by Addison Jane
I stepped backward, moving toward the curb with a shrug. “Sorry, babe, my ride’s here.”
“Oh, right,” Cooper drawled, jostling his buddies with his elbow and chuckling under his breath. “You’re the biker girl.”
Pausing, I looked to Holly for a second. Her face was pinched, her eyes directed toward the ground letting me know she wouldn’t be stepping in to object anytime soon or have my back. She had a reputation to keep, but apparently, so did I.
“I’m the biker girl,” I repeated, rolling my eyes. “You must be the frat boy.”
“Holly said you’re shy. That’s the reason you never come to parties,” he continued, raising his voice even louder so not only could I hear over the rumble of Tyler’s ride, but so could anyone in the fucking parking lot. And they were all turning to take notice. “I find that hard to believe for a girl whoring herself out to criminals.”
A surprised laugh fell from my mouth before I could stop it.
You’d think those words would hurt, but they moved straight over me like water off a duck’s back. I didn’t have to be ashamed about my choices, and an asshole like Cooper wasn’t about to make me feel like I should be. I wasn’t hurting anyone, I wasn’t trying to be someone else, and I sure as hell wasn’t pretending like I had a halo hovering over my head—unlike someone else.
“Maybe you should come hang out sometime,” he offered, stepping forward with his arms out like he was welcoming me. “You wanna be a whore, that’s cool. We’ve never had one, but I don’t think the boys would object to permanent pussy in the house.”
The fucking balls on this kid.
I’d dealt with alpha males every day at the clubhouse, and this wasn’t it.
This was entitled rich boy.
And that shit didn’t fly.
“I like to fuck men,” I informed him equally as loud as he had spoken, enjoying the gasps that followed. My gaze wandered to the crotch of his expensive khakis before returning to his face with a sweet grin. “You ever become one, call me!”
The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. Poor pretty boy ready to lose his shit at me, but desperately trying to keep from looking like he was affected when I basically called him a little bitch.
The motorcycle shut off behind me. “Avery,” Tyler growled. “Get on.”
Cooper didn’t miss a beat.
“Go on. Be a good little bitch and do what you’re told,” he mocked.
His friends cracking with laughter finally, offering high fives.
Fist clenched, I got two steps toward the shithead, ready to drive my knee into his baby maker, so he couldn’t reproduce before Tyler hooked me around the waist and tugged me back against his chest. It forced the air out of my lungs for a second, and I made a mental note to ask the girls at the clubhouse when the hell Tyler had grown into his muscles.
“Listen, shit for brains,” Ty threatened over my shoulder, the smug little group of bastards suddenly standing incredibly still, their eyes growing wider. “You call her a bitch again… I’m gonna go to your mom’s house and make her my bitch. Then you can call me fucking daddy.”
“Come on,” Holly urged, finally stepping in and pressing her hands to Cooper’s chest. His glare was dark and narrowed, right on me. Instead of stroking his ego, I’d effectively strangled it in front of his buddies and a handful of students who had stuck around the parking lot to witness the drama. “I’ll see you later, Ave.”
“Su—”
“Don’t count on it. You’ve been told once, Holly,” Ty snapped, slowly releasing me in case I made another run for it. Holly seemed to sink away, sliding herself into the group of boys as a disguise as they shuffled slowly away. “Come on.”
I let Tyler pull me back to the curb, where his ride was still waiting for us. “What did you mean about her being told once?” I questioned, the heightened fuzz around my brain starting to seep away and the reality sinking in. Tyler threw his leg over the motorcycle, bracing his hands on the handlebars as he waited for me to climb on behind him. “Ty.”
He scrunched up his nose, which would be cute had he not had this heavy frown to go with it. “Holly hasn’t been around in a while because Shotgun told her not to come back until she sorted her shit out.”
“He what?” I balked.
“Don’t be that friend who ignores what’s going on, Avery,” Tyler warned, the sternness of his features finally softening. I looked back at where she had disappeared with the group of assholes, trying to remind myself why Holly and I were still friends.
We weren’t alike.
Though, at some point, I’d thought we were.
Yeah, the point when you were at your darkest.
The club helped me get better.
But what if while I was pulling myself out, I just left her there.
She was there when you needed someone.
She’s never judged you.
“Come on,” Tyler encouraged softly and pulled at my shirt.
I spun around, forcing a smile and pulling my backpack a little tighter over my shoulders. Placing my hand on Tyler’s shoulder, I used him to support my body as I threw my leg over the back of his ride, ignoring that feeling of dread in my stomach. “Let’s go home.”
SHOTGUN
“How is she?”
I didn’t even bother to look up from the drink in my hand as Glitch took the seat beside me. Amy, one of the club girls, was quick to scoot around the bar and slide him a drink. This man had been like a father to me for years. He’d stepped in and taken the place of a man who I hated with my entire being.
“Doing fucking amazing, as expected,” I grumbled, looking down at the glass of water in my hand.
Glitch chuckled at the slump in my shoulders, slamming his palm against my back. “Well, we did raise her to be that way. We just all thought for some reason, she’d still need us for something. Possibly changing a light bulb occasionally?”
