Snow White & The Biker
A Dark Fairytale
Original Seven MC
Glenna Maynard
Snow White & The Biker ©2019 All Rights Reserved Glenna Maynard
This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, business, establishments, locals or events is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations or locals is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Cover design and formatting Glenna Maynard
Dedication
To dark hearts and fairytales.
Contents
Dedication
Blurb
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Dear Reader,
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About Glenna
Available Now
Snow White & The Biker
She’s an heiress and he’s the outlaw hired to kill her.
She’s supposed to be an easy target. One bullet and done. All I have to do to earn my Original Seven MC patch is pull the trigger. It sounds easy enough until I make the mistake of falling for her. When the time comes, I will have to do what I was born for and end her life. Only I can’t stop thinking about her red as blood lips and how good they taste or her dark as night hair wrapped up in my fist. It’s either kill her or take her place six feet under. In this life you can either ride or you die.
Preface
Once upon a time, a man loved a woman. He treated her as his queen, and she gave her king a princess. Hair as dark as night. Lips as red as blood. They named her Sybil White. Their princess was the apple of their eye but like in all fairytales there was a villain who was jealous of their love—she sought to destroy their happily ever after and all they held dear. One by one she watched them fall until all that was left was unsuspecting Sybil.
“Mirror, mirror watch them fall.
Mirror, mirror burn them all.
Mirror, mirror kill Sybil White.
Kill them. Kill them all.”
Chapter 1
—Diego
Rolling up to the clubhouse disappointment fills me. Wrath’s back. My bastard of a stepfather and my Prez. His black and red chopper is parked in his usual spot, the club’s O7 insignia painted on the tank. I was hoping the asshole was still on his run. Once a month he travels to various businesses to collect protection fees. The owners hand over a percentage of their earnings to the Original Seven MC. The motorcycle club I’m a prospect for. The club my father used to be the president of until Wrath killed him and took the club and my mother as his own.
One day I will end him and deliver his head to my mother.
Parking my bike, I light up a cigarette and debate going inside. I really don’t want to see his ugly mug, but it isn’t like I have much of a choice. As I walk through the door Freak gives me a chin lift from behind the bar. Looks like he’s on bitch duty which is fitting because he is a little bitch. Bet he fucking wipes Wrath’s ass for him, he’s such a fucking ass licker. I start for the bar to grab a beer when I hear, “Prospect,” boom from across the room.
Fucking hell.
That didn’t take long. I cross the room in five strides. With my cigarette hanging from my bottom lip, I run a hand through my dark hair and mutter, “What?”
Fucking Wrath is sunk down in the worn leather cushions of a couch in the back of the bar getting his nuts sucked by one of the Frisco twins and he’s knuckle deep fisting the other bitch’s pussy. The sight is nothing new, but it repulses me that when he’s through, he’ll go home to my mother where she’ll have dinner on the table and not a hair out of place. Pretending to be the perfect Old Lady while praying for his death or her own.
It isn’t for lack of trying on her part. She’s attempted to take her life so many times now that I would only be surprised if she succeeded.
Wrath is a big ugly bastard. I’m surprised these cunts can even find his dick under his gut it hangs so far down. My stepfather weighs nearly three hundred pounds and is as tall as he is round. Fucker has Redwood tree trunks for legs. “Got a job for you. Do this right and I’ll personally patch you in,” he states gruffly.
“What’s the catch?” With him there is always a big but tacked on at the end. I take a hard drag of my Winston Light and flick my ashes on twin one’s backside. She doesn’t even notice. The whore is too busy slobbing on Wrath’s dick like it’s coated in gold. Both these stupid cunts think one day he’ll take them mutually as his old ladies. They come as a package deal. I find their relationship to be sick but the whole thing is none of my business. But the day I put a bullet between his eyes these bitches will be out on their asses. They can take their freak show on the road.
Twin two starts to moan as she rides his hand. He brings his slick fist up to his mouth and licks his fingers, and I refrain from making a disgusted face. Every brother in here just about has used the twins like cum buckets. I’d be afraid my fingers would fall off if I touched either of their snatches. Nasty shit that I want no damn part of. My father is probably rolling in his grave. This was never the vision for this club. My father was an outlaw and lived by the code but the one thing he had was respect for women. Respect for his brothers and their Old Ladies. In his eyes a woman was to be cherished and never forsaken. Marriage was a sacred bond that was just as important as the code he lived and ruled this club by. A code he learned from my grandfather.
Wrath’s eyes roll back in his head, and he shoots his load all over twin one’s fake tits. Tits he paid for. “Go on. Clean up.” He shoves the skanky pair away and tucks his dick back in his jeans. “Got a file on my desk needs tending to. You do what is needed and that O Seven patch is yours.” He smirks and lifts a brow.
