by Nicole Fox
Daphne remembered that ride like it was yesterday. She thought back to the feel of Xander’s hard but trim body through the cool leather of his vest as she wrapped her arms tight around him. She remembered the industrial smell of the engine’s exhaust mixing with the fresh scent of the woods around them. She remembered the full moon peeking through the branches that formed a canopy over the road. And, of course, she remembered just how incredibly hot their lovemaking was when they pulled over, unable to keep their hands off of one another during their ride.
The shrill honk of a car behind her snapped Daphne out of her daydreaming. Coming back to reality, she saw that the light ahead of her was now green. Offering a feeble apology wave to the driver of the honking car as he pulled past, Daphne turned her attention back to the road.
The passion between Daphne and Xander started that night and only grew as their relationship went on. During the first few weeks of their relationship, Xander made it clear to Daphne, typically after a particularly heated session of lovemaking, that she shouldn’t get her hopes up, that he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy to settle on one woman. At first, these comments made her blood run cold—though they’d only been dating for a short time, she knew that she didn’t want to lose him. But when weeks turned to months and Daphne found herself hearing the same speech, though now with decreasing frequency, her reaction to his warnings turned from fear to almost amusement.
His mouth says one thing, she remembered thinking one night, but everything else says something entirely different.
For a time, Daphne thought she might’ve found the one. But there was still something nagging her, something that tugged at the back of her mind—just why was Xander so secretive about his work? Xander knew that Daphne was a waitress—that had been covered right away—but whenever the subject of what he did for money came up, he would, without fail, dismiss the subject out of hand.
“Don’t worry about where my money comes from,” she remembered him saying one day. “I make enough to take good care of you; that’s all you need to know.”
And he was right; Xander was an old-fashioned kind of guy who believed that a woman shouldn’t have to pay for a damn thing. Dinners out, shopping trips, weekends out of town—Xander was happy to provide them all. But only on the condition that Daphne didn’t ask where the money came from. All he’d say was that he worked for a “distributer;” any more details beyond that were off-limits.
Daphne, however, couldn’t leave well enough alone. At first, it was only the strange, irregular hours that Xander worked which raised Daphne’s eyebrow. But she was able to write this off easily enough—after all, not everyone worked a nine-to-five. She, as a waitress, understood this. But soon, things began to happen that she wasn’t able to dismiss so easily. Xander would come home with cuts and bruises, looking like he’d just been in a fight. His irregular hours turned into all-night affairs, with him sometimes taking calls in the dead of night and leaving for hours at a time, arriving back later as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Once, when putting away their laundry, she found a pistol buried in the back of Xander’s sock drawer.
And that was all to say nothing of his friends, who were a group of the meanest-looking bikers she’d ever laid eyes on. Daphne knew by the fearsome-looking patch on Xander’s leather vest that they called themselves the “Shadow Hunters,” but any details beyond that weren’t up for discussion.
Daphne managed to live in ignorance for a time, silencing the nagging voice in her head by telling herself over and over that Xander was just a guy who liked to live on the edge, and liked to keep his work and home life separate. She even managed to convince herself that the two of them might have a future together, one with a nice house in the suburbs and two cars in the garage.
Daphne shuddered at that, ashamed at how naïve she’d been.
After around a year of dating, Daphne began experiencing strange symptoms, most noticeable of which were the vomiting spells that she had early in the mornings. It didn’t take her long to realize that she just might be pregnant. She eventually worked up the nerve to take a test, and sure enough, it came back positive. She should’ve been overjoyed, but the issue of Xander’s work still gnawed away at her. So, before she told Xander the news, she resolved to find out just what it was that he did for money, just why he stayed out so late, just how he came back looking so rough and beat-up.
So, one night, when Xander when out for one of his late-night “meetings,” Daphne decided to do a little detective work. She pretended to sleep when Xander got up to leave, and, after throwing on some clothes, she rushed to her car and followed him. She remembered how her heart pounded that night through the entire drive; she was worried beyond belief that she might be caught.
Eventually, Xander pulled up to a warehouse far outside of the city, a dozen or so other bikes parked in front. Watching from afar, she scanned the men in the group, recognizing them as some of the other members of the Shadow Hunters.
But she wasn’t ready for what she saw next.
Soon after she arrived, a large black van arrived and parked near the entrance of the warehouse. The Shadow Hunters gathered around it, all of them with eager expressions on their faces. Then, to her horror, she watched as one of the men opened the backdoors of the van, reached in, and pulled out two bound and bloody men. Daphne could remember with perfect clarity to this day the muffled cries of the men through the duct tape that covered their mouths. Xander and the rest of the Shadow Hunters dragged the men into the warehouse. Each of Daphne’s heartbeats was as loud as a cannon, but she knew she had to see just what the Shadow Hunters had in store for the men.