I couldn’t help but grin as I thought about my little sister.
I’d come to Colorado for a couple of days to surprise her for her birthday. It was something I never missed, and the club had a cookout planned for her tonight, so it really wasn’t that much of a surprise to her finding me waiting outside her house last night when she got home from work.
She’d had an unexpected delivery.
Scarlet had always loved kids, so when she became a midwife, I knew that was where she was meant to be. The natural urge she had to nurture others was something I’d never experienced in another human being before. It was as simple as breathing for her, as though her soul was undoubtedly made to love—and love something fierce. I was glad she’d turned out that way because with our parents’ genes—addicts and abusers—I was scared of which way she could go.
Scarlet was strong.
The girl had more balls than a lot of the men here.
And it wasn’t often she was afraid to show them.
It was the only reason I decided to take the president’s placement down in Phoenix because I knew my little sister could take care of herself, and if there was some time she couldn’t, that the club was right there to step in for her.
“Slate’s been hanging out to see you,” Glitch announced, throwing back the drink Amy had made him before sliding the glass back across the bar and getting to his feet. Slate had been my best friend since we were fucking ten years old, the two of us practically inseparable. He didn’t grow up in the club like I did, but he fell in love with the brotherhood after spending so much time with me at the clubhouse.
Much to his strictly Christian parents’ disgust.
All they saw were criminals and a life that led to only one place—hell.
So he had to make that choice—keep them in his life and stay away from the club and me or take his chances with the devil.
“He moved into your pop’s place.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
The house Scarlet and I grew up in was a couple of streets away. The club owned several prope
rties on the surrounding blocks. Far enough that club members could have their own places if they wanted them or if they were raising families, but close enough they could be called in within minutes. Scarlet could have stayed in that place if she’d wanted to, for as long as she liked, but as far as either of us were concerned, it was better off burned to the ground.
And all the memories with it.
Glitch nodded.
“Why?”
“Plans on doing it up, making it new.”
I raised my brow. “Jesus, you aren’t working the bastard hard enough if he has time to do that shit.”
Glitch chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s a business plan he’s putting to the club, taking old places and doing them up. Selling them for profit. We won’t sell the place, but it will give us an idea of numbers, money, and how much we can move between places.”
I couldn’t help but smirk.
Flipping houses was a good plan. It would bring in a small amount of extra income, but the biggest bonus would be the money they could hide inside the investments and projects.
“He home?”
Glitch nodded. “Should be. We’ve got church in an hour. And the old ladies are about to start setting up for Scarlet’s party.”
I was already heading for the exit. “I’ll run and see him, and we’ll be back for church.”
I jogged out to my ride—my old baby that I’d left behind for when I came back to visit. Climbing on was like the definition of coming home. I’d had this motorcycle since I got fucking patched—a present from Glitch and his old lady which also doubled as a welcome home present after the two years I did in lockup.
My stomach twisted as I pulled into the driveway of my old home, next to Slate’s ride.
The place I grew up, in more ways than one.
“Get me another drink, Marcus!”
Gritting my teeth, I looked up from where I had my homework spread out across the living room floor. “Get it yourself, old man,” I hissed back, the grip on my pencil tightening to the point I thought it might snap.
Dad didn’t even bother to look over at me. Instead, just clambering awkwardly out of his chair and stumbling toward the kitchen. “Useless child,” he grumbled, bracing himself against the archway for a moment before taking those last few steps to the refrigerator. I couldn’t see him any longer, but I could hear the fridge door being yanked open so hard it slammed back against the wall, followed by the rattle of bottles as he pulled out beer number fourteen.
Yes, I’d been counting.
My brain calculating just how many beers he’d downed and the cost of each one when the bastard couldn’t even spring for a loaf of bread or a bottle of milk most days so Scarlet and I could eat. Thankfully, now we were older, Glitch had invited us to eat at the clubhouse whenever we needed to, knowing we could at least get three meals a day there.
That was all he could do.
Dad was a bastard, but the club had rules about stepping into what they called family matters.
Glitch did what he could to help without stepping on toes, but it wasn’t up to him to dictate how a man ran his household.
“Marcus, can you help me wi—”
THUMP.
SMASH.
I was on my feet already, heading for the kitchen.
“You stupid fucking little bitch!”
Jerking to a stop at the opening between the kitchen and the living room, I barely managed to avoid the scattered glass strewn across the tiles. It was everywhere, beer too, bubbling and fizzing.
“I didn’t mean to!” Scarlet sobbed softly, rubbing at the back of her head while tears streaked down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. “I’m sorry!” My father’s hand reared back, and like I was pretty sure he’d already done, he collected the back of her head with his open palm before I could stop him.
“You gonna pay for that?” he spat from behind her.
“Hey!” I roared, this time, not giving a shit about the tiny pieces of glass as they stabbed at my feet and the shooting pain I knew was about to come. I embraced the adrenaline, balling my fingers into a fist and drawing it back before using my body’s momentum to help drive it through my father’s face.
I caught him right in the mouth.
His teeth shifting but also tearing at my hand before it bounced back at me.
