My mom and dad used to spend some nights here, sleeping in the bedroom that now just stored boxes filled with forgotten memories. Back then my dad was more reigned in, the MC was more of a club and none of the members were true one percenters. I think my mom had a lot to do with that, because after she died was when the Beasts really blew up.
Dad had always been a man to be reckoned with, but losing my mom seemed to really change him—he turned his full attention to the MC and growing it, and then using it to turn the Brody name into something to be admired. And feared. Reid and I weren’t quite old enough to join in on any of the action when Ash started working here, but it was made clear that we would both be brought into the fold as well.
He was grooming us to inherit an empire—an empire that he was building by himself, piece by piece—until it all turned to shit and he went to prison. He’d fucked up. Pushed too fast and too hard, and it wound up backfiring on him.
He wasn’t the only one to take the fall, many of the top lieutenants all got put away, and from there the whole MC fell apart. Moose was one of the lucky few to escape any real time, and that was because he had chosen to virtually pull out from most club business by that time.
In my opinion, everything could have still been eventually salvaged if Ash hadn’t grown a conscience and walked away. He still had the Brody name. He could have risen up and brought order back to the chaos that the arrests had brought.
Instead, he left, trying his best to turn me and Reid against our old man and the MC in general. Reid seemed to have taken the bait; he was never that into any of it. But it never felt right to me. Dad spent years building something big and powerful. He was doing it for us. Didn’t we have an obligation to see it through once he was gone? To not only follow in his footsteps, but to figure out where he’d gone wrong and not make those same mistakes?
Some days I felt like I could have done that. That I still could.
And then other days I resented the old fuck for leaving us. For putting the MC first, knowing that mom had died and we had no one else around when he was off riding with his crew. He told us we were old enough—that we were men enough—to take care of ourselves. For a while I actually did believe that, but eventually I realized it was really just an excuse he gave to avoid the responsibility of being tied down with his kids. He just wanted to do his own thing with the MC.
That was the part I resented. That was one of the mistakes he made, one that no matter what I did, I would never repeat. He put the MC ahead of his family. Even if he really had been building it for us to take over, we needed him to be around as a father when we were growing up—just as we were becoming men. But that’s exactly when he disappeared.
Still, I often couldn’t help but wonder if it was precisely that single-minded drive—the willingness to put anything and everything aside and give all of his attention and focus to the MC—that had made it so successful in the first place. After all, it didn’t become anything special until after mom had died. If dad had continued to split his attention, spending much of his time raising his kids, maybe the club would have never gotten out of Bright Falls at all. Maybe it would still be here, in this tiny little clubhouse, and would have remained just a hobby.
It was hard to imagine that being enough for my old man, though. After mom died, he became a man of extremes. Took on a Go Hard or Go Home mentality, and going home was just never as interesting to him. So his focus went to building something that was.
That’s the real reason I hadn’t visited him once since he got locked up. Not because Ash forbade it; I could have given a fuck what Ash forbade. No. Dad made no effort to spend time with us when he was free, so I had no interest in visiting him now that he was locked up.
But that didn’t mean I thought his legacy should die.
And yet, I already knew I wasn’t willing to make the same sacrifices that he made. I could never turn my back on my family for something like that. Sometimes I wondered if Ash was right when he said the only reason it was so important to me was that I’d spent so many years expecting it to come to pass. Waiting for my turn on the throne.
But was that throne really worth sitting on?
Beth certainly didn’t seem to think so. The look on her face, when she realized that the MC was into illegal shit, was enough to convince me of that. With most people, I hated that look of judgment. The feeling that they didn’t approve of my choices or thought that they knew better. But with Beth, it didn’t so much piss me off as twist around in my gut, making me wonder just what the hell I was doing even considering something like following in my father’s footsteps. She made me want to make better choices.
It was confusing as hell, and part of me hated it. Yet the more I thought about it, the more I began to see the parallel between Beth and me, and my own parents.
Before mom died, dad was calmer. He seemed more satisfied with the MC just being a hobby, and spending time with his family. She grounded him. It wasn’t until she died that he went off the rails. Something seemed to snap in him, and his choices all became more extreme. More violent. More self-destructive.
Could Beth be leading me from my own downward spiral? I certainly felt calmer and happier with her than I’d ever felt on my own, or with anyone else. More grounded.
Following the MC path would mean giving her up. I couldn’t see her becoming an ol’ lady, content to sit around the house raising the kids while her husband ran around town like a hoodlum. And as much as I’d like to think I would do things differently, relationships between club members and their women were never very healthy. The lifestyle just didn’t really support true commitment. I’d never really thought too deeply about it before, because I’d never met anyone I could ever see myself with long term anyway.
Meeting Beth had given me a lot to think about. Choices and paths that had seemed clear and easy were now muddy. It would be easy to argue that my feelings for her were just confusing things, but I wasn’t sure that was the real problem. I thought the issue was that I had just been working towards something for so long that I hadn’t really questioned whether it was the right choice until now. I hadn’t really given it any real thought.
