by Tilly Hart
ONCE BITTEN
TILLY HART
Copyright © 2020 by TILLY HART
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
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
FROM THE AUTHOR
One
REBECCA
It was one thing to look at teenagers making out and feel that longing for a time gone by, but at twenty-eight, I shouldn’t be looking at a middle-aged couple like the green-eyed monster. Envy sneaked its through my gut in a series of bitter twists as I watched his hand grasp her ass, pulling her in for a kiss, her smile easy as her eyes glinted.
When was the last time I’d looked at Ben like that? When was the last time Ben had looked at me, at all? He knew more about my ovulation cycle than he did about my hopes and dreams, and even that was a bitter disappointment to him. The many thousands of dollars I’d cost him with my faulty womb were always a pawn for him to throw at me in one of our many arguments.
And there I was, in the middle of the mini-mart at eleven pm on my own buying the test because Ben just couldn’t wait another day to have me piss on the thing. First morning urine, he’d said as if I didn’t know, you need to do it first thing. You need to get a test tonight; I can’t believe you don’t have one here ready. It’s almost like you don’t want to be pregnant.
When we’d first started trying, according to Ben’s ‘life plan’, three years previously, I’d wanted to get pregnant for him. The excitement of becoming a father beamed out of every god-damned pore of his when he spoke about babies. It hadn’t been my ideal timeline, but the one thing that had ruled my life since meeting Ben was that fucking plan. Meet his ideal partner in University. Buy a house (he’d neglected to mention he intended to move back to the US after uni, but like an enamoured puppy, I followed him from England, losing everyone important to me in the process). Then came the job. And then the children.
The cracks in our relationship had been just starting to form when the infertility became obvious. Sex, though it had never been a wild, passionate ride, descended into timings and positions and morphed into a chore. No one wants chore sex. Ben had read that female orgasms could prove detrimental to implantation, so he had the perfect excuse not to let me even enjoy the miserable intercourse.
Three rounds of IVF later, two failed and one untested - like Schrödinger’s bloody pregnancy - and I could barely stand Ben any more. I was certain the feeling was mutual.
I picked up the test from the shelf, sighing as the totally in-love couple walked off hand in hand. Ben wanted to impregnate me, but couldn’t even go out and buy the test himself. The blue and white packet was light in my hand. Such a compact thing for such a momentous amount of change, or perhaps a lack there-of. In my younger years, a negative test had been a thing of relief, but now it was guilt, disappointment and shame.
If I was pregnant at least the IVF would be over, the hormones and injections and endless appointments would be over. For a while at least. But then I’d be connected to Ben, and the child, forever. I had never wanted children, but they’d become a compromise. Unfortunately, in our relationship, the compromises weighed heavily in Ben’s favour.
My once in a lifetime trip back packing around Thailand? Downgraded to two weeks in a resort. The dog I’d wanted to rescue from the shelter so badly? Ben got me a fish.
If I was pregnant… I’d be stuck. It was hard enough to leave our life; I worked with Ben, lived with Ben, my friends were his friends. My parent’s, back in England, had written me off when I’d moved. I had nothing.
And if the test was negative? Maybe Ben would give up, maybe he could choose me for once. But I wasn’t imperative to his plan, bar setting him back eight years. I was little more than someone to share the cooking and cleaning, and to incubate children for him. And I was good at none of those tasks.
The checkout clerk smiled at me as she swiped the test, her eyes filled with the questions she’s not allowed to ask behind the till. Excited or terrified? Wanted or not? I preferred the embarrassed teenage boy over the pitiful or eager looks of the older women.
Despite it being the dead of night, I couldn’t go back home to Ben. To sit and watch old reruns of the A-Team as he sat on his phone all night talking to friends until, inevitably, he would fall asleep there and I could slink off to bed. The hope for intimacy was long gone. It was like the IVF gave him an excuse not to touch me. I’d barely had a hug after the last negative, and still he’d convinced me to try again.
Even at night, the city rarely slumbered. Lights shone, people moved, cars meandered, and thankfully my favourite pizza place stayed open through the night. Louis, the night manager, smiled as I entered, gesturing to my usual seat by the window. I eyed the beers lined up in the glass-fronted fridge, their form coated in pearlescent condensation which promised instant refreshment, but the test burned at my subconscious, in my bag against my side. The state of not knowing always tied my innards in knots, the fear muddled with hope; the hope mingled with guilt; the guilt mixed with sadness.
My pizza arrived at the table with a wink from Louis and a non-alcoholic soft drink, I watched my own likeness reflected in the window, the bright lights inside the restaurant contrasting with the tarry black outside.
I should just take the test here, I thought, as I took a bite into the slice of cheese-based heaven Louis had provided. As the grease and salt flooded my tongue, I closed my eyes to savour that first, perfect bite, resigning myself to just get the test out of the way before going home. But Ben wouldn’t believe it either way unless I used the precious first pee of the day.
A flicker of movement near the door made me double take.
There he was.
A prickle of desire rippled through me as I focused on the man at the edge of my vision. I’d seen him before, and every time it was the same. I imagined what it would be like to have those muscled arms wrapped around me, the leather sleeves of his biker jacket hot with his body heat. He looked like a man who lived for adventure, who’d throw me on the back of his bike and head anywhere other than the hotel resort that Ben always chose. His dark brown hair fell over his eyes as he looked down at the floor until in one suave movement he pushed it out of his face. Every move he made was like a magnet, drawing my eyes to him until I couldn’t look the other way. But there was no harm in looking… the biker was nothing but an idle fantasy.
