OUTLAW: Hell’s Seven MC Biker Romance

by Jolie Day

  At least, not until he’d rid the world of Caesar Whatever-the-hell-his-last-name-was. He was probably old now. He’d been just a couple of years older than Harrison Stormwell when he recruited Max, promising him fortune and power beyond his wildest dreams. At fourteen, Max had been drawn to that, the promise of power pulling him in, despite his father’s horror stories about being joined up with the Hell’s Sevens.

  Max had been stupid and he knew that now, but he was just a kid then. And kids make mistakes. But his mistake had led to the death of his father and he felt the need to rectify that, even if it meant that he couldn’t bring Harrison back or fix his mother’s brain.

  Besides, he was doing this mostly for himself. As long as Caesar was alive, he could be a threat to Max’s life and to the lives of countless other young, impressionable boys looking to be a part of something bigger than they could have ever imagined. He had to protect them, as well, but his motives were just as selfish.

  He would not allow Caesar to take another person away from him. And if that meant staying away from Regina Carlisle until it was all complete—or even, possibly, forever—then so be it. So long as she was safe, he’d be okay.

  Max’s eyes widened as he came back to himself. He was driving down a near deserted road—where were all the cars at this time of day? He spotted a familiar leather jacket with the image of a skull on the back. The head seemed to be staring straight at him, with angry blue eyes.

  Max slowed his bike as he watched the man, whose hair was long and dirty blonde and greasy as hell, enter a nearby building. He looked over his shoulder before stepping through the door and Max was able to find a parking spot not too far away. He shut off his bike and hopped off, pulling the collar of his own leather coat up to hide his face. He glanced all around for a long moment before strolling casually down the sidewalk, his gaze glued to the building as he got closer and closer.

  He spared one last glance over his shoulder as he reached for the door and stepped inside.

  *****

  Regina

  Like most weeknights, the bar filled slowly and never to capacity.

  Jimmy was back, sipping scotch after scotch. He took his usual stool at the end of the bar and gazed around, watching as locals filtered in and headed straight towards the pool table. He gave Brandy a slow, appreciative smile as she passed by in a skirt shorter than the apron she wore around her waist. She smiled back at him, flirtatiously, as she always did when she was hoping for heavier tips—which was nearly every single night, to be honest. She would put up with anything, so long as nobody ever touched her anywhere too inappropriate.

  Regina had seen the tiny, unassuming Brandy knock out more than one of her sleazier patrons and she always turned a blind eye. If she could have afforded it, she would have given Brandy a raise just for that. Her business never suffered for Brandy’s violence. In fact, the locals typically showed up more often to see if she would put the beat down on anybody else. They bought more drinks and watched as drifters—usually older businessmen who thought they could get away with murder—who were unfamiliar with Brandy’s wrath, tried their luck at feeling her up.

  Often, they ended up in police custody and Regina waved them off with a smile and a flick of her hair, laughing with Brandy and the rest of the locals as the drifters were led out to spend the night in jail. The number of extra drinks bought after the show were more than enough to make up for the loss of a night’s boarding at the pub. She just wished that the men would quit buying her waitress drinks. Those were the nights that Brandy went home a little more unsteady on her heels than usual.

  Tonight seemed to be one of those nights, too.

  Brandy had on a pair of the shortest skirts that Regina had ever known her to wear and her heels were their usual sky high height, which meant that she wobbled slightly and her ass was pushed up and looked rounder than usual. Many of the locals were staring at her backside as she walked by and a few more kept ordering new rounds at the pool tables just so Brandy would come back around. She didn’t mind, as always, and neither did Regina but the older woman kept an eye out, just in case.

  And, like a premonition come true, it wasn’t long before Brandy was giving her first warning.

  “Hands off, please.” The words were polite but the venom in her voice warned the man—who was verging on elderly, with gray, thinning hair, and a pair of thick spectacles that made his ice blue eyes look even larger than they probably were—and the man leered back at her. Regina didn’t recognize him, but that smile was one she’d seen before. He was about to get his ass kicked and he had no idea.

