Second Chance: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Kathryn Thomas

This girl is relentless, though. She chases me down as I walk away from her towards a few of the guys I recognize as the match officials. “You haven’t heard, right? You look like you don’t know.”

  “Know what?” I growl as I spin back at her. I don’t fuck around. You tell me what you want to tell me or you get the hell out of my way. Playing these games is just a bullshit waste of time that women do to get me by their side.

  She cowers slightly and then fixes herself again. Her hands shift her dress neckline and smooth out the wrinkles. After a deep breath, she says, “They’re postponing it. Sounds like Vance is tied up at some business deal and can’t be here for a while. All the girls are going out to work the bar at Red’s truck. You wanna go get a drink or something?”

  As soon as she explains what the hell is going on, a mass exodus towards the bikes and trucks happens. Everyone’s heading towards the free booze the clubs bring along to make this show worth the effort of attending. I mutter a “Thanks” to her under my breath and head towards the line of trucks opening up their beds to set up. The girls position themselves at the front with loads of red cups and beers in hand.

  I don’t wait long before one of them approaches me. Daisy—I think it’s her name. She’s got a flower tattoo along her hips where she’s tucked a few sweating beers. “You want a drink, Bear? I’ll serve ya first since you’re getting in the ring soon.”

  With a nod, I reach down towards her hips, my hands circling around her tiny waist before pulling out one of the brown bottles from her belt.

  “Thanks, girl,” I say as I tip the beer towards her. She yanks out a bottle opener from her unbuttoned top and hands it to me. As I turn to crack the bottle open, I spot her. She’s even more killer than she was on the hill with that Barbie look on her. Her long, lean legs march in thick, black boots towards me, her smile cocked and loaded. I hand the beer back to Daisy and stride over to her.

  We pause before each other, both taking a spot at the imaginary line that somewhat separates our clubs from mingling.

  “I could use a drink, girl,” I say as I clear my throat. My low, rumbling voice must have taken her off guard because she takes a few, tiny steps backward on her heels. I’m pretty used to that reaction with women and pussy boys. They see this man about six-foot-four with muscles and tattoos running up his body and still think that I’m going to be this teddy bear of a guy. But I’m not. I’m exactly what you get from the outside looking in and in reverse.

  The blonde mumbles a bit, but I make out her asking, “What’s your poison?”

  “Whiskey. Beer. Bourbon. I don’t care. I’m thirsty.” She nods twice and then walks back towards where the other girls are tending to their Filthy Bastard clients. When she returns, she’s got three bottles in her hand—Jim Beam, Jack, and Bud. She holds each one up for me to choose, but I’m more interested in those perky tits she’s practically laying out on a platter for me. I can feel myself get hotter despite not having a shirt on.

  “I’ll take the Jim Beam, lady,” I say as I reach over to her side of the overpass for the long, golden-colored bottle. She places the beer down and drinks straight from the Jack. Impressive. It’s not often you see a girl willing to get a little loose around the enemy.

  When she’s finished, she carefully dots the drips of liquid from her lips, careful to avoid the lipstick, and says, “I’m not a ‘lady’ pal. My name is Sunny, Sunny Carter.”

  “And I’m certainly not your pal.”

  “No, I guess not, all things considered. You’re Bear.”

  “Yeah.” I laugh. “They do call me that.”

  “Is it your real name or some biker name you got?”

  “It’s my real name now,” I shoot back. I hate it when girls try to sneak in the personal questions. Shouldn’t she know by now that this is not how it works? Still, I’ve gotta ask her.

  “Is Sunny your real name?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately.” She makes a face that looks as if she’s bitten into a lemon—pouty lips and all. “My momma was a little optimistic giving it to me.”

  “Well, Sunny, how long have you been with the Filthy Bastards? I’ve never seen you around these fights before.”

  She shifts her weight from side to side as she looks away at the group of girls staring at her like she’s about to melt or something. “Uh, it’s been a couple of years now. They took me in when I was a teen and old enough to get out of my house. But I’ve been around. It’s a rule that we go to these things.”

  I can sense the hesitation in her voice, and I want to know more. “‘These things?’ What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re not a fan of the fighting?”

  “The blood. I’m not good around blood.” She looks down at her feet as if she’s ruined herself to me.

  But instead, I laugh. “What the fuck are you doing around here then? Are you crazy!”

  “Probably… aren’t we all?”

  “Fuck if I’ve been sane in years,” I reply, still chuckling to myself. I can’t remember the last time a girl made me laugh, or when I’ve given her a chance to even talk to me like this.

  Sunny drinks again, this time locking eyes with me as she swills one back. I reach over, grabbing her by the wrist. In an instant, I can feel a hundred eyes turn to me. I’ve broken that seal, that line, that unspoken truce to not touch another club’s girl. But I couldn’t care less.

  “Whoa there, girl,” I say as I take the bottle away from her. “I like to have a good time myself, but don’t get yourself messed up over me.”

  “Why not?” she asks as her darkened eyelashes bat like moth wings. “Isn’t that what we’re all here for? To have a good time?”