Prick knows that all I have wanted since my old man died was to wear his patch. I haven’t earned it yet, but I will.
Flicking my cigarette to the ground I snuff it out with the toe of my worn boot. Giving him a nod, I grab a beer from behind the bar before I go to his office. The office that once belonged to my father, Emanuel “Killshot” Diaz, son of Hector “Wildman” Diaz a founder of the Original Seven. My father was too good for this life, too trusting of snakes like Wrath.
Plopping down in his high back dark brown leather chair, I crack the bottle cap from the beer and take a hard pull. The cold liquid glides down the back of my throat and I let out an, “Ahhh.” I pick up the folder. It’s a hit job and no more complicated than the normal one bullet and done. I don’t take pleasure in killing, but sometimes a man has no other choice. In this life you can ride or die, and I choose to fuckin’ ride. I’ll ride every damn time. I’m a selfish asshole who enjoys pussy, ridin’, and drinkin’.
<
br /> Mulling over the file there isn’t much to go on. Sybil also known as Sybi is a twenty-year-old college student who stands to inherit her father’s fashion empire on her twenty-first birthday. It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Her stepmother paid handsomely for my dear old stepfather to take her out, but he’s retiring from the killing business, and I am next in line to earn my cut.
It’s simple really. Kill the girl and earn my patch or let her live and end up in her place—six feet under. I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.
Fingering her photograph, it seems a shame to end such a beautiful life.
And fuck me the girl staring back at me in the photograph is gorgeous. My chest feels tight and funny as I gaze into her eyes.
Lips as red as blood. Hair as dark as night. Sweet Sybil White, I’m going to cut out your heart and keep it in a jar as my trophy. After I push the old man out and claim his seat at the head of the table that is. A grim smile crosses my face at the thought.
That patch is as good as mine.
Chapter 2
—Consuela
Earlier that same day
After touching up my lipstick, I step out of my car, smoothing my hands down my sides. Clearing my throat, I pass the rows of motorcycles and say a silent prayer that this Wrath is the answer to all my problems. I’ve always hated places like this. Biker bars are simply gross, so beneath a woman like me. However, I need to be here. I’m searching for a man by the name of Wrath. I was told by my source that this was the place to find him.
When I step inside the filthy watering hole, the music cuts off and all eyes are on me as they should be. I’m a woman who captures the attention of every man I meet. I have been featured on the list of the world’s most beautiful models every year for the past fifteen years. I’ve always been number one. Well...one year I was number two, but nature took care of that. It was such a tragedy when Martina White passed away from complications during childbirth leaving her husband heartbroken and ripe for the picking. Richard should've been mine from the start.
I met him first.
I fucked him first and I fucked him last.
I smile to myself thinking of my poor Richard.
I loved him as much as I could ever love anyone.
Martina and I were roommates when we first started in the fashion industry. She never would’ve met Richard had I not introduced them. They never would have married. He was supposed to be mine. All mine. She stole him from me. She took what should have been mine.
That's in the past now. Once Martina and her son passed away, Richard found his way to me. We could have been happy, had it not been for his and Martina’s brat, Sybil.
That child hated me from day one. Richard coddled the girl too much. He always gave her what she wanted. He’d cancel our plans to tend to her every whim. I had everything planned. I’d get rid of the brat and Richard would finally be all mine. Everything would be as it should have been from the start. I would have my heart’s desire. I planned every detail perfectly. It would have worked out had it not been for that damn brat always getting in the way.
Richard never would have married Martina had she not been born. I tried to talk Martina into an abortion, but she wouldn’t have it. Insisted she couldn’t wait to be a mother and to have a piece of her and piece of Richard cradled in her arms. I admit that Sybil was a beautiful baby. I should have smothered her when I had the chance. I stood over her crib watching her sleep, and I could see bits of Richard in her features, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. If I could go back in time, I’d take that pillow and do what needed to be done.
Things didn’t go as planned and Richard died in the wretched brat’s place.
Richard’s Will left everything to Sybil. She’ll inherit his fortune and his company upon her twenty-first birthday. She’s an insolent child who knows nothing about running a high-end fashion line. I thought I had a hold on her, but I should’ve kept a tighter lock and key on her. With her twenty-first birthday approaching it's imperative I end her, before I have to hand over what should be mine.
I’m told this miscreant, Wrath, is my best hope. He’s ruthless, discreet, and for hire. He’s perfect. A man with no moral compass will have no problem accepting payment for ending a brat’s existence. She’s nothing more than gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
The bartender gives me a once over with his greasy smile practically oozing calories. My skin crawls at the sight of the man. Oily skin and pockmarks on his hook tipped nose. His eyes are dark and beady. He reminds me of a vulture with his long black slicked back hair. “You lost?” he says with a grunt. His gaze lingers on my chest and bile rises up the back of my throat. I force it down.