  “Come on, sweetheart!” the old man admonished in his gravelly, cigarette-roughened voice. “Let me show you a good time!”

  Brandy wrinkled her nose at him and strutted away, back towards the bar, placing her tray down on the bar top and shuddering. “I feel naked,” she whispered to Regina with a disgusted frown.

  “I have a pair of jeans you could borrow,” Regina replied. “But they’d probably fall right off.” She gave the younger woman an apologetic smile. “If you want, we could switch places for the night. You’ll be safe here, behind the bar.”

  “No, I’ll be okay,” Brandy insisted. “They give better tips out there. Besides, you know I can handle myself. I just didn’t want to get into a fight tonight. I just got a manicure.” She held out her hand and sighed. “I won’t hesitate to knock his lights out, though.”

  “That’s my girl,” Regina laugh. “Now, what’ll you have.”

  “Three scotches, a vodka martini, and a shot of Patron, for the hobbit.” She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes as Regina laughed and turned around, reaching for the liquor. She poured the drinks quickly and handed the tray back to Brandy with a sympathetic look.

  “Good luck, sweetie,” she said. “Call me if you need anything.”

  Brandy nodded and stepped away from the bar, hobbling back to the pool table on her incredibly high heels. Regina wondered how her feet didn’t fall off at the end of the night, after wearing those for so many hours in a row. Her feet throbbed at just the thought.

  “Another scotch, darlin’!” Jimmy called down the bar at her and Regina turned to him with a raised brow.

  “What’s my name, Jimmy?” she asked.

  Jimmy rolled his eyes, but his grin was planted firmly on his lips. “Regina,” he said. “Can I have another drink, your majesty?” He bowed his head, playfully, and Regina chuckled, reaching again for the scotch.

  “HEY!”

  She whipped back around at the sound of Brandy’s voice, shooting daggers with her eyes at the man who was currently holding her to his lap. Half of the drinks on her tray were spilled over, the glass broken on the floor and Brandy attempted to keep the others steady as she struggled to stand again. But she couldn’t gain any purchase on the wet floor and the ogre’s arms were keeping her ass firmly planted on his crotch as he ground against her.

  “STOP!” Brandy growled, rearing back with her elbow, but the angle was wrong and she ended up hitting him in his soft shoulder. The man’s grip never wavered, only tightened, and he laughed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

  “Come on, baby,” he huffed. “I know you want me.”

  Regina narrowed her eyes and rushed around the bar, practically sprinting towards Brandy, readying herself to punch this man out and save her waitress, when suddenly the man’s chair tipped back and he released Brandy in an attempt to right himself again. The young woman was pulled to her feet by a few pairs of strong hands as the locals—whom had been standing around doing nothing while she was being attacked—helped to right her, asking her if she was okay.

  Brandy brushed them off and turned just in time to see the gross old man get lifted from his seat by the collar of his shirt as another man threatened his very existence. She turned to meet Regina’s eyes, but found the other woman’s focus falling slowly on her hero. Her mouth was agape and her eyes were wide in shock and something else that Brandy couldn�
�t quite name.

  Regina felt all the air leave her lungs at the sight of the man who’d stepped in, whose name she now knew as well as her own, whose body was pressed firmly against her just over twelve hours ago, whose kisses she could still feel over her body, like scars.

  *****

  Max

  He left the building feeling more rage than he’d ever felt in his life.

  The man whom he’d just confronted in that music shop? Yeah, he wasn’t a Hell’s Seven. He’d just seen the jacket at some kind of garage sale and he thought it looked cool. Really, he was just a musician, picking up his recently repaired bass guitar. He didn’t even know who the goddamn Hell’s Sevens were! He wasn’t from around these parts.