Once everyone was inside, she snuck up to the warehouse and entered through a side door. Hiding behind a large set of steel shelves, she watched as the Shadow Hunters strapped the men down into a pair of chairs and began interrogating them, Xander taking the lead. For the next half hour or so, Xander worked the two men over, demanding information about “shipments” and “cargo,” in between driving hard punches into their faces and stomachs.
Daphne watched the events with horror. She remembered the men begging to be let go, and how they spit blood on the concrete ground when Xander delivered a particularly hard punch. Eventually, she fled out of fear, getting back in her car and driving home as fast as she could. Once back at home, she rushed into bed, hiding under the covers as though a monster were lurking nearby. She cried for hours, realizing the man she thought she knew was someone else entirely.
Again, as she drove, Daphne looked back on that night with frustrated shame, wondering just how what she learned about Xander that night could’ve been any kind of shock at all.
I was living in total denial, she thought as she turned off the highway.
The next morning, she made a decision. She vowed that the baby she carried inside of her would never be exposed to the life that Xander led. And as the days went on, Xander became more and more like a stranger to her. After all, if he’d kept something like this from her, what else was he hiding?
So, two weeks after that fateful night, she made the decision to leave him. She wouldn’t say a word, knowing that he’d likely take the news very poorly. Daphne packed up her things, shoved them into her car, and drove off, no destination in mind other than being as far away from Xander as possible.
Daphne knew she had made the right decision, but in spite of herself, she couldn’t help but feel regret for what she’d done. And she never heard from Xander again.
The vibration of her phone in her pocket snapped her out of her reverie. Shaking her head and coming back to the present, she slipped her phone out of her pocket and checked the incoming message.
Sure enough, it was from Margaret.
Tell me good news, girlie.
A smile forming on her lips, Daphne typed in that she’d be there.
Fuck, yeah! Meet me at my house. You do remember where that is, right?
Daphne smirked as she responded.
Come on, it has
n’t been that long.
Moments later came the reply.
I don’t know … I’m worried I might not even recognize you. Anyway, come ready to party!
Daphne confirmed, sending the text after coming to a stop in the parking lot of Hendrick’s.
But she couldn’t help but sit there at her wheel for a time, thoughts of the man she’d left running through her mind.
Chapter Two
Xander
“Who the fuck’s ready to party?”
The booming voice of Cutter, one of the members of the Shadow Hunters, tore through the bar. Loud cheers followed his words, answering his question. The Shadow Hunters who’d just piled into their motorcycle club’s headquarters rushed to the bar, grabbing bottles of whiskey and as many bottles of beer as they could fit in their hands. One of the men turned on the jukebox, rowdy, raunchy rock music filling the space. The “psst” of beer bottles caps being pulled off sounded here and there above the din of the men cheering and hollering.
And at the bar, sitting by himself, a serious expression on his face, sat Xander Ricci. A small glass of whiskey on the table next to him, he considered the day they’d just had. He knew that he should’ve been celebrating; after all, they’d just broken the back of the Devil’s Spawn, the rival gang that’d been a thorn in their collective side for the last few years. But all he could think about was what lay ahead, what sort of work they’d need to do to fill in the vacuum left by the now-defunct group.
“Xander!” shouted the same booming voice that’d announced the party. “What the fuck are you doing over here?”
Xander turned and was presented with the towering figure of Cutter. One of his oldest friends in the MC, Cutter was down for a bottle of booze and a wild night. Now that the Devil’s Spawn had been smashed, he had all the excuse he needed to get drunk and rowdy as hell. He peered down at Xander with his watery blue eyes, the only feature of his face visible among his long thick beard and even longer hair.
“Just thinking about things,” said Xander, rolling his drink on the table.
Cutter scoffed and plopped down into the chair next to Xander. In front of them, the rest of the Shadow Hunters hadn’t wasted any time in starting the party. The crowd of men did shots, slammed beers, and carried on in the loud manner in which the guys liked to party. The click of pool balls cut through the low roar of the party.
“Man, you’re always thinkin’ about shit,” said Cutter. “You need to cool it with that BS; you’re gonna give yourself a fuckin’ headache.”
Cutter reached over to the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, along with a pair of shot glasses. He set everything on the table and poured two drinks.
“We just beat the living fuck out of our biggest competition in the whole fuckin’ state,” said Cutter. “And you wanna sit here brooding or some shit. No way.”
Cutter pushed one of the two shot glasses over to Xander.
“Drink,” he said.
