by Violet Blaze
Guess she's dead wrong.
I run at her back and knock her to the pavement with a roar of rage. I grew up in the club. You don't goddamn touch somebody else's bike. It's like, the ultimate show of disrespect.
“Serenity!” Loren screams, trying to pull me off Nevaeh, succeeding only in lifting me up enough for her to turn around and face me. I tear from his grip and launch into her again, cracking her head back against the cement. Getting a nice big tangle of her mousy brown hair in my hand and pulling hard.
“You have no idea what you've just done,” I breathe as I shove her head back and use my other hand to punch her dead in the face. Nevaeh screams and gurgles, blood bubbling on her lips as she thrashes around beneath me, completely pinned by my thighs. I don't even care that I'm wearing a short as fuck skirt, that it's ridden up a ridiculous amount. I'm almost literally blinded by rage. Not only is that my bike, a bike I wasn't sure I'd ever get to have, but it's a bike that Glacier gave me. It's a symbol of freedom and power and opportunity. And she fucking shit all over it like it was nothing. And besides, I'm tired of being called a whore and a bitch and a slut. Sick of it. “No idea.”
I punch Nevaeh again as Loren struggles to get me off, putting his hands under my arms and pulling with all his might. But I have the power of rage on my side and it is a heavy, heavy burden.
“Serenity!” he whisper-yells in my ear. “Faculty.”
I take one last swipe at her, making sure to crack her nose with my fist, and then there are two sets of hands on either side of me. My nails rake across Nevaeh's face as I'm hauled back to my feet.
“Oh dear Jesus,” Mrs. Ferrera is mumbling, dialing 9-1-1 on her phone as she kneels down next to Nevaeh Burkhardt and pulls her head into her lap. Nevaeh is gurgling blood and sobbing, making loud, keening, shrieking sounds that turn my eardrums to mush.
I get to my feet and jerk away from the two people holding me—the gym teacher and some guy who works in the front office. I wipe blood off on my skirt as Mrs. Ferrera babbles dramatically into the phone, my eyes drifting over to my bike.
9-1-1, huh?
This is going to be bad. Really bad.
“Whose bike is this?” the gym teacher asks. I can't remember his name right now. I fucking hate gym. I spit on the ground by my feet and take a deep breath, lifting my eyes to look into his, Loren hovering by my side with his hand in his hair, totally stressed-out beyond belief.
“It's mine.”
The school has trouble getting a hold of my mom. Not a big surprise since she's probably in prep hell trying to get ready for the barbecue. I was supposed to ride my bike to Glacier's and then Rayna was going to pick me up after work and take me home. No mayor's office today since Lyric's skipping out of work early to head over to my place.
“You don't know your dad's cell?” the cop in front of me asks as he turns to look at Mrs. Ferrera, standing with her arms crossed and shaking her head, looking at me like I'm the devil himself—or at least the devil's spawn.
“No.” That's a lie. I know my dad's number, but I'm not giving it to a cop. The club … let's just say, they don't exactly like the police. Recently, the club signed this bullshit agreement with the city, some nonsensical crap about working together to reduce local crime. All it really means is that the police force will mostly look the other way when it comes to the club's activities, and the club will work really hard to keep anything other than official club business to a minimum—prostitution, dealing to kids, non-gang related murder. Nobody will ever say that aloud, but that's what it is.
“I'll take her home then and speak to her parents there,” the cop says finally, sighing and looking at Mrs. Ferrera again.
“Yes, please, whatever you think is best,” she says, but the look on her face tells me that this time, I'm getting so much worse than a suspension. The ambulance actually took Nevaeh with them to the hospital. Like that bitch has anything worse than a broken nose. How pathetic. She touched my shit and I retaliated. That was our business, not the school's or the police's.
I look at the vice principal and then over at the dude in the uniform. Driving a police cruiser up to a house full of one-percenters is a really, really bad idea, but oh well. Let them take me up there and see the club out in full force. Maybe they'll think twice about charging me?
Reluctantly, I rise to my feet and head outside, following after the cop and climbing into the back of his cruiser, huffing with frustration as he slams the door behind me, and looking out the window to see Loren standing next to the school gate.