  “Well, take off the damn jacket, then!” Max had growled at him. “Don’t you know you could get yourself killed just for wearing that in the wrong place? What’s the matter with you?!”

  He’d taken the jacket from the man and demanded to know which house he’d bought it at.

  “Someplace on Maple,” he replied, “I dunno, man. I don’t exactly recall the house number, but the guy said he was moving away, so he’s probably not even there anymore. Sorry.”

  He’d turned away and left Max there, fuming. He had been so close…

  He shoved the jacket in his saddle bag and started up his bike, taking off for the curb and heading towards Maple. Whomever had sold this jacket would have been a member of the Hell’s Sevens, probably recently released if he was getting rid of the jacket. Though Max couldn’t think of anybody who might want to keep the damn thing after escaping.

  He’d burned his.

  Maple Street was one of the more popular residential areas in the town. The houses there were attached, two at a time, and half of the street was elevated, with garages built beneath the houses in place of cellars. On the other side, most residences had gates or bushes in front, but no lawns. All houses had backyards and, as Max drove up to the first house, he could see a couple of young children playing catch in the yard next door.

  They waved at him as he parked his bike and he waved back, offering them a forced smile as he tugged the jacket out of his saddle bag and walked up the pathway to the front door, rapping twice on the redwood. Then he waited, holding the leather jacket out.

  When the door opened, he was surprised to see a tiny old lady with large spectacles and bushy gray hair peering up at him. “Hello, dear,” she greeted, her voice and chin both quivering. “How can I help you?”

  Max furrowed his brow as he stared down at her, clutching the leather jacket in his fists. He doubted this frail old woman had ever been a Hell’s Seven, but he couldn’t really risk the chance that she would have information. Still, it was awkward, considering this lady reminded him of his late grandmother. He found himself fixing his posture and clearing his throat before he began to speak.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am,” he said, “but would you happen to know the owner of this jacket?” He held it up again, allowing her to see the Hell’s Seven insignia, and waited.

  “Hmm,” she warbled. “Well, it does look very familiar. Perhaps I saw one of the neighbors wearing it.”

  “Would you know which neighbor, Ma’am?” Max asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

  “I’m sorry, no,” the woman informed him, sadly. “My memory isn’t what it used to be. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast!” She giggled and Max forced a smile and a chuckle, before thanking her and turning away from the house, headed next door.

  He received the same answer there, from a single mother way a baby on her hip; she recognized the insignia, but she couldn’t recall where she’d seen in before. Every single person on the block seemed to have the same exact story, all apologetic about their lack of knowledge. Max thanked each of them and began the long walk back to his bike.

  As he passed the second house, he saw that the boys that had been playing in the backyard were now sitting on the curb, their soccer ball wedged between them. As he passed, they jumped to their feet and ran after him.

  “Hey, Mister!” the redheaded boy called. “Wait up!” Max paused and turned back towards them, lifting his brow in question as they stopped just feet away.

  “What’s up, kid?” he asked.

  “Is that a real Hell’s Seven jacket?” the blond-haired one asked, staring at the leather in Max’s hands. “Like, from the gang?”

  “Yeah,” Max replied. “You’ve heard of them before?”

  The blond boy nodded. “My stepdad,” he said. “He was a member of their gang. He never told our mother, but I’ve seen that jacket in his car when he used to pick us up at school. He told us not to rat him out, but he’s long gone.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Where’d he go?” Max asked.

  “Heck if I know. He sold all his stuff and left town last month. Left our mother all on her own without any job or support. We’ve got a baby sister now!” He frowned and Max mirrored him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He peeled off a few bills and handed them to the boys.

  “Half of this is for you,” he told them. “Save it for a rainy day, alright?” The boys nodded. “Hide the other half someplace your mother might find it. Let her think that your stepdad left it behind.”

  “How much is it?” the redheaded boy asked, flicking through the money.

  “About two grand, give or take,” Max shrugged.