His body spun, his weathered hands grabbing at the kitchen counter to try and stay on his feet. I braced myself, waiting for the fury and anger to fill the room like a rising water level, wondering for a second whether I should grab Scarlet and run, but his rattling, deep laughter caught me off guard.
“For someone who was born out of a drunk and a meth whore, you think you’re pretty fucking special, don’t you?” he hissed, his body slumped as he turned, smearing at the blood dripping from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, good fucking luck with that because when your genes finally kick in, and your body recognizes those uncontrollable cravings that are in your blood, you won’t be the hero then. You’ll be just like me.”
My body moved before I had the chance to stop it.
Only proving his fucking point.
“Marcus! Stop! He’s baiting you!”
Scarlet’s words were a blur.
I leaped forward, grabbing his shirt in one hand and pressing my arm tight against his throat, my fifteen-year-old body already stronger than his frail form. But he had been drinking himself into an early grave since I could remember. “I’m not you. I would rather douse myself in gasoline and burn your fucking genes out of me before I became anything like you.”
The thought made my stomach churn.
Was I reckless? Sometimes.
Hot-headed? Maybe.
Did that mean I couldn’t control my actions? Did that mean I couldn’t turn down temptation?
My grandfather was an asshole. An alcoholic who beat on his wife and kids. My father used that as an excuse to do the same. And now that the pieces were falling into place, I wanted to be fucking sick.
I wouldn’t turn out like them.
I couldn’t.
“We share the same fucking blood,” he taunted, red fluid smeared across his toothy grin. “The same goddamn DNA, and that shit is inside you. You can’t run from it. You can’t hide from it. And one day, it will burn so deep in your veins that you will have to give in.”
I took a step back, releasing the old bastard who almost fell to his knees, clutching at his chest for breath.
“Get the fuck out of my face,” I growled, sneering at him, unable to pull back, still fighting the urge to beat his face in.
“And then one day, you’ll pass it on to your kids,” he continued to taunt even as I helped Scarlet pack up her things. “And they’ll hate you, too, for passing on these traits that we are so fucking unable to fight. Just like you hate me! Just like I hate my father!”
I hooked my arm around Scarlet and led her away, my shoulders tight.
“He’s not like you, you know,” Scarlet whispered as we took one slow step at a time. “You’re not going to be anything like him.”
“I know.”
I was going to make damn sure of it.
There was a little hatchback thing parked out at the curb, letting me know exactly what the fuck he was doing, and why he wasn’t at the clubhouse welcoming his best fucking friend home. He always said he had my back, but he’d have it right after he got his dick wet.
It was no fucking lie.
I had to still love the bastard, though.
He’d been there through the hard shit, and now I was about to attempt to do the same.
I didn’t bother knocking, pushing open the door and strolling straight down the hall, knowing if the rumble of my Harley hadn’t alerted him to my presence, my heavy footsteps would be about to wake his shit up. I grabbed the banister at the bottom of the stairs and cupped one hand around my mouth. “Where’s my welcome home, you horny motherfucker!”
Silence.
“That bastard—”
“Oh my god, who’s that?”
A series of thumping and whispers had me grinning. “Keep your panties on, pansy! I’ll be down when I’m done,” he called back, but by the sound of the high-pitched objections, his lady friend wasn’t in agreement.
“Fine!” he hissed.
Chuckling softly, I walked into the kitchen, yanking the fridge door open and reaching for a beer I knew he’d have fully stocked—that familiarity a little too close to home. The light footsteps came first, and I couldn’t help but peek my head out. Though my amusement at the predicament instantly dropped when I saw the girl rush by in a fucking school uniform.
The front door slammed closed as my brother stumbled down the stairs, shirtless, hair sticking up all over the place, and wiping lipstick off his jaw.
“You’re fucking kidding, right?” I snapped and shoved him in the shoulder as he slipped by me into the kitchen.
“Welcome home!” He beamed, his movements following precisely what I’d just done. Fridge, then beer, before he turned with a wide grin, holding his arms out wide. “Good to see you, ya fucking bastard. Though, I think you’ve forgotten that rule we had about me getting my cock wet before everything else. ’Cause we hadn’t quite got to that part yet,” he mused, popping the cap of his bottle on the counter.
“Sorry I interrupted your underage fuck fest.”
He snorted, throwing back half the beer before he answered, “She’s eighteen.”
“You could be her fucking father.”
“I was going more for daddy.” He chuckled before pausing and looking over at me, seeing the clearly unimpressed look on my face.
I didn’t fuck with teenage girls. Ever. Of age or not. Teen girls should be dating teen boys, not motherfuckers like Slate or me, who had more problems than they were even aware existed.
Slate rolled his eyes and let out a short, airy laugh. “Look, she’s Amy’s daughter. She was having some fucking issues with a guy at school. She asked me to help her sort him out, so he’d leave her alone. And that…” he pointed upstairs, “… was meant to be my thanks.”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll write you a nice card or something.” I deadpanned. “Maybe her teacher will help her put something together in arts and craft time. Sorry, our thank-you fuck didn’t work out. Here’s a pretty flower I drew all by myse—”