Despite how Ash and Reid tried to turn me away from it, their disapproval only made it seem more attractive. But that wasn’t a reason to pursue something, just like Beth’s disapproval wasn’t a reason to turn away from it. I needed to do things for my own reasons.
Only that meant first figuring out what was really most important to me.
I kicked the switch that turned the generator on, listening to it sputter and rumble itself to life after weeks of dormancy. I’d been outside long enough; Beth was probably worried I’d run off and abandoned her here.
I found her in the kitchen. She’d found an old rag and had busied herself cleaning the stove and table, removing the layers of dust that had accumulated since they were last used.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “I didn’t bring you here to play maid.”
“Well we can’t very well make our meals on a filthy stove, or eat off of a dirty table, can we?” she smiled.
“Clean or not, we’re gonna have a tough time cooking anything on that thing. It hasn’t worked in years.”
“Oh,” she said, biting her lip as she looked over at the broken appliance. A lock of blond hair had fallen forward and across her face, working its way out of her ponytail while she bent over the table. She looked adorable, and I realized at that moment what spending time with Beth was really doing for me. There was a heaviness missing from my shoulders and chest. The tension that I was so used to carrying around all the time seemed to dissipate when I was with her.
I never felt that way when I was hanging with the MC crew. If anything, being with them just made the tension worse. Why had I never put that together before?
That wasn’t to say that I didn’t have a lot of natural aggression in my life, but there were other ways to deal with that then looking for trouble with the club, like the gym or my
MMA training. I didn’t need to try to relive or revive the old glory of the past—much of which I knew was more of a legend in my own mind.
No. My father had gone down that road, and he was in prison. The reality was, he got lucky. More guys got killed by following that path then got sent away. I was a fool to think that I would end up any different, and why did I even want to? As much as I had tried to argue that the Beasts weren’t that bad, that they were only hurting other criminals, I knew that was a lie. It might be true to argue that they didn’t willingly go after innocent people, but that didn’t mean that some didn’t end up getting hurt in the crossfire. Or through the guns or drugs that they let flow into this town. If I tried to start them up again, we couldn’t avoid getting involved in the exact same shit. That’s just the nature of the beast.
Or Beasts.
“How about I just call someplace and order us some dinner. I can run into town and pick it up.”
“Can I come with?” Her blue eyes sparkled as she smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but lean in and give her a kiss.
“That’s an even better idea.”
13
Beth
Keeping with the theme of me trying new things, Wyatt ordered us Chinese food.
I’d never tasted anything so delicious in my life.
“What is this called again?” I asked, dipping a hunk of battered meat into an orange sauce that was so bright it almost glowed.
“Sweet and sour chicken,” he said again. “It’s really the sauce that makes it so good,” he continued, around a mouthful of noodles.
Whatever it was, I ended up eating far more than I should have. I had to literally push the plates away to stop myself from stuffing myself until I was sick.
“Yet another wonder of the English world,” I said, wiping some sauce away from my mouth.
“Well, technically it’s a wonder of the Chinese world,” he responds. “But in truth, I think the stuff they make here is way different than what you would get in China. Chinese people are a lot more open-minded about what they eat. I think if I traveled there, I would have a hard time sampling local delicacies.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve heard they eat stuff like brains, and tongues, and make sauce from congealed duck blood. I mean, I’m all for authentic experiences, but I think I’ll stick to my little bits of chicken covered in glowing sweet sauce, thank you.”
“Well, thank you for not getting us real Chinese food after all, then,” I laughed.
Wyatt chuckled with me as he pushed back from the table to stand. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you the basement now that the generator is running. That’s where I hang out most of the time when I’m here, so it’s set up a little more comfortably.”
Taking my hand, Wyatt led me to the back of the house and then lifted up a square of wood from the floor. I had walked by it earlier and not even realized it was a door. Once open, I followed him down some wooden stairs that were dimly lit by a single bulb hanging over us. The floor was only hard packed earth, but rugs were used to make a path to walk along.
“Originally this place didn’t have a basement, but then the MC started needing a place to store some things that, uh, they wanted to keep private. So they cut out a trapdoor and dug this place out, hauling up dirt one bucket at a time. I added the carpets last year. Tired of having to wear my shoes down here all the time.”
He led me around the stairs and when I was turned around, I could see a big comfy looking couch set up at the back, as well as a television and a few other pieces of furniture. I couldn’t help but wonder whether I was the first girl that he’d brought down here. Probably not, but it was none of my business. The past was the past. I wanted to leave mine behind, so I couldn’t fault him for his.
“I like to hang here and chill,” he explained, as we sat down on the couch and he turned on the television. “We don’t have cable up here, but I’ve hooked up Netflix to run off my cell phone Wi-Fi.”
I stared at him blankly, unsure what either of those were.
“Right, sorry,” he mumbled, pushing a button on a little box he was holding and then gesturing at the television. There were a bunch of small images on the screen, little squares, each one with a picture of something and words underneath. “It’s a service that lets you watch TV shows and movies,” he explained.
