by Meg Jackson
THE BIKER'S PAST
A COLD STEEL MC NOVELLA
MEG JACKSON
Copyright ©2015 Meg Jackson
The Biker's Past is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Cover design : © L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations
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MY OTHER TITLES
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OTHER TITLES
ROUGH LOVE
(A RATTLESNAKE MC NOVEL)
She's the target. He's the captor. Neither of them ever planned to fall in love.
Gunner is the leader of the Rattlesnake MC. The gang's latest plan is to kidnap the daughter of a rich man and demand a ransom, and it goes off without a hitch. But then he runs into a problem he never predicted - falling in love. Serena is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, and he'll stop at nothing to have her.
Serena is a rich girl with no love in her life. Her father has been emotionally abusive for her whole life, and she's always looking for ways to get back at him for it. She feels a deep attraction the moment Gunner pulls the bag off her head, but he's the man who turned her life upside down. She'll never give in to her urges.
Will Gunner be forced to expose his sensitive side to win over Serena? Will Serena be able to resist?
TAKEN BY BIKERS
Sara's boyfriend thinks it'll be fun to spend the night at the town biker bar, but it turns out she's a lot more welcome than he is. After a rough biker stands up for her during a fight with her boyfriend, Sara finds herself unable to stay away from him, and she'll do anything or anybody to keep him.
THE BIKER'S PAST
A COLD STEEL MC NOVELLA
MEG JACKSON
Did they make you read Romeo and Juliet in high school? They made us read it. I hated it. I thought it was stupid. I mean, these two kids just suddenly fall head-over-heels in love? They barely know each other! And then all that drama, all that pain, and they just wind up dead. What kind of story is that?
I’m not here to tell you that “once you have real love, Romeo and Juliet makes a lot more sense.” It doesn’t. It doesn’t make any more sense to me now than it did in tenth grade English. That’s not how love works. No one ever needs to wind up dead. If you’re in love and you wind up dead, you weren’t doing it right. At least, I’m pretty sure of that. After everything that’s happened though…I guess I could see myself winding up dead.
And “star-crossed lovers?” Sorry, but as easy as it might seem to blame fate, I don’t believe anyone winds up where they are because of things outside of their control. I mean, sure, oxytocin is a powerful drug, and a lot of the time you feel like you’re being compelled to do things, like you don’t have a choice, but you always have a choice.
I guess that’s one of the best things I learned from all this. You always have a choice.
But there is one bit of Romeo and Juliet that makes sense to me these days, on the rare occasion I think about it…
O, I am fortune’s fool!
“Dad, no!”
My father was standing, one eye closed, the other narrowed to a slit, with a shotgun aimed at Boon. Actually, the shotgun was aimed at me, and I was standing in front of Boon.
“Get in the house, Samantha,” Dad said, not taking his eyes off Boon, who was gently pushing me away.
“Do what he says,” Boon said to me, under his breath. I could feel his heart pounding against my back as I stood between him and my father.
“Dad, you stop this right now. This is my friend, Boon, and whatever you think…”
“Samantha, I’m going to tell you one more time, get in the house,” Dad said, his voice increasing in fury with each word. My mother was hopping around in a frenzy, unsure of whether to try and calm Dad down or swoop in and yank me away. I could see terror in her eyes, and knew it was reflected in my own. Dad could be strict but this was…well, it was unusual, to say the least.
“Tell me your last name, kid,” he repeated, menacing.
“Culver,” Boon said from behind me, his voice betraying no trace of anxiety or pressure. He finally reached out and physically pushed me to the side, breaking eye contact with my father to look at me.
“Get inside, Samantha. I don’t want you seeing whatever this is going to turn into,” Boon said. His voice made my heart freeze. He sounded like a man who was used to doing what needed to be done. Dirty things. Things that you wouldn’t want your kids to know about. He sounded, for the first time since I’d met him, like a scary biker. It was so different from the bemused, inquisitive, clever guy I’d hit it off with. I was sobbing by then, unaware of anything but the barrel of the gun, Boon’s wide, cold eyes, my father’s anger like a physical force.
Boon suddenly softened, his face seeming to melt into pleading. He reached out for me.
“Don’t fucking move,” Dad cried out. I could see the situation was beginning to wear on him, could see his hands shaking as he held the gun. Ignoring him, I took Boon’s hand. He slipped something into my palm. Then he dropped his gaze, turning back to my father.
“My last name is Culver, sir. My father is Tank Culver. Of the Cold Steel Motorcycle Club,” he said, swallowing hard but not giving up the staring contest. My mother rushed to me, and I folded into her arms, wanting her comfort.
“Daddy, please,” I managed to cry as my mother struggled to corral me away from the scene.
“Do you love him, Samantha?” My father suddenly asked, not turning his attention (or gun) away from Boon. His voice, though, was softer, almost as though he was anticipating my answer, and was already disappointed in me. I guessed he had seen everything he thought he needed to see in that first moment he saw us together. After all, the way I’d rushed into Boon’s arms, the way our eyes had been locked together, it probably did look like love.
