeked his head in and handed Sage the first-aid kit. He didn’t leave, but parked himself in the corner, hulking over the small office. Was he standing guard in case Carrie came back or because of something Sage might do? Whatever it was saved her from immediately answering Sage’s question, one that Shyla knew couldn’t be easily answered.
“We’re only friends. I didn’t think he should be alone—not with what he had to confront last…” Shyla stopped, unable to verbalize to Sage what she’d personally witnessed between Ward and Carrie last night.
Whatever Shyla was going to say gave Sage pause from digging through the first-aid kit, her head swinging to look at Shyla. The insane look that she’d displayed earlier had left her eyes, those same hauntingly blue orbs so like her son’s, pain shading them the way they do Hold’s when he’s caught unaware. It caused Shyla to once again feel deeply for Sage and this life that wouldn’t ever be easy for her. Did she choose it or did it choose her?
“Where the fuck is she?” Hold asked, barging through the door.
Shyla didn’t know if he was talking about Sage or Carrie but at the first sight of Shyla, he rushed to her side, gathering her up to him so he could cradle her body with his. He gently patted the small of her back. It almost felt like he was reassuring himself that she was okay. Like he deeply cared. Hold’s lips kissed her forehead, warming her skin from his touch. Her body became entirely too responsive to his.
“Fuck! Badger called me as soon as he heard what was goin’ down. That crazy-ass bitch will pay for hurtin’ you,” Hold whispered against her hair. “I promise.”
She could feel the tension like a constant hum underneath his skin and his uneven breathing parted her bangs. Shyla was too surprised by his actions to say anything, much less do something other than remain in his arms with her eyes tightly shut. Tears beat at the back of her eyelids and the adrenaline that had driven her earlier finally ebbed. It left her with only regrets and a terrible migraine.
“You okay?” he quietly asked over the top of her head to Sage.
“Yeah. Though I might’ve broke my hand across that bitch’s face, but you know me. Give a lickin’ and keep on tickin’,” Sage bitterly replied. “I need to clean your girl’s wounds if you can let her go for a sec.”
Hold nodded his head, but didn’t let her go. Shyla felt his muscles contract beneath his skin and a powerful tremor racked her body. He didn’t dispute Sage’s words. Something in the way he held her, comforting her with every stroke of his hand, felt different than bef
ore. Shyla slid her fingers underneath his cut and around his shirted waist. She hungered to touch his bare skin, the need growing with every second they stood attached.
Shyla looked up to meet his face staring down at her. Their eyes connected and locked, so many unsaid words passing between them. Her chest rose and fell in time with his. What was he thinking? And please God let it be about her, she prayed. Even in this much physical pain, Shyla had never wanted anyone in her entire life as much as she wanted Hold Dawson.
The door flew open and in rushed Mikey, gangbuster style. He came to a sudden halt when he noticed Shyla standing within Hold’s arms. This morning was still fresh in all of their minds. Nothing had resolved itself in the hours that ticked slowly by, so she tried to step back out of Hold’s embrace, but he wouldn’t let her, holding her even closer. Her heart fluttered in her chest.
“Motherfucker! I’m always late to the party when it comes to you, Shyla,” Mikey said, placing his hands on his hips. A bittersweet smile seemed to barely tilt the corners of his mouth.
Sandman snickered from the corner, alerting everyone to his presence. Shyla felt Hold’s hands release her and she glanced up to see him seething at Sandman.
“Did you start this shit? You fuckin’ called Carrie when Shyla got here, didn’t you, ya ugly bastard?” Hold asked as his hand lifted the edge of his t-shirt up to reveal his gun tucked in the front of his jeans. “What? You afraid to make a goddamn move without the old man’s say so?”
“Pull that gun, pussy. We’ll see who walks out of here,” Sandman said, goading Hold. His eyes went from Hold’s to Shyla’s. “When you’re done fucking with boys, little kitten, come see a real man.” He grasped his crotch and squeezed it while licking his lips.
