Second Chance: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Kathryn Thomas

  Chapter Six

  Bear

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, Bear? You look like shit. That little piece give you a run for your money?”

  “What?” I ask, my mind somewhere far away from the Wilderkind meeting room. I process Jake’s words slowly until it dawns on me what he’s trying to say. After a second, I growl back, “No. It was fine. I’m fucking exhausted and still beat up as hell from the fight. Can a guy recover?”

  “No,” he responds, slapping my back with a loud crack. “You’ve got no time off this week, Bear. With the Filthy Bastards circling, I need you on watch at the neutral territory. I don’t want to hear any shit about them trying to poach any more territory back from us.”

  “That’s grunt work. I ain’t doing that. Make one of the initiates do it.” I go back to sipping my whiskey. No one, not even Vance, can tell me what the fuck to do today. I get my time to enjoy being the winner for a few days.

  “Did you question me?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

  I shake my head as I continue, “I don’t get why you think I’d do that shit. I haven’t had a fucking day off in weeks, boss. After last night, I thought you’d lay the hell off of me.”

  “‘Lay the hell off of you?’” he sneers. “You think I fucking give a rat’s ass about when you got your last day off or what you did last night. All I know is that you screwed some chick you shouldn’t have and started shit bigger than you know. So no, I’m not gonna ‘lay the hell off of you.’”

  “What does bedding the Filthy Bastards chick have anything to do with it? You and Killer both agreed to the price. If you had a problem then, you should have said something!” I shout while rising to my feet. I am not interested in mind games tonight. If someone has a beef with me, they say it to my face. Pussyfooting around the subject was the sure way to get your teeth knocked in—even if you are my club’s president.

  “Did you really think you could get away with that? That girl you plucked was Killer’s girl. She was a newbie property. The boys in her club are seething. And now you’ve gone and got a target on your back the size of Texas.” He walks closer to me, adding, “And that’s not to say what the boys here now think of you.”

  “I don’t give a shit what they think of me. It was my decision. I did what you asked me to do, and I took what was owed to me.”

  “That don’t matter, kid. How many fucking times do I have to get it through your head that you’re part of a MC? You ride with us. You die with us. There’s no ‘you’ in that equation. Whatever you do, you do it for the fucking club.” He smiles with that sadistic grin as he drops the hammer, “And tonight, you’re going to the damn neutral zone and making sure your club is protected. End of discussion.”

  I fucking hate being talked to like I’m a teenage girl home late from the dance. I didn’t sign up for Vance being my mommy when I decided to join up with the Wilderkind. Back when I was some piss-poor fighter living on the floor of my boxing gym, I had more freedom than I did now. It was Vance who promised that I would be rich, I would have a family, and I would be able to do whatever the fuck I wanted to do! And now that I’ve made the decision to fuck with a girl that’s not club property, the entire MC has gone mad over it.

  It takes everything in my power not to kick over the damn chairs or toss the tables out from under the fuckers that sit there. I know when I’m being punished, and this is punishment. If Vance wants me to work, like do actual real work that’s part of my skill set, I will be riding security for him tonight—not this patrolling neutral parts of the city for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

  Still, I can’t argue. As much as I know when I’m getting shit on, I also know when to shut my goddamn mouth and just bare it. I crossed the line when I stood up to Vance. He is, after all, the president of my club and the one who makes the decision on if I eat tomorrow. He could turn the rest of the guys on me, if he hasn’t already, with a click of his fingers. Then where would I be? Back to living on the streets or, worse, dead in some gutter. That’s the reality here. It’s fucking bitter, but I gotta know my place and when to stand down.

  Luckily, my shift passes quickly. The neighborhood I’m assigned to is basically a ghost town except for a few nail places, a barber shop, and a few dead bars where only a few of the old timers go to drink the day away. I spend most of my time hanging out on one of the corners where I’ve got the best advantage point of the dealers and hawkers standing outside. None of them are loyal to either club, which is exactly what we’re looking for. Neutral stays neutral when the businesses are independent.

  I chat with one of the dealers I recognize, Old Anthony, who has been selling dope on this street for God knows how long. Because he’s harmless and small-time, no one messes with him. Unlike the younger guys who bring in big stocks from the Mexican cartels, we don’t try to poach him—and that makes him valuable. He sees things that only someone riding in the gray can.

  “What’s shaking, Bear?” he asks, stretching out his arm for a friendly handshake. “I haven’t seen your sorry ass around these parts in over a year. Your Wilderkind sends these tiny young guys out here who think they own the place. It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

  Friendly face? That’s bullshit. No one in his right mind would call me a friendly face. I keep a pretty tight reputation between these parts as being as terrifying as I need and want to be. The owners of the shops here and around my area would rather avoid me altogether than talk to me. This crazy ass embraces me like someone’s long-lost cousin.

  “Not much, my man,” I reply as I take a seat next to him on the rickety old ramp to one of the closed-down business. “What’s going on? You got any info for me I should know?”