I shoot him a quickie text.
It's okay. Go home. I'll call you later.
I text Glacier next.
I need you to come get my bike. It's at the school, completely trashed. I'll explain later.
He calls me back within thirty seconds.
“What the fuck?” he asks, his voice icy and cool.
“Some asshole,” I emphasize for the officer's benefit, “fucked it up pretty bad. I don't know the extent of the damage, but … I'm in the back of a squad car right now.”
There's a long, painful silence that follows.
“Where are they taking you?” he asks, and in that question I get the distinct and unshakeable impression that if I were to one day get locked up for any reason whatsoever, Glacier would find some way—legal or otherwise—to get me out. It's kind of a … nice feeling.
“My house,” I say, and I hope he hears all the implicit, unsaid things in that statement. They know about the bike; they'll want to know where I got it from. I'm already gathering up ideas for a good lie.
“I'll send some prospects to pick the bike up.” There's a pause; I'm not sure where Glacier is right now, but when he next speaks, his voice is almost comforting. “Don't worry about the damage. Whatever it is, I'll fix it. That, or I'll get you a new bike. I won't let them clip your wings, Serenity.”
And then he hangs up on me.
I squeeze my phone to my chest and lean back against the seat, closing my eyes and waiting out the short ride to my parents' place. I know as soon as I feel the rumbling bump of the cruiser beneath my ass, hear the pinging of gravel against the sides, that we're home.
My lids crack as we come up the driveway and onto a sea of bikes and cars spread across the front yard like a showroom. Some of the bikes are damp with dew; others have waterproof covers over the top.
“Jesus Christ,” the officer's partner swears as we come to an abrupt spot down the driveway.
“Yeah, sorry, we're having, like, a family barbecue thing tonight,” I say as I see Glacier standing on the front porch with his arms crossed over his chest. I pray like hell that he doesn't come over, but I needn't bother because Glinda's sitting outside smoking a cigarette and notices the cruiser right away, her smoke tumbling from her lips and hitting her rhinestone studded jeans. She mumbles something I can't quite make out and slaps at her pants, standing up and heading inside with her sparkly pink cowboy boots. All of ten seconds later, there's my mom and my dad storming across the wet driveway as the officer in the driver's seat gets out of the car.
“What the hell is all this?” Dad roars, and some primal fear washes over me. God. As soon as he finds out about the bike … What am I gonna say? That I stole it? Jesus, it's a fucking Hot Rod. Everyone will know it was Glacier's which will bring up a dozen more questions. Did I steal it from him? Did he give it to me? And if he did, why?
My heart starts to pound and sweat drips down my spine.
Jesus Christ.
I did not think this thing through.
The officer opens my door and lets me out, closing it behind me and getting in his cruiser like his life depends on it. Hell, maybe it does? All I know is that he gets the hell out of Dodge.
“This isn't as bad as it seems,” I start, but my mom's blue eyes are wide and accusatory. My dad's … I can't even look at his face right now. “Let me explain.”
“You damn well better start talking,” Dad says, reaching out to take my arm.
I see Glacier move towards us and jerk back, stumbling in the wet gravel, my messenger bag swinging off my shoulder … and landing right in a damn puddle. Of course. Of fucking course. “You sent a girl to the hospital? Over a bike? Whose bike?”
“I—” I stall by tucking some hair over my shoulder, doing damage control in my mind and figuring out as I go that … I am completely and utterly screwed. I take a few steps back and fish my bag out of the puddle, hoping like hell that my computer's okay in there. “This girl, Nevaeh Burkhardt—”
“Isn't that the girl you beat up last week?” Mom asks, putting her palm flat against her forehead. “I don't have time for this. I have a house full to the brim with people that need to eat.”
“I want to know about this damn bike and why the hell you felt the need to beat the shit out of somebody for it.”
“Dad, listen to me,” I say and I can't seem to take my eyes off of Glacier. I force them back to Jack's face, his rough, dark eyes, his sun weathered skin, his beard. Glacier looks so young in comparison, colorful and wild and beautiful. My poor dad, he's like every clichéd 'biker' stereotype that there is: middle-aged, muscular arms and a small beer belly, a brown beard, thinning hair. Still, scary as hell. “That girl, she's relentless. I had to make a stand and defend myself.”