I have a killer to hire.
Saddling up to the bar I put forth my most dazzling smile. “I’m looking for Wrath.”
“Get out,” the man barks at me, and I nearly jump straight out of my Manolo Blahnik heels.
I came prepared for such a cold reception such as this. Sliding a few one-hundred-dollar bills across the bar top, I say once more, “I’m here to see Wrath.”
The slimeball pockets the cash and says, “Take a seat. Back booth. He’ll arrive soon enough.”
With my shoulders back and my head high, I parade through the crowd of vagrants to the seat the bartender pointed out. Crossing my ankles under the table I can only hope that the filth of this place doesn’t rub off on my clothing. I hate to think of all the health code violations happening in this dump. I can’t wait to ditch this itchy wig and take a shower.
The place is dark and musky. It smells like piss, smoke, and liquor. I can feel their eyes on me, but I’m not stupid. I am wearing a wig and contacts and driving a rental car. I should have however dressed down.
—Wrath
Pulling up outside of Hell’s Gate, a bar on the freeway not far from the airport, the parking lot is full of motorcycles just like mine...all except for one car. You don’t see many Cadillacs here. You won’t find a man who drives a car like that here unless he’s here on business or lost.
I’ve been on the road for weeks. There's only two things on my mind. A cold drink and pussy. However, you won’t find good pussy here. That can wait. My thirst can’t.
Grabbing a stool, I toss a twenty on the bar top, and Raider opens me a longneck bottle of Budweiser.
“You got company. Back booth.”
I raise my beer, taking a hard swig with a grunt. I’m in no mood for company unless it comes with long legs that are ready to spread or mouth that is ready to deepthroat my dick.
The back booth is occupied by a woman who is too damn classy to be here. She must own that Cadillac. Probably a rich bitch hoping to off her unsuspecting husband. She’s not the first, and I’m damn sure she won’t be the last.
Too damn fancy to be seeking out the likes of me.
Her well-manicured fingers tap against the hardwood of the table. Her blonde hair is pinned neatly to her head. That won’t last long around here. I won’t be the one to ruin her hair or smudge her lipstick though. She’s a bit too old and plastic for my taste. I prefer a natural woman who doesn't have to try so damn hard. Her eyes are cold, like damn glaciers that would cut a man in two.
I’m not just any man though. I didn’t earn my name or rank by being a cowering pussy.
No, my road has been paved with blood.
The blood of weaker and lesser men.
Low lives.
Scum.
I make the world shine a bit brighter by taking them out.
“You Wrath?” My name comes out as though it tastes bitter on her tongue as I approach the opposite side of the booth.
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“I have a proposition for you.” She hands me a piece of paper.
Glancing at the number, I smile.
She doesn't waste any time. I can appreciate a woman who knows how to get down to business.
Taking a seat, I lean in across the table. “Start talking. I charge by t
he minute.”
She clears her throat. “I have a person I need you to dispose of.”
“Send the information and the payment to this address.” I slide a card across the table.
“I’ll pay when I have proof,” she sneers.
“No money no job, lady. Don't jerk me around. I’m the best at what I do, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know that. Cash only.” I down the rest of my beer and slam the bottle on the table laughing as she jerks from the movement.
She nods. “Half down. The rest when she’s legally declared dead.”
“Deal. Now, get the fuck outta here.”
She scoffs but marches her happy stuck up ass out the door.
Now to see about that pussy.
Chapter 3
—Diego
Day two watching Sybil White. The girl is boring as fuck for a college student who is also a rich bitch. Yesterday she attended three classes then spent four hours in the library before hitting the campus cafeteria to eat dinner alone. After that she returned to her apartment. I found the routine a bit pathetic however normal aside from the fact that she doesn’t seem to have friends. I have only observed her speaking with who appeared to be her professors. I sat outside of her apartment for two hours before she turned off the lights and went to bed. I went home after that and returned early this morning.
I thought chicks travelled in packs and never go to the bathroom alone. Grabbing her will be a piece of cake. From the appearance of things no one will miss her when I kill her. I’ll be doing her a favor. Thought girls like her were socialites and were the life of the party and had more friends than they could count except it seems she’s a loner. I don’t know what to make of it.
Lighting up a cigarette, I wait for her to vacate her apartment. She lives alone according to her file. Today will be much of the same, except while she is in class, I will be casing her apartment. Making my plans for her to meet her end. I watch as she double checks the lock. She proceeds to the mailbox and sticks an envelope in the out box. Today she is dressed differently though. She’s wearing a fucking costume. Like the fairytale princess, Snow White. She’s wearing a dress that is blue on the top half and yellow on the bottom. She even has short black hair like the character. What the hell is she doing dressed like that? Why the hell do I find it sexy and imagine her going down on her knees and sucking my dick while wearing it?
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