  “You know me. I keep my nose out of everyone’s business.” He leans in closer to me and adds, “But, I hear you got yourself messed up in some shit yesterday.”

  “You could say that,” I mutter. Great. Even the lowlife pond scum knows about the girl and me.

  “If it were me, and it’s not… I’d keep my eye on my own boys. There seem to be more rumblings from them then the Filthy Bastards. I’d watch your back, Caesar.” Old Anthony rubs his neck and then looks out at the clear street. “I’ve seen a lot of guys get caught up in their own club’s drama because of their pride. That is, I’ve seen them not come back. You know what I’m saying?”

  “I hear ya, man. I hear ya.” His warning is enough for me: keep my head down, my nose clean, and my mind on my money. No more messing with chicks like Sunny. Show club loyalty and earn back whatever trust I lost by messing around with her. That’s all I can do to survive and get my place back in the club on the right standing.

  My phone buzzes at my hip and I move away from Anthony to take it. As I suspected, it’s Vance again, probably with another bitch-level job for me to do.

  “What is it?” I answer as I try to fight back my anger.

  “You’re off. Your shift’s done.” Vance’s matter-of-factness gets the prickly little hairs on my back raised.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? I just got here two hours ago? My shift is eight. I’m not leaving unless I’m getting paid for all eight.”

  “Your shift is done, Bear. Get the fuck out of there and report in when I call you up next.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I growl. “You first give me a crap job, and now you’re gonna dick out on paying me for my time too? What the hell man?”

  The other end of the line goes dead. What a son of a bitch. He can’t even pony up an answer for me. Spineless, power-tripping motherfucker. I curse under my breath as I walk back towards my bike. But Old Anthony calls me over before I can get too far.

  “That’s the other thing I was gonna tell you, Bear.” He clears his throat before whispering quietly, “Don’t you trust any of them. They may be your brothers, but you look out for you and your own first.”

  After listening to Vance, the guy I always thought was my real father figure, shit on me and dismiss me like this,
I’m taking Old Anthony’s advice to heart. I nod my head at him and slowly walk back to my bike. It’s not even twilight when I get back to headquarters to clock out. The boys gearing up for the night shift shuffle around mindlessly, most likely jonesing for a drink or a hit or two that Vance won’t let them have before they head out for the ride.

  “Yo! Bear!” one of the younger guys, a newer recruit, calls towards me. “What the hell are you doing back here? I thought you were working the afternoon shift?”

  “I got pulled,” I shoot back. I don’t owe this kid any details. I’m more surprised that he’s even talking to me considering the rest of the group are avoiding eye contact with me like I’m some kind of catchable disease.

  “Damn, that sucks,” he shouts over his friends. “You wanna go grab a beer with us? We’re supposed to be in training, but they canceled that tonight.” One of the boys next to him elbows him in the side, but he insists by offering to buy me a round. I’m not gonna refuse that, especially if my cash is going to be lower tonight.

  Him and two of the other newbies head off with me to a bar in the neutral territory. The Roaring Eagle is as dinky as you can get, but it’s a biker bar where most of the new club recruits go when they’re not allowed in the real club owned bars. I’d much rather be sitting barside at the Wild One Tavern, but this will do. The drinks are cheap. The women, women who don’t belong to any club, are out in full force, and I don’t have to talk to anyone about what happened between Sunny and me.

  For the Roaring Eagle being what it is, it sure is crowded tonight. The music is blaring some kind of oldies rock station through the open windows while the foggies smoke their hand-rolled cigarettes on the wooden porch. A few heads turn in my directions, but no one of consequence is here. I grab a bar stool near the corner where I can watch the door, and force myself to listen to the kid that dragged me in here ask a million questions about club policies and traditions.

  “When we get tested, what do we need to know? Tommy Tee told us that we need the routes memorized. Is that right? Like all the routes or just the main stuff? And do you know what happens if we get failed? Do we get a second chance, or is that it? No one is answering that for us, and we’d really like a straight ans—”

  “Shut up, kid.” I put a hand on his chest as I stand to my feet. Just out the corner of my eye, I spot her. Sunny’s hard to miss with that long, blonde hair tucked up in a high bun on her head. She glides across the room to a few of her friends who place their arms around her in a hug. Something about her looks worse for wear from when I left her this morning. She’s been crying. The smeared makeup she wasn’t able to wash off all the way tells me that. And her black painted fingernails tap anxiously into the wooden bar top as she talks to some guy I don’t recognize. She looks just about as interested in him as she would a math lecture.

  The guy orders something from the bartender, smiling at her the whole time. He points over towards the jukebox and hands her a few quarters. Real slick, kid. Every guy’s tried that one before. But this motherfucker ain’t like anyone. I watch as he quickly grabs a little mint tin out of his pocket and drops a quick-dissolving tablet into the drink he ordered for Sunny. He stirs it up with the cocktail straw and hands it back to her with a sadistic little grin.