Part of Xander wanted to return to his thoughts, but there was some sense in what Cutter was saying.
“I guess it’s not every day you beat the piss out of another gang,” he said, raising his glass.
Cutter’s face lit up as he raised his glass.
“To the next sorry group of fucks that gets in our way,” said Xander.
“Hell, brother—I’ll drink to that.”
The two men tapped their glasses and downed their shots.
“And not a single one of our boys is in the hospital or nothin’,” said Cutter. “It’s like we’re fuckin’ invincible.”
“Don’t mean to piss on your parade,” said Xander, “but thinking that you’re invincible is the easiest way to find out just how wrong you are about that.”
Cutter waved his hand through the air.
“Come on, man,” he said. “You know we smashed those shitheads ’cause we’re the best. Whoever’s left of them is at home, licking their wounds.”
“Important detail there,” said Xander. “‘Whoever’s left of them.’ We didn’t take out every Devil’s Spawn, and what’s left of those fuckers is thinking about just how to even the score, while we’re sitting here getting shitty wasted.”
“Always such a fuckin’ downer,” said Cutter.
“You know it’s true,” said Xander. “They’re not gonna take this sitting down.”
“Then we’ll smash ’em again,” said Cutter, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. “And this time, we’ll make sure they don’t get back up again.”
Xander smirked. He appreciated Cutter’s boundless optimism, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before the Devil’s Spawn struck back. And as desperate as they likely were, it wouldn’t be a small thing—they’d be out for blood.
Cutter scanned the crowd.
“Where the fuck’s the bossman?” he asked, pouring himself another shot.
“Good question,” said Xander.
Xander flicked his eyes through the crown, looking for the compact, stocky frame and wild mane of blond hair belonging to Grayson, the president of the Shadow Hunters. But he couldn’t see him anywhere.
“Must be in back with Lizard and Guts,” said Xander, referring to the VPs of the crew.
“Man,” said Cutter, “they’re probably doing the same shit you are, sitting around and plotting. What’s wrong with having a little fun, for fuck’s sake?”
Just then, Xander spotted the skinny frame of Lizard cutting through the crowd, his black jeans and leather vest standing out on his body. He had a serious expression on his ugly, scarred face, and his beady eyes were locked onto Xander.
“Uh oh,” said Cutter. “Looks like Lizzie wants to give you a talking to.”
Lizard stopped in front of Xander.
“G wants to talk to you, Xander,” said Lizard in that low, smoky voice that Xander always thought sounded funny coming out of a little man like him. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
“When the boss calls,” said Xander, getting out of his seat.
“Hey, man,” said Cutter. “We’re taking the party around town, probably heading into St. Louis. Your ass better be coming along.”
“Count on it,” said Xander, the idea of cutting loose suddenly sounding pretty nice to him.
“Let’s move it,” said Lizard.
Xander and Lizard made their way through the crowd and into the back hallways of the headquarters. Soon, they arrived at the simple wooden door to Grayson’s office. Lizard gave the door a rap.
“Get in,” said Grayson, his rich, deep voice sounding through the door.
Lizard opened the door, revealing Grayson seated at his long oak desk. His legs were propped up on the desk, and his large hands were folded on his lap. Grayson was a sharp-faced, muscular man with narrow eyes that were so brown they were almost black. His hair was wild and red, giving him the impression of being on fire. He sat still and calm as always, never seeming to be bothered by anything. He’d been the club MC for as long as Xander could remember, and always seemed to have the boys’ best interests in mind. Xander respected Grayson, and was ready to hear why the boss had brought him in.
“Just the two of us,” said Grayson, flicking his eyes to Lizard then to Guts, the other VP, who stood looming in the corner like a golem, his bald head reflecting the light above.
The two VPs nodded and left without a word. Grayson gestured to one of the chairs across from the desk, and Xander took a seat.
“What’s up, boss?” asked Xander, settling into his seat.
Grayson said nothing, letting the silence hang in the air.
“You don’t seem like you’re in much of a celebrating mood,” Grayson said after a time. “Sittin’ all by your lonesome.”
“Just thinking.”
Grayson gave a gesture with his hand then said, “Okay then, let’s hear what’s on your mind.”
“Well, like I was saying to Cutter, we did a hell of a fuckin’ job tonight, but things aren’t just smooth sailing from here on
out. The Devil’s Spawn are still out there, and it’s only a matter of time before they try some kind of play for revenge. And that’s not even getting into who’s going to move in now that the Spawn’re out of the picture.”
Grayson said nothing, instead staring at Xander with his typical, piercing expression.
“I’m down for gettin’ rowdy tonight, but I just think it’s not important to lose sight of the bigger picture, is all.”