“This is the girl whose boyfriend you slept with?” Mom asks sardonically, making me purse my lips.
“I did not sleep with Cooper Mabbitt,” I growl, getting angry and knowing I'll get absolutely nowhere with that. I need to keep my head, stay calm, work through this. But oh my god, my heart is going absolutely wild and I feel like I'm going to be sick. “But she somehow got that into her head, and today, she attacked me.”
“I can't deal with this high school bullshit,” my dad says, pinching his nose. “Jesus fucking Christ, Serenity. I just want to know whose goddamn bike you felt so proud of you needed to kick some girl's ass over it?”
“It was my bike,” I say, and my voice is a little shaky. I force my shoulders back and lift my chin, steady my voice. “It is my bike. She trashed it, so I trashed her.”
“Your bike?” Dad asks, like he thinks that's hilarious. “Serenity, did you hit your head in the fucking fight?”
“It's my bike, Dad. A SuckerPunch Sally's Hot Rod with a seventeen inch rear wheel and a five speed kicker.” I stare into his face and swallow hard, noting the changing colors in his skin. From this dark, tanned color to … bright red. So red. He's fucking pissed.
“You better give me a goddamn explanation—now. You steal a bike?”
“It was a gift,” I breathe because even if I might be able to hide this for now, they'll find out about the bike later when they talk to Mrs. Ferrera, and it won't take them long to put together where it came from.
Dad comes at me again and I stumble back. He's never hit me before, but he does get a little rough sometimes, and I can't risk that, not with Glacier around. Besides … he's looking at me like he wants to hit me right now.
“Where the fuck did you get a bike from? You fucking one of the boys?” he asks, and I cannot even believe that's the first thought that comes to mind—or that it's true. Jack's right hand curls around my arm and yanks me forward roughly, sending my bag to the ground again. “Answer me, goddamn it!” he snaps as I hear boots in gravel and then Glacier's just right there, grabbing my dad by the shirt, shoving him back hard.
“Not this shit again,” Jack growls as he stumbles and comes to his feet, ready to fight this time. People are coming out of the house—Lyric and Royal, Glinda and Mick, Janae and Dober, Smoky, Mug, a dozen others, most of them wearing leather cuts with Alpha Wolves patches on the back. “What the …” My dad trails off and there's this disgustingly horrible moment there when he looks from me to Glacier, me to Glacier, me to Glacier.
My heart stops in my chest.
“I gave her the bike,” Glacier says coolly, putting his hands in his pockets, looking fierce as hell standing by my side in dark jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with the words Alpha Wolves in white cursive on the front. His face is completely shut down and cold, ready to fight, to defend.
“You gave my fucking daughter a goddamn bike?” Jack asks as Fauna looks at me like she's never seen me before. That's when I know: she gets it before it even crosses my father's mind. Oh god. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he roars as several other members of the club surround us and Royal steps up close to the two men, Smoky by his side.
“Alright, calm it the bloody fuck down. What's going on over here?”
“Oh, Serenity,” Mom says and there are literal tears streaming down her face. Dad glances back at her briefly, lets this deep, dark frown settle over his face. And then he turns back to me and whatever he sees in my expression … it completely undoes him.
“Are you fucking my goddamn daughter?” he whispers, and his voice in that moment is the most terrifying thing I've ever heard in my life. His dark gaze settles on Glacier, but to his credit, he doesn't even flinch, just stands there with his chin slightly lifted, hands in his front pockets.
“I want Serenity to be my old lady,” he says which would make me cringe if I didn't understand the context of it. Glacier doesn't care about old ladies and club bullshit, but … that's how all his other brothers work, so it's the easiest way to negotiate with them. I am surprised however that he doesn't even try to deny it, hide it, cover it up. It's like he's completely unashamed of our relationship.
It makes me love him all that much more.
“I asked you a fucking question, you goddamn psychopath. Are you fucking my baby girl?”