  She takes a step towards me but stumbles slightly. I’ve still got my grip on her arm, enough to make sure she balances straight back up. When she lifts herself higher up on her heels, her cheeks are as bright as a red moon on a warm day.

  “Watch yourself. This ain’t the place to be fal—”

  “My man!” Some asshole slaps me on the back so hard I can hear the crack of his hand hit my skin. I turn around to find Vance behind me—a beer already in his hand. He throws it to me, taking away my drink in the process as he says, “You need to be in your best shape. No hard shit.”

  “Yeah, I know how to do this. I got more wins than any of the other Wilderkind boys.”

  “That’s why I asked you to do this.” Vance eyes Sunny over my shoulder. He doesn’t break his glare on her as he says, “We’ve got some business to do before we get this fight started. Let me bring you over, so you’re not walking into the lion’s den alone.”

  He heads back towards the meeting spot; the place where I was originally waiting for the fight to begin. It gives me just enough time to turn to Sunny and say, “You take care of yourself, girl. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  “Is that an order?” she asks with a grin that could stop a train.

  I give her a quick wink. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

  The boys have already gathered and are in deep in conversation when I butt in. Crazy-ass Killer is already ranting over the terms. “Fuck that shit, man! I ain’t giving up the north corner of Vine. That’s our land!”

  “You shook on it already, boss,” Vance corrects him, all the while keeping his cool. “This is what happens when you mess with our territory. Now we gotta fight it out… unless you’re too chicken to send your boy in against my Bear.” He pats my back again. I fucking hate when he does that.

  “The Filthy Bastards aren’t scared! I can take this punk down in a few blows!” The Filthy Bastards fighter is almost frothing at the teeth. Good. My old boxing teacher told me that the easiest ones to take down were the guys who showboat before the match or put on too much emotion. It’s the cold, steely guys you’ve got to look out for. This was getting better and better for me.

  “What do you want if you win, DJ?” Killer asks his man.

  “Five hundred from the pot. And a bottle of the good shit. Not this bottom shelf crap the girls a
re serving up.” He spits on the ground.

  Vance turns to me and asks the same question. “And you, Bear? What do you want if you win?”

  My plan was to go in asking for the same as the Filthy Bastards fighter. Money was always a motivator, but tonight felt different. I am going to have fun with this—I can tell by the way that pussy bounces around on his toes and pounds his chest like a cartoon gorilla. I might as well make it interesting for myself too.

  I look over towards the Filthy Bastards’ area where I spot her again. She’s unmissable now. Sunny’s like a siren in the ocean calling to me and only me… and fuck if that wasn’t just the hottest thing. I know what I want tonight.

  “I want her,” I say as I point in her direction. “I want Sunny. Twenty-four hours to do what I want with her. I’ll give her back in one piece.”

  The small group grows quiet; the kind of quiet that spreads quickly. The whispers of people repeating my request to their neighbor, however, could drown out the music and the sound of the cars passing by above our heads.

  When it gets around to Sunny, she doesn’t stop or look away. She doesn’t even do that blushing thing when the men begin to catcall. She fucking smiles like this was her plan all along.

  Killer reaches out his hand to me, and we shake on it. It’s a done deal. Cobra walks over and lets Sunny know what is at stake for her. She doesn’t turn to look back at me, but I can see her shoulders relaxing and her head nodding.

  Sunny, the Filthy Bastards’ goddess, is gonna be mine.

  Chapter Three

  Sunny

  Maybe this was going to be easier than I had thought. Men—specifically seducing them—was something I had an almost supernatural understanding of. But since joining the Filthy Bastards, my confidence has sunk to an all-time low. It’s not that I lack the look, per se, but for whatever reason, I can’t take on the attitude that the guys typically seek out. They are looking for a girl who is meek and willing, with perfect sized tits and a nice ass. It’s no question—I’ve got the ass and tits down pat. But I’m anything but meek—I know when to stand up for myself, and I’m not afraid to do it.

  Kitka was the first one to point this out to me when the club “rescued” me. She had tried to teach me the rules and the culture, but I’d resisted. I didn’t go for the young riders or participate in some of the group activities. Even though I know an MC girl’s job is to serve the men first, I’m not giving up my independence and dignity to blow a guy in need. No way in hell will that ever be me.

  I only get away with it because I have an air of mystery around me. I’m fresh meat. Hot shit. A wet hole they hadn’t managed to fuck yet. I make guys’ heads turn when I walk by, especially when I’m sporting these black leather boots of mine. I get the same look that Bear gave to me moments ago when I offered him a drink—toe to head, up and down scanning that’s scorching my insides. But his glare is different. His glare scorches me in a good way. And when he licks his lips at me and plays along with my flirty foolish act, I can see that he feels exactly the same.

  Even now, as the fight is gearing up to begin, I see him stealing glances my way through the crowd. Every few minutes, he cranes his neck towards my spot back on the hill under the underpass. When I catch him, I smile, stick out my tongue, even wink. I have to let him know that I’m still interested.

  The girls will not shut up about my dare.

  “You’re a freaking fool!” Larissa cries after watching me flirt with him again. “Do you know what would happen to you if Killer found out?”