“Like this one here, Narcos.” He pressed something, and moments later the screen in front of us came alive as sound filled the room. “It’s actually based on the true story of Pablo Escobar, a big time Columbian drug lord. I’ve been watching it, it’s pretty interesting.”
I stared at the images in wide-eyed wonder for a few minutes, like I was watching the private lives of people by peeking at them through their bedroom window. Half of what we saw I didn’t even understand. “What is that? Flour?” I asked, as men loaded packages of white powder into a truck.
Wyatt laughed. “Not quite, no. That’s cocaine. An illegal drug that people use to feel good at first, but ends up ruining their lives, most of the time. That’s how Escobar made most of his money, smuggling that into countries like the US. He made billions doing that.”
“Selling something he knew would hurt people? Doesn’t sound like someone I’d ever want to meet,” I shuddered.
“No, he really wasn’t,” Wyatt said, pressing a button which immediately ended the show.
“Television seems very important in the English world,” I noted. It seemed that everywhere I went, there was a television and it was usually turned on.
“It’s mostly to waste time,” Wyatt shrugged. “We don’t have to watch it.”
“Such a strange concept,” I mused. “Wasting time. Back home, there is always so much to do.” Another reason they called this the Devil’s Playground. Idle hands…
“So does that mean you don’t get to have fun?” Wyatt turned off the television and shifted around in the couch to face me. With only the dim bulb near the stairs for light now, his face was shadowed, almost mysterious looking. It reminded me of how much of Wyatt I didn’t really know or understand, like how he seemed to be attracted to things like fighting or this motorcycle club that his father started. Yet despite it all, I still trusted him.
I trusted the way he always looked at me. How he looked at me right then made me feel like there was no way he would ever hurt me. Or maybe I was just a fool, falling for the first handsome man to ever pay any real attention to me.
“No, we do. We play games, visit, sing songs. We just don’t have televisions or carnivals or big zoos filled with animals from all over the world. Which isn’t to say I don’t like those things,” I added quickly. “I’m very happy to have experienced them. With you.”
Wyatt reached over, folding his hand over mine and rubbing a thumb across my knuckles. “Thank you for letting me show them to you.”
“There are other things…” I started to say, before finding my mouth had gone dry. I licked my lips, gathering my nerve, and tried again. “There are other things I’d like to try.” I did my best to will away the flush that I could feel creeping up my neck, hoping it was hidden by the darkness.
“Like what?” I could tell by the way he asked the question that I was being too subtle. Damn him for making me say it!
“Like more of what we did the other night.” I said it so quickly, almost as if the whole thing was a single word, that I wasn’t sure he even understood. Each second that ticked by in silence made me fear I’d have to say it all over again. I couldn’t even look at him, choosing instead to stare down at his hands, studying the scars along his knuckles that were only barely visible in the dim light of the basement.
“Really?” he finally asked.
I could only nod, unable to force any more words through my trembling lips. If it was possible to die of embarrassment, I considered myself at risk.
Then I felt his hand, gently touching my chin and turning me to face him.
“You don’t really seem that sure.
” His eyes looked deeply into mine, as if he were searching for something.
I took a deep breath to steady myself. Then I focused my gaze, trying to look more confident than I felt. “What we did last night felt… amazing. Really, really, really amazing. I want to do that again. I want to do more than that. I like you, Wyatt. I have… feelings for you. And maybe I shouldn’t, maybe it’s too soon, and there is much about you and your world that I don’t quite understand. Maybe I never will. But I want to try. I want to be part of the English world. Your world. I trust you, Wyatt. So yes, this is something I really want.”
For a moment, there was a look on Wyatt’s face, almost a pained expression, but then it was gone, leaving me to wonder if it was just a trick of the shadows that were still playing across his face. He lifted his hand, cupping my cheek, brushing at the skin with this thumb. It sent a shiver up my spine. His touch was so comfortable, so right.
“Please,” I said softly. “I want you to show me how to please you.”
This time he didn’t make me go into any more detail. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed me, like we’d kissed the other night. Deep and passionate and with his fingertips running through my hair, gently massaging my scalp.
I fell back against the couch, and Wyatt followed, making sure our lips never lost contact. He was hovering over me now, one hand still running through my hair but the other on the side of my head, lightly skimming along and then stopping just below my breasts. He paused for a moment, and I wondered if he was giving me one last chance to object. When I didn’t, his fingers moved upwards, cupping me completely.
I stifled a gasp as pleasure shot through my body.
My own hands moved to his body in response, lightly touching his chest and arms, fingers running along the hard contours, tracing every muscle like I was trying to commit each one to memory. Maybe I was, as I already knew that this was a night I would never want to forget.
Wyatt’s head pulled back for a moment and he looked down at me. For a moment I thought I’d done something wrong, and my hands froze, still resting on the biceps of each of his arms.
The Brody Bunch Collection: Bad Boy Romance Page 49