by Lane Hart
Now, I just need to figure out who the hell they were and why they were threatening my brother.
Chapter Two
Sasha Sheridan
The scattered wreckage from the auto accident along the highway brings back a lot of shitty memories. Ones that I’ve tried to forget over the past ten years, without any luck. And no, it wasn’t the pain of the four surgeries or even the agonizing year of physical therapy that was the hardest to overcome. The worst part was going through it all without the man who said he loved me and wanted to marry me.
When I woke up in the hospital after my first surgery, Chase wasn’t there.
And I was so fucking angry at him for bailing on me that I refused to call him to ask why.
After the first few days, reading the articles in the paper, I started to think Chase disappeared from my life because he felt guilty, that he may blame himself for not being able to get out of the way of the drunk driver who hit us.
If that was the case, though, then why didn’t he just come and tell me that? I would’ve assured him that it wasn’t his fault and that he didn’t do anything wrong, except run away when I needed him the most.
But my pride wouldn’t give in and seek him out first. Weeks went by, and then months while I kept waiting for him to come around. I missed my entire senior year of high school, including prom and graduation. While my friends were partying, I was struggling through therapy and homeschooling. My choices for college were narrowed down significantly after the year out of school and without having any extracurricular activities to pad my applications, so I ended up going right down the road to the University of North Carolina at Wilmington. I was at least able to convince my parents to let me stay in the dorms like a normal college student. But I haven’t felt normal for one day in the ten years since the accident.
When I graduated with my journalism degree, I landed a job working at the local television station. My dream had always been to travel the world as an international correspondent, reporting from the most exciting places on Earth. For some stupid reason, I haven’t been able to make myself leave the state where he still lives. After ten years, I think a part of me has still been waiting for Chase Fury to find me and give me an explanation for why he broke my heart.
Most of the people who see me on television will never even know about the ordeal I’ve been through. That’s because fixing up my busted face was a pretty easy procedure for the plastic surgeons. My new chin and nose turned out better than before the accident, but even after all this time, my face still looks a little foreign to me when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. The hardest part was trying to repair my knee. I never wear dresses or any clothing on the air that reveals the thick, four-inch scar that runs over my kneecap. The damn thing is so fucked up that, after several surgeries to put in pins and screws, I still walk with a slight limp. It always hurts whenever rain is on the way, making me wonder if I should’ve been a meteorologist instead of a reporter.
I shouldn’t be complaining, because I know that the weeks of recovering in the hospital and months in physical therapy required for me to walk again were nothing compared to what could’ve happened to me. The doctors said I was lucky to be alive, unlike one of the victims of the wreck we’re here reporting on today. At the time, I didn’t feel very lucky because I lost something that could never be replaced.
“Sasha, are you ready?” Steve, our cameraman, asks me. “Sergeant Barnes, you good to go?”
“Yes,” the deep voice of the uniformed man I had forgotten was next to me answers.
Nodding my agreement as well, I push aside the memories of my past, straighten my red WBRL polo shirt with my free hand and grip the microphone in the other. Then, I wait until Steve holds up his three fingers and counts down. When he gets to one, I launch into my rehearsed spiel.
“I’m here on the scene of a serious accident involving at least one fatality on highway seventeen south in New Hanover County. Authorities are still investigating the cause of the wreck. With me this afternoon is Sergeant Barnes of the Highway Patrol. Sergeant Barnes, what can you tell us about this horrible accident?” I ask as I tilt the microphone toward the tall man’s face.
“Well, based on the bullet holes on the vehicle’s driver’s side, we believe that this could have been an unfortunate road rage incident turned tragic. We do have a witness who says she saw a single white male ride up on a black Harley-Davidson motorcycle and fire a gun into the victim’s SUV. If anyone has any additional information about the possible gunman, please call our local office. The suspect is believed to have been wearing motorcycle gang insignia on a leather vest or jacket.”
A chill goes up my spine. I can’t help but think about the leather-wearing man from my past who still haunts my present.
“Do you have any suspects?” I ask the sergeant.
“Not yet, but there are only a few motorcycle clubs in the area who are known to wear the bearded skull patch that our witness was able to draw for us, pointing our investigation in a very clear direction.”
“Oh shit,” I mutter, knowing that exact bearded skull logo all too well. The Savage Kings are killers now? Is that the type of man Chase turned into? I guess anything is possible after ten years. I’m starting to think I never really knew him…
“Cut!” Steve says before he lowers the heavy camera from his shoulder. “Sasha, once again, watch the language!”
“Sorry,” I apologize with a cringe.
“Let’s wrap this up so we can edit it for the six o’clock news. Jim will be pissed if he has to hold off until the eleven o’clock.”
“Okay, I’m ready,” I say. Steve gives the signal, and then I pick up where we left off. “Again, if anyone has information that could lead authorities to the suspect responsible, please call the Highway Patrol Office at the number on the bottom of the screen.” Steve nods, knowing they’ll be happy to plug that number into the clip during editing.