  “Yeah!” Mary adds on, “You’re betraying the club all because you want to prove Kitka wrong.”

  Kitka hasn’t said a word to me since I got back. She has been as steely and cold as ever. But I see the curve in the line of her mouth. She’s soaking all this up, waiting for me to get in trouble. Little do any of these girls know that I will be “out of the woods” on the consequences of my dare if Bear wins this fight. I will walk off as a free woman with him. Well, as free as you can call yourself as a prize in some hand-to-hand combat fight.

  However, if he didn’t win, I could be out a ton of cash. My momma used to say to always bet on yourself. But what if you didn’t have the money to back it up? I won’t be eating for weeks, or I’ll have to rely on the good graces of guys like Ricco to tie me over until my next paycheck. Hell, I might even have to walk the streets for some paying clients, which is a downgrade in the club world. Girls with the brand don’t earn money slumming it with the urchins that pay the MC for protection and their network.

  “Filthy Bastards!” cries a man in the center of the roped off square. “Wilderkind! We’re here today to settle a dispute between you two. The Filthy Bastards claim the Wilderkind is poaching on their territory by selling and dealing on the intersection of Columbus and Sunnydale.” A loud roar of boos takes over from the Wilderkind side of the ring.

  “The club leadership has decided on a fist-on-fist, three minute round match with the first to KO as the winner. Both clubs have chosen their fighter. For the Filthy Bastards, there’s DJ, and for the Wilderkind, Bear!”

  The two men enter the ring followed by the presidents, Vance and Killer. The crowd goes absolutely nuts. Beer cans and bottles are raised high in the air. Even us girls get to our feet, jumping and bouncing while our hands clap. I nearly trip on my own heels—what a great way to remember that I’m still feeling it from all the boozing I did earlier. I scream with the rest of them, refusing to say a specific name.

  After a few minutes, it all dies down. The crowd grows impatient for blood while the men do their final handshakes and the boxers begin to stretch it out. The presidents take a spot behind the stakes holding up the ropes and a woman, a Wilderkind old lady no doubt, enters the ring holding up a piece of cardboard with the number one written in black sharpie. She walks the length before hopping out and ringing a small, vintage match bell.

  Everything goes silent. Even the bookies shut the hell up in anticipation for the first hit. For several seconds, no one really moves. Bear dances around a bit, moving surprisingly light on his feet for a guy of his size. DJ, on the other hand, moves like a man who goes for the kill shot on the first blow. He’s been the Filthy Bastards fighter for a year now, and he’s earned his keep. A good few inches taller than Bear, he is the one who tumbles for him, his elbow managing to connect. The Filthy Bastards members go fucking nuts!

  “Kill him, DJ! Get that bastard!” Mary shouts next to me, unable to contain her excitement. When she sees me eyeing her, she spits back, “What’s wrong with you? The winner gets a cash prize, and you know DJ takes a girl when he’s done.”

  “He’s a great ride,” Larissa says, interjecting herself into the conversation once again. “I’ve had him twice after the matches. He’s like a bull. I could barely stay on!”

  Fantastic. I could really have done without the visual of the bald bastard and little Larissa cowgirl style in some dirty bedroom.

  What I need to be focusing in on is the fight. Bear’s landed some good hits now, mostly to the chest and back. He clearly has more stamina than DJ, so his hits land lighter, but there are more of him. It’s not exactly David and Goliath (more like Goliath versus Goliath), but the men circling the ring treat it like it’s life or death.

  When I’m not looking, DJ strikes again—a blow so hard that it knocks Bear off his feet. He stumbles back towards the ropes. DJ, smiling wickedly, comes charging at him. He kicks and spits at Bear. Even though it’s fist-on-fist, no one seems to care. The Filthy Bastards are practically dancing in their spots in celebration. The bookies are starting to collect. And the other side looks on in complete disbelief. Even I hold my breath, waiting for the final knockout finisher.

  DJ leans over Bear’s unmoving body. His fist rises into the air dramatically before swiping down. I turn my head over my shoulder towards where the other girls are sitting and cheering, unable to watch my conquest and my money go out the window. But Kitka’s face compels me to look back. Her grin t
urns to disbelief in milliseconds, and the other girl’s mouths hang wide open.

  There is silence as Bear’s arm makes contact with DJ’s fist, swiping it away from his face. He manages to hold him by the wrist and then spins his arm so hard that DJ screams out in agony. His monstrous face goes purple while he drops to his knees near Bear with his good hand gripping his clearly broken arm. He looks even more shocked as Bear’s gigantic body suddenly springs to life. With one swoop, he swings himself onto DJ, pushing him down to the ground. He wastes no time in delivering a blow so powerful we hear it from our perch.

  No one cheers when he stands—not even his own guys. They all look on him like he has risen from the dead. His chest is covered in splatters of DJ’s rust colored blood, and he wipes away a trickle of his own from his mouth. The announcer from earlier walks slowly into the ring to call it, but it was clear—Bear defeated DJ fairly.

  I pull myself up to stand, not caring about the girls around me. The few behind me try to wave me out of the way, but I’m too excited to contain it. He won—he won me! I’m about to be $200 richer if I can pull this off!