“She's hardly a baby,” Glacier says, completely deadpan, not caring at all that we're literally surrounded by the club now, all of those eyes on him, on me, judging and wondering and calculating. I glance over and catch Lyric's eyes, her mouth tight and determined. At least I know we have one other person on our side.
I scoot closer to Glacier and he glances down at me with his gorgeous blue eyes, as clear as a summer sky. And then he bends down and picks up my messenger bag, handing it back to me.
“Answer me!” Jack screams as my mom breaks down into full-on sobs, Glinda reaching around her shoulder and giving her a gentle hug, like this is the worst thing that's ever happened to her—ten times worse than getting shot. “You fucking pedophile piece of shit.”
Dad launches himself at Glacier and I watch in stunned disbelief as the enforcer and the treasurer of the Alpha Wolves MC get into a fight—over me. Before Royal or Smoky can get involved, Glacier is yanking my dad's arm behind his back and then sweeping his leg against the back of Jack's ankles, sending him crashing to the wet gravel drive. It only takes him an instant to get back to his feet and then suddenly, there's the sharp glint of a knife in his hand.
“Dad!” I scream, but I can't move, can't get between them without risking getting stabbed myself. I know Glacier can handle this by himself; he hardly needs me in a fight. But oh my god, it's so awful to see my dad go completely crazy like that.
Jack lunges at Glacier, slashing with the knife, but it only takes about a split second for Glacier to disarm him, knocking dad's arm back and then hitting him hard in the stomach with a single punch. The air explodes from dad's lungs and he collapses to his knees, gasping for breath.
“I let you hit me before because I deserved it; I won't put up with that today,” Glacier says carefully, coming over to stand next to me. He looks up at the circle of men around us, at Royal cursing and sliding his fingers through his dark hair, at my mom sobbing and glaring at me like I'm the enemy somehow. Glacier changes his phrasing: “Serenity, she's going to be my old lady.”
There's a lot of grumbling and arguing that explodes from the circle around us.
Here's the thing: me being underage … not really that big of a deal in the MC world. I mean, a lot of the guys would kill for a hot young girl to fall into their beds. And if she wasn't related to anyone else in the club, it'd be a win-win all around. But my dad is well respected and
well-connected, and he has friends in the club. Being his daughter—his underage daughter—essentially makes me his … property. Yeah, I know. Gross, right? But that's how the club sees it. I belong to Dad; Dad doesn't want Saint to touch me; nobody wants me to ride a bike.
It's a massive clusterfuck. A clusterfuck of epic proportions. A nightmare.
“Alright, that's enough of that,” Royal says, glancing over at Glacier and me. “Pack it in and suck it up. This isn't the time or the place for this discussion.”
“This psychopath is fucking my daughter and I'm supposed to just let it go?” my dad growls, his breathing ragged and strained as he gets to his feet. I notice that he won't even look at me now. Fuck, this sucks even worse than I thought it would.
“I didn't say let it go,” Royal says, casting his brown eyes up to Jack's face. “I said that this isn't the proper place for this kind of discussion. In the morning, we'll have church and discuss it then.”
“This is my fucking daughter!” Jack screams, thrusting his hand out at me. “She's seventeen years old for god's sake.”
“Glacier,” Royal says as Smoky steps forward and tries to put a hand on my dad's shoulder. Dad shrugs it off and turns away, heading over to my weeping mother and pausing in front of her. “I think you should leave.”
“Duly noted, Boss,” Glacier says, his eyes sliding over to mine. Our gazes meet and hold for a second before he looks away and starts off towards his bike. I watch him go, watch him climb on, start the engine. My dad watches, too, over my mom's shoulder as Glacier heads down the driveway and then pauses near the crowd.
Waiting for me. Inviting me.
“Goddamn it, Serenity,” my dad starts, but I'm already taking off, shoving my way through the gathered Wolves and their wives, parting through the sea of leather cuts before anyone can stop me. I grab the helmet from Saint's outstretched hand, shove it over my head and leap on the back of his bike, wrapping my arms tightly around him as he takes off with a sudden jerk that nearly unseats me.
And I swear, I can feel my father's fingers brush my arm as we shoot off through puddles full of yesterday's rain and disappear around the corner.