  I can’t move fast enough to stop her from drinking it. But I am able to land a swift punch in the face before either of them can realize that I’m there.

  “What the fuck!” she screams at me as the man falls to the ground at her feet. “Bear! What the hell are you doing?”

  I grab the drink out of her hand, tossing it to the ground. The glass shatters on the ground near the man’s head. With a kick to his ribcage with my steel toed boots, I explain, “This asshole just drugged you, Sunny! I watched it myself. Check his pockets!”

  Sunny eyes her friend who kneels down beside the stranger and rummages through the unconscious man’s jacket pockets. She finds the tin and holds it to her.

  “It’s just a mint, Bear,” Sunny says, exhausted.

  “Fuck that shit. Open it up. It’s a damn roofie, girl.” I take it out of her hand and show her the white tablet with the crisscrossed line running through it. The words have been carved out. I pass it over to the bartender, and he nods in agreement.

  “Holy shit,” Sunny’s friend says. “What do we do?”

  “You’re getting the hell out of here,” I say as I grab Sunny’s arm.

  “What? No.” Sunny looks back and forth from her crew and me, clearly reluctant to take off like this. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Bear.”

  “Like hell you’re not.”

  “Call Killer or Cobra,” Sunny orders one of the girls standing near her. “He’s gonna want to know what Ricco’s done.”

  “He’s not gonna be happy,” the friend says.

  “Come on, Sunny. Let him handle it. You need to get out of here.” I pull on her.

  “I don’t care!” she shouts, frustrated at both her friends and me. “I’m not going anywhere until I talk to Killer.”

  I force her aside, pushing her to the opposite corner of the bar where she’s out of reach of her friends. With nowhere for her to run, she is forced to look straight up at me with those sparkling blue eyes of hers. I place a finger on her face as I scold her, “Listen here, I’m not in the mood to start a war between your club and mine, but you have to be fucking joking if you think you’re safe here.”

  “Why not? I’ve got protection.”

  “Those girls you’re with aren’t protection. They didn’t see that guy of yours drop a roofie in your drink. You really think they’re gonna protect you when your boss comes around?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Dammit! Are you really that blind, Sunny? Someone’s after you and me both. My club’s trying to push me out, and yours is trying to reclaim you—get you to fall back in line with the rest of the dumbass girls they own.”

  “Nobody owns me,” she protests, standing a bit closer to me—so close that I can feel her sweet breath on my neck and chin. She needs to stand on her toes to reach my eye-level.

  “No one should,” I answer back. “But don’t be a fucking idiot about this. Get the hell out of here before whatever you drunk knocks you the hell out, and you wind up in someone else’s bed.”

  “Not yours?” she asks, blinking rapidly.

  “Not mine.”

  “Good.” She pulls back. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed in my answer or just being her sarcastic, flirty self. “Goodbye, Bear,” she adds as she ducks under my arm and heads over towards the girls. They huddle together in one of those girls-only formations until someone takes Sunny’s arm and leads her outside to the parking lot.

  I stand in the corner, alone, for a long while. The whole bar has its eyes on me as the seconds tick by. But no one moves or dares say a word about the man lying on his back in the middle of the bar or the fact that I’m the one who knocked him out. Finally, the new rider I’m with has the balls to step up to me.

  “What are you gonna do, Bear?”

  “I’m not gonna do a damn thing,” I say as I sit back down at the bar and order another myself another drink.

  If my world is going to end tonight or a war is going to break out because I defended Sunny, I’m sure as hell going to make sure that I’m not sober enough to watch it happen. Bring it on.

  Chapter Seven

  Sunny

  Oh shit.

  Oh God.

  Oh shit.

  What the fuck did I just do?

  My hands shake as I look down at the white and purple stick. This is the fifth one I’ve used. I don’t think I have enough tears or pee left to do another. I can’t avoid it—it’s true, there in a strong purple plus sign on the pregnancy test in my hand, and the half-dozen other ones in the sink.

  It can’t be true, though. This has to be some kind of sick joke. The girls must have replaced the box or are playing a trick on me. They’ve been complete bitches ever since Ricco go
t a beat down for attempting to drug me in a bar. Most of them aren’t even talking to me outside the shrug or a grunt here and there. I wouldn’t put it past them to find some fake pregnancy tests and place them in our bathroom knowing that I was more than two months late for my period.

  I turn the box over, reading it carefully. There has to be somewhere on the box or the shiny metal wrappers that says, “HAHAHA! Screw you! You thought you were pregnant, but you aren’t! All these are fake positives to freak you out, make you throw up a few times, and lead to you hogging the bathroom for three hours while you cry yourself an actual river.”

  But there isn’t any evidence whatsoever that this is a prank. The box is one hundred percent legit. The tests look and feel like the real thing too. I’ve taken enough pregnancy tests in my life to know what they should look like or how they should act when you pee on them. I’ve never, ever, seen them pop up with a plus sign before. Not until today.