But was it? In a second, I knew I had my answer.
“No, Daddy, but he’s my friend,” I said. This wasn’t, of course, nearly the whole truth. But it was some sort of truth. I didn’t love him, at least not then. After all, I’d only just met him, and it was going to take a lot more than one huge romantic gesture for me to start confessing undying love.
On the other hand, Boon certainly wasn’t just a friend. He was…something else. Something in between. The best way I could sum up exactly how I felt about Boon, how I’d felt when he sent me that text, was that I was excited beyond all reason to fall in love with him. I could feel it had already started to happen, and I was ready for it to happen.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I looked to Boon’s face, trying to see how he’d react. He didn’t look crestfallen. He didn’t look dejected. He looked…cold. He wasn’t looking at me, but at my father. I wanted to explain more. I wanted to tell them both: I’m confused! I could love him! If you’d let me, Dad, if you’d let me, Boon, I could love him!
“Please, Daddy, stop,”
I finally managed to say, more tears leaking from my eyes. And then my father deflated. Like a balloon, he just seemed to lose all the air and strength in his body at once. He didn’t drop his eyes from Boon’s, but he did drop his gun. His shoulders slumped. He shook his head.
“Kid, you must have had some sorta traumatic brain injury on that hog of yours if you thought coming around here was a good idea,” Dad said at last. Boon’s shoulders dropped as well as he relaxed, no longer the target at the end of Dad’s shotgun. “Now, I suggest you get on that death machine of yours and ride it as far the fuck away from Missoula, Montana as you can get before you drown.”
With that, and nothing more, Dad turned. He strode towards Mom and I, who were huddled together, both sobbing, and grabbed us, pushing us ahead of him into the house. If I wasn’t so shocked already from everything that had happened, I would have been shocked by this rough treatment. Dad never laid a hand on Mom or I. Looking back once more before falling across my doorstep, I saw Boon, head hanging for just a moment before rising again and looking, defiantly, at my father’s back.
That look scared me almost as much as anything else that had just happened.
That look made me think that maybe I hadn’t been behaving very intelligently. That maybe I’d been downright stupid. Maybe I’d dragged my friends, my family, into a dangerous situation. After all, Boon was a member of a freaking biker gang, for god’s sakes.
His tattoos weren’t just there to look cool.
He didn’t ride a bike for fun.
This wasn’t a hobby.
He was trouble.
And I’d walked right into it, given him everything, been led on by his cute smile and strong arms and deep eyes. He got me high, and I made out with him in a bathroom. Suddenly, that story didn’t seem cool or edgy or fun. It seemed downright…stupid.
I began to panic as my family filed into the house. What if he comes after me, what if he comes after my dad, what if…
I remembered that I was still holding whatever it was Boon had slipped into my palm. In my frenzied state, I didn’t even bother looking at it, just slipped it into my pocket.
“How did you meet him?” Dad asked, turning to face me as I stood in the hallway. He didn’t look angry anymore, just…confused? Maybe a little angry, still, but mostly sad and confused. I struggled to breathe, never mind speak.
“Hugh, give her a minute,” Mom said, coming to my rescue. She threw her arm around my shoulders, curling me in close. I closed my eyes and let my head rest against her, feeling her breathe, steady and deep. How can moms go from freaking out to perfectly calm so quickly? How are moms so good at doing whatever the situation calls for? I know for a fact that Mom was not, in fact, feeling very calm at that moment. Despite the steadiness of her breathe, I knew that, inside, she was as strung up as I was. But she managed to keep it all under wraps. For my sake.
“Vegas,” I finally managed to sniffle. My father rolled his eyes so hard he must have caught a glimpse of gray matter.
“Vegas? Vegas, Samantha? You met him on your girl’s trip? Jessica, I knew we shouldn’t have fucking let that happen, Jesus Christ, and you gave him your address? Where the hell did you meet him in Vegas? Did you guys go to a goddam biker bar?” My father was about to launch into one of his famous tirades: a steady flow of words that could go on for hours, days even, if left unchecked.
“Bill, you were the one who suggested Vegas,” Mom said, coming to my defense once more.
“I didn’t give him my address, Daddy, I swear,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes. “Are we gonna be okay? Why did you do that, Daddy? What did he do?”
“Just…go upstairs, please, Samantha, for now,” Dad said, sighing, looking defeated. I stayed put, not willing to leave until I got some answers. The panic had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache. Later, I’d know this was shock. At the time, it was all I could do to think straight. I was tired and angry and upset and hurt and curious all at the same time, but all of those feelings were just below the surface, just out of reach.