“This has been Sasha Sheridan reporting from New Hanover County for WBRL Seventeen News.”
“And cut!” Steve says. “We’re good.”
Turning to the sergeant, I put the microphone in my left hand to hold out my right for him to shake. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“Anytime. It was a pleasure,” he replies with a grin as he clutches my hand in his strong grip. “I mean, I feel awful about the victims, but I’m glad I got to meet you.”
“Oh, um, right,” I agree.
“Besides,” he says as he steps closer and lowers his voice, “Off the record, these guys have criminal records a mile long. They were all wanted.”
Why does hearing that make me feel better? It shouldn’t. Three men are still badly injured and at least one is dead because of one of the Savage Kings.
“Did the witness describe the biker?” I ask.
“Well, she said he had light hair and a pretty thick beard, both almost a reddish-blond color. She wasn’t absolutely sure, so we won’t be sharing that with the public. She also noticed several tattoos covering his right arm, but keep that between us too, okay? We need to hold a few of our cards to verify any witness information that comes forward.”
“Okay,” I agree, even though speaking that one word is difficult. While I haven’t seen Chase Fury in years, the description may very well be a match for him. All except for the beard, which he could’ve grown out. Would he do something so…so brutal?
Removing his hat and running his fingers through his short, dark hair, the sergeant says, “So, um, would you maybe want to have dinner with me sometime?”
“Ah, well, um.” Caught off guard, I stammer, which is unusual since I thought my public speaking courses beat all of those sentence fillers out of me. I’m still working on the potty mouth.
“Here, how about I give you my card; and if you come to a decision, you just let me know?” Sergeant Barnes suggests. Pulling out his wallet, he reaches inside and pulls out his business card, complete with the shiny badge logo and all.
&nb
sp; “Wow, okay,” I say when I take the card. He’s a nice looking guy, tall and muscular like I prefer. Besides, I haven’t had a date in…okay, longer than I care to admit.
“Have a good one,” Sergeant Barnes says. He puts his big hat back on and tugs down the front brim at me like a cowboy.
As I watch him walk away, I notice his nice plump ass in his uniform; but other than that, there’s no real spark. Which is a shame. He’s just too…nice. I need…well, I need a little bit of a bad boy to keep things interesting.
Blowing out a breath, I make my way back to our news van and climb inside for a drink of water to try and wrap my head around the breaking news.
Before, I stayed away from Chase because I refused to be the one to break the silence when he’s the one who hurt me. I don’t mean physically, like I’m sure he thinks, but the emotional damage that he caused. Now, though, my curiosity has been raised about the Savage Kings. Since they have charters all over the United States, if I broke a story about them going around killing people on the highway in broad daylight, it could have the potential to go national.
Besides, even if I don’t write one word of a story, I still need to know the kind of man Chase has become. There was a brief moment in time when I was planning to spend the rest of my life with him. Maybe, if I find out that he’s turned into a killer, I’ll finally be able to let him go once and for all.
Chapter Three
Chase
I pull up back at the clubhouse a few minutes before Abe and Turtle roll up in the flatbed with Abe’s bike strapped on the back, giving me enough time to stash the cash from the Aces in our vault to distribute to the families of our OD victims before I head back outside.
“Guess you survived after all,” Abe says when he climbs out of the cab. “Did you find them?
“Can we go talk somewhere else?” I ask him quietly.
“Yeah, sure,” he replies.
“Let’s take a walk to the pier,” I suggest, since there’s one near the clubhouse. It’s the only place that you can always trust that your conversation will be confidential. It’s easy to make sure nobody else is around, and the waves drown out the sound for any recording devices.
On the way, I pull out a smoke and light it up, taking a long draw before blowing it out to try and calm my nerves.
Once we get to the end of the pier, Abe and I turn around to face the busy boardwalk, putting our backs to the rail to keep an eye out for anyone approaching.
“So, did you fucking hit them?” he asks.
“Yeah. The SUV flipped a few times. Don’t know if they survived; those boys didn’t seem bright enough to figure out seatbelts. I’m sure we’ll find out later.,” I tell him. “Did you say anything to Turtle?” I ask.
“Nah. He knows better than to ask questions. He just laughed when he saw the flat tires. Probably thinks you did it being a dick.”
“If anyone asks, I did it,” I agree. Taking another drag from my smoke, I blow it out and grin. “Since I am a dick, it shouldn’t be a hard sell.”
“No shit,” Abe agrees with a chuckle. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looks over at me and arches a dark eyebrow. “So, why don’t you want Turtle or anyone else to know what went down with those assholes?”
“You heard those guys. Torin is in some sort of deep shit. He owes someone. I don’t know who, but I want a few days to try and get answers from him before we blow the whole thing up with the entire club.”
“Okay, that makes sense,” Abe agrees. I know I can trust him to keep his mouth shut. The two of us have had each other’s backs since the first day we met in prison. Well, after I socked the big man in the jaw.
“Torin’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you went after those fuckers without checking with him first,” he says.