  “What?!” the blond exclaimed. “What are you doing carrying two grand in your pocket, man?”

  “That’s my business, kid,” Max replied. “Now, be careful. And if you see anybody with Hell’s Seven jackets coming around here, hide your mother and sister and give me a call.” He pulled out a card and placed it in the blond boy’s hand. “You can reach me anytime; day or night,” he promised.

  “Thanks, man,” the redhead said, giving him a tiny salute and a grin.

  “Anytime, little guy,” Max said, tucking the jacket underneath his arm. “And one more thing?” The boys gave him their full attention. “What was your stepdad’s name?”

  *****

  By the time he arrived back at the bar, he felt like punching something and downing a shot of whiskey. Or scotch. Or both.

  Both was good.

  But when he entered, the entire place was in chaos. He walked through the front door just in time to see Brandy, Regina’s waitress, being manhandled by a middle-aged man with less hair on his head than he had fat on his body. While others just stood there, watching!

  Cowards.

  Max stormed in, his feet carrying him through the crowd of people, straight towards the man, who was sitting in a chair near the pool table. His back was almost completely turned toward Max so he didn’t even see it coming when Max reached for the back of his chair and tugged it down with as much force as he could muster, watching as a few nearby patrons reached out to catch Brandy and right her, checking up on her like they didn’t just watch her getting attacked.

  “You alright?” he asked, practically shouting in her ear over the ruckus as the other began laughing and making fun of the fallen man. She met his eyes and gave him a slight nod, mouthing a quick thanks as she started to pick up the tray that had fallen from her hands.

  Max reached down to help, but then he felt thick fingers wrapping around the scruff of his neck and he turned to see the giant of an old man glaring daggers at him. Max met his nasty look with one of his own and spit down at the man’s shoes, which only angered him more.

  “You. Little. SHIT!” the older man bellowed, rearing back with his fist, before sending it sailing towards Max’s face. Max dodged it, easily (the man was slow and sluggish after so many drinks, he supposed), and slipped out of his grip, before sending his knee into the man’s lower back, causing him to topple over. The crowd laughed around them and burst into applause as Max spit on the man again.

  Enraged, the man struggled to his feet and took another swing at Max’s feet. Again, Max dodged the attack, laughing and shak
ing his head. “Is that all you’ve got?” Another swing. “Pathetic.” Another swing. “Just give up already, man.” Max laughed as the man panted and he shook his head, grinning down at the round-bodied fighter. “You’re never going to—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, however, the man’s fist landed against the side of his face, clipping Max’s nose and causing his head to turn to the side, his neck letting out a small cracking sound. Max jumped back, reaching for his nose as he felt the blood start to gush out.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed. “Wow.” He swallowed thickly and tried to keep his breath even as he chuckled. “Wow, that was a good punch,” he said. “I’m almost impressed.” The older man’s eyes widened as he held his hand against his chest, watching as Max took a few steps towards him. “Almost,” Max said, before decking him in the face, bringing the man down for good. Max shook out his right fist while his left hand worked to stem the bleeding from his nose.

  When he felt a tap on his shoulder, he turned to see Regina standing there, holding out a towel, her eyes narrowed on his face. Max accepted it and pressed it to his nose, blowing into it. When he was certain the blood had stopped flowing, he turned back to thank her. Regina shook her head, holding her hand out to stop him.

  “Save it,” she said. “Just come with me. We have to talk.”

  Max didn’t argue.

  Chapter Seven

  Regina

  She left Brandy to clean up the mess only after the younger woman had assured her that she would be fine. The regulars that were surrounding her helped her scoop up the broken glass and one of them even grabbed a broom from the corner while another held the dustpan. Things were well taken care of.

  So she was able to guide Max—and his bloodied nose—towards the laundry room, where she had him sit on the folding table and removed the reddening towel from his nose, wincing at the blood that had pooled on his upper lip.