“But…” I sputtered, but knew better than to protest further. Dad’s eyes had fallen on me, and I knew there was no arguing. Breaking away from my mother, I slowly shambled up the staircase to my room. For some reason, as I went, I thought about the day my parents had planned: a sunny, summer barbeque by the pool. The thought broke my heart into a million pieces. And I ruined it, I thought, finally reaching the top of the stairs. I looked down behind me; Mom and Dad both were staring up at their daughter: their beloved, straight-A, “saving it for marriage,” daughter.
I’d never been so happy to be sent to my room.
S.O.S., I tapped with shaking fingers on my phone, sending out a distress call to Becky and Alicia. Within seconds, they’d both responded.
Coming over now, Alicia wrote back.
Be there in ten, was Becky’s response.
No, can’t, stuck in room, skype?!?!?! I shot back. I turned on my computer and opened Skype; they were both online already, and soon we were set up in a three-way chat. They could see, from one glance I’m sure, how upset I was. As I told them the whole story, from the text to the showdown to being sent to my room, their jaws dropped.
“Holy shit, Samantha! How did he find you?”
“Wait, your dad threatened him? With a gun?”
“Do you know where he is? You gotta talk to him,” Alicia said. Becky’s face scrunched in reaction.
“Alicia, what the hell are you talking about? You gotta stay far, far away from him, Samantha!”
“Guys, I…”
“No, no, I mean, we met him, too, Becky, I mean, he showed up at her house, what kind of guy does that unless he…”
“Um, a serial killer?! A psycho, that’s who, Alicia! Samantha, if your dad…”
“Your dad let him go, so obviously he’s not a murderer, girl…”
“Alicia, you are the worst! Samantha, you CANNOT go looking for this guy, he’s bad news.”
“He’s totally in love with you! So he’s got a past? Who doesn’t? Sammy, you absolutely cannot let him leave without…”
“Guys, guys, I can’t, right now. Please, stop. I mean…he could be dangerous, like really dangerous! Or he could just be…I don’t know! Please, just everyone stop talking for like five seconds,” I finally managed to blurt out, breathing heavily. They were like physical representations of my own torn mind: what I wanted, and what I knew was right.
There was silence as Alicia and Becky paused in their ranting, both looking into their webcams with concern.
“I’m sorry, I know, this is like…way much to deal with,” Becky finally said. Alicia nodded.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now. Maybe you should talk to your dad first?”
“Yeah, talk to your dad. See why he reacted that way. Then…well, then you can figure out what you wanna do,” Becky said, her voice loaded. I could tell she was really trying hard not to leap down my throat again. I could also tell that she was trying not to say “I told you so”: she had been the only one who’d ever suggested what I was doing with Boon was wrong.
“Guys…what if I really screwed up? What if…”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Sammy,” Alicia interrupted.
“You were just having fun and getting to know someone. You made a decision and you enjoyed it and you couldn’t have known that all this was going to happen,” Becky said, nodding in agreement.
“You should never feel bad about something like that. I mean, you totally impressed me, going after what you wanted like that, and even if it ends in a massive crash and burn, you’ll always have my respect, girl,” Alicia said with a smile. I found myself grinning along. It was amazing, no matter how bad things looked, that my friends could still manage to put a smile on my face. I loved them for that.
“Thanks…I needed that,” I said, breathing normally for the first time since Boon had shown up.
“Of course, Sammy. You know we’re always here for you,” Becky
said, leaning in and smooching the webcam.
“Talk to your dad, then call us! Is it really bad that I’m kinda pumped on all this drama?” Alicia asked, a sly smile on her face.
“YES,” Becky and I answered in unison.
“You’re a total bitch,” I said, laughing. Alicia shrugged and leaned in to the camera, also pretending to kiss it.
“Whatever, I love you,” she said. “Now go talk to your dad!”
As I signed off, I wondered if I should give Mom and Dad a little more time to hash it out. In the meantime, I figured, I could pace my room and think about every worst-case-scenario in the world. I knew that I’d drive myself crazy just sitting in my room alone, so I made the decision to at least try. I slipped out of my room quietly and hovered near the top of the stairs. I could hear Mom and Dad talking, loudly, from downstairs.
“She deserves an explanation, Bill. Whatever went on between them…”
“Jesus, Jillian! How can you even bring that up! When I think of our Samantha getting involved in that…that…”
“She’s 18! She’s going to meet boys. She’s going to like boys. She’s going to like the wrong sort of boy sometimes. You, of all people, should know what a guy like that can do…”
“Don’t you ever compare me to that scum, Jillian. I might have had a rough side when you met me, but…”
“A rough side? Honey, you better make an appointment to be checked for early dementia. If I recall, you spent the better part of junior year in a cloud of smoke…and most of senior year in the drunk tank!”
“This isn’t about me, Jillian! This is about our daughter making eyes with some biker trash! And not just any biker trash, the fucking son of the man who…”
“How old do you think that boy was, huh? Do you really think he even knew what was happening then?”
“Well, he’s old enough now to know to stay the hell away from good girls like Samantha!”