As the president of the MC, Torin pulls weight over me, his VP.
“I had to make a split-second decision. It wasn’t like I could call him to ask permission and still have time to catch up to them,” I grumble.
“And you know that if you had called him, he would’ve told you to stand the fuck down.”
That’s where my brother and I differ. He spent a few years in the Army while I was here holding shit together for the MC. I patched in way before him, when I was just nineteen. But when our uncle died, Torin had been back a few years and was already handling most of the MC’s businesses dealings. He wanted the gavel and was voted in, which was fine by me. I wasn’t cut out for leadership, because I don’t play well with others.
The thing is, though, during those years apart, Torin developed one set of morals in the Army, and I have an entirely different set…if I even have any at all. Half the MC table is former military who couldn’t find a fit in civilian life when they returned from the desert. The other half of our members are mostly criminals and convicts like me who served time and don’t know how to do anything but the outlaw shit. Torin knows that sometimes you have to cross a few lines to get business handled and dole out justice. If you wait for the rest of the world to do it, you’ll die before it ever gets served. That’s why sometimes you have to take matters into your own fucking hands to balance the scales. And I don’t regret handing out my own brand of retribution that landed me in the Big House for fourteen months. It was worth it, and I deserved it.
“Let me know if you need anything from me, yeah?” Abe asks as he pushes off the rail.
“You fucking know it,” I tell him. Taking one last pull on my smoke, I put it out in one of the ashtray buckets bolted down onto the wood. We may be a bunch of savages, but we don’t fuck up our beaches.
“Shit, what time is it?” I ask aloud, having gotten distracted by all of today’s excitement and the long drive back to town. Obviously I took some detours just to make sure no one else tailed me.
“Probably around five-thirty or so,” Abe says as we both pull out our phones to check.
“Damn, I gotta get back to the clubhouse,” I say when I realize it’s already a quarter to six. “I’ll go talk to Torin later.”
“What the hell is it that you do every afternoon in your room? You take a nap or some shit?” Abe teases as we start walking back.
“Fuck you,” I tell him as I flip him the finger with a grin. “It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I plan to spend the rest of my evening with a beautiful redhead.”
“Which one?” I ask. “Becky or Cynthia?”
“Either. Both. You know I don’t give a shit,” Abe replies with a smirk. “You can keep your blondes. Reds are way more fucking fun.”
“If you say so,” I tell him with a shake of my head.
He’s right, though. I rarely take women back to my room unless my cock is hurting so bad that I’m forced to find it a warm, wet place to get some relief before it explodes. And when that happens, they’re always blonde. It’s been two weeks since I had something besides my hand to keep me company, so maybe I’ll look for someone when we get back to the clubhouse. God knows there’s always an endless supply of easy riders lurking in the Savage Asylum, the bar above where our chapter holds church, and about six of us have basic apartments with a bed and bathroom. Some of the guys have houses, like Torin and War, but they also have families. My single brothers and I prefer to stay where the action is easily accessible for whenever we need a warm body. For a few of my more rowdy brothers, that’s all night, every fucking night.
After you’ve had the classiest, sexiest, most gorgeous woman ever to walk the earth, it’s hard to get real excited about biker sluts who’ll fuck any bastard in a leather cut. Those girls shouldn’t want me or my brothers to put them on their knees, but we can’t seem to get rid of them. In fact, a few more show up every week, ready and willing to let us use their bodies however we see fit. They know that they may not get anything in return, or they may get fucked rough and dirty, but that’s the best they can hope for. We make no other promises.
Which is why I only feel a little guilty
when I walk into the bar and crook my finger at Nikki, one of our loyals who’s been coming around the club for several months now. I’ve used her mouth a few times before and know she’s a goddamn champ at deep throating. She never whines, bitches, or gives me a fake fucking pout when I kick her out either. And the best part about Nikki? She’s a natural blonde, just like I like, not that mustard yellow fake shit that’s too god awful for me to even pretend they’re someone else.
As soon as she’s following me, I go over and punch in the code to get in the basement before she can see it. We change the code every week, and only members and their guests are allowed downstairs.
I keep my apartment door locked to prevent my brothers from stealing all my smokes and condoms, so I pull out the key to turn the lock. I push the door open for Nikki, who thank fuck, still hasn’t said a word, to walk through first.
Locking the door behind us, I grab the remote to turn on the flat screen sitting on top of the dresser which brings up channel seventeen; then I put it on mute.
“You know what to do,” I tell Nikki when I take a seat at the foot of the bed in front of the flat screen. Without needing further instructions, she kneels down in her tight, sleeveless black dress between my legs and undoes my jeans while I lay back on my elbows.
My cock hasn’t even started getting hard yet when it bobs free from my jeans.
Wrapping her hand around my shaft, all it takes is a few teasing flicks of her tongue over the tip to cause the blood to finally rush down and make it lengthen, because I’m a grower and a goddamn shower.
Before I can even warn her to stop teasing me and get to work sucking, Nikki opens her mouth and takes every inch of me into her throat.