Or it was until his eyes locked with my own. My heart dropped a beat as my mouth dried out like a desert in a heat wave. Shit. My brain screamed at me to keep my cool, just look away, all nonchalantly. He didn’t know how long I’d been staring. The warmth that flooded upward through my chest like a tidal wave soon hit my face, and my cheeks glowed like Rudolph himself had set them alight.
I stood up as the desire to flee took over. As I turned, my arm caught at my glass, sending sharp splinters and sticky coke across the floor. Way to not att
ract attention, Rebecca.
Louis came storming over with a brush, shooing me out of the way as he cleared up the broken glass. For a second, I forgot about the handsome biker, until a whisper in my ear made me jump five ways to hell.
‘I noticed you without the dramatics.’
The low vibration of his voice stole around me as he spoke. As if he wasn’t hot enough? Did he need to drop that voice on me? Some men really do have it all. But dramatic? I didn’t smash the glass for his benefit. I had every intention of telling him as much when I swiveled to face him. Instead, my breath caught as eyes the colour of fresh grass met me. The unnaturally bright stare sent bolts of lightening straight to my pants. If he was hot in my peripheral vision, he was like a piece of art up close. Stolen art that would be a dangerous thing to have. The edge of his mouth lifted in a slow smirk as he watched my face closely, my mouth opening in a never arriving response to his statement.
That jolt of excitement that pierces you upon a first meeting with someone who affects you was one I hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. And with the excitement, it brought sorrow. Sorrow for the years I’d been with a man who not only grew more distant as the years passed, but who had never given me that feeling of adventure. I couldn’t even blame Ben, not really, as I’d been as much a part of going along with the relationship than making the harder choice to walk away.
Facing that walking hunk of leathered sex on legs drove home my loneliness. I had to get out of there. Bikers may be ones for a life of adventure on the open road, but here in the city they were notoriously dire news. Trouble was the last thing I needed.
‘So sorry,’ I said to Louis as I backed away from the scene, grabbing my jacket and bag while dashing for the door. With the plan to take the test that night scrapped, I headed home to sit next to Ben, acting as though we were both fine with the car crash relationship. As I did every night.
I couldn’t help but take one last look into the cafe as I passed, seeking one last glimpse of the man who had made me squirm with just one smirk. His gaze met mine, had never left me. With a tip of his chin, he watched me go.
Back to reality, Rebecca.
Time to face the music.
Two
JED
Heads turned and eyes lowered as I walked into the sour smelling room. Stealthy glances tingled at the edge of my senses as I headed for the bar, but no one met my gaze. My shoes stuck with every step on the neglected, beer-stained floor.
‘Whisky?’ I nodded in response. For more years than I could count I’d frequented the same dive, but I still didn’t know the barman’s name. Nor did I care. It wasn’t the establishment where people went for a pleasant time.
The same old soaks propped up the bar, spending their days in a booze-induced haze, while the dark corners shifted with even darker characters. Bikers, dealers, and worse.
What was I?
Well, I wasn’t a dealer.
‘Calvin,’ I said, perching my ass on the seat next to the mass of muscle.
‘All right, Jed? No Boody Mary?’ Every time with the same inane joke. Every. Single. Time.
‘Would be better if your club wasn’t causing the governors to shit a brick.’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘You said that six months ago.’ The whisky hit the back of my throat with a familiar burn as I turned to face Calvin, lowering my voice to a whisper. ‘The President is getting impatient. I thought you would deal with this internally? I convinced him to give you some leeway to save an all out war between our clubs.’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘You need to work faster. There’s only a week—’
Calvin cut me off with a snarl. ‘I know. Don’t you think I fucking know?’
He rubbed at his jaw, his fingers rasping against the day old stubble that marred his dark skin. He looked tired. Far more tired than a man in his late twenties should look. Shit, he looked more tired than me, and I was hitting three-hundred and five.
‘What’s the plan?’ I waved off the barman as he held up the bottle for a top up. Alcohol had a minor effect on me, but a police stop on my bike would be a headache I didn’t need. An overnight in a cell could prove fatal come morning.
‘The plan’s not exactly fully formed, yet.’ Calvin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. I didn’t want to give him shit, but our survival was at stake. We’d barely smoothed things over the last time, I couldn’t let it happen again.
‘I need something concrete to go back with. That won‘t not fly.’
‘It’s all I’ve got Jed. I’m not alone, but overthrowing the leader? It’s just not done. Getting support from the members has been a battle. If Greyson got wind, he’d tear me limb from limb.’
I nodded and ran a hand through my hair. Only a week until we’d have to take Greyson out if Calvin couldn’t solve the problem amongst their own club members.
‘We should do it now,’ I said, watching as Calvin’s brown eyes widened.
‘It would be a massacre.’
‘Waiting for him to be at his strongest will only increase the casualties.’
‘Just a few more days. They are my brothers, Jed, I just need a few more days.’
Despite my misgivings, I understood. I’d be looking for the least deadly solution for my club too. Thankfully, our president wasn’t an unhinged monster. He was a monster, undoubtedly, but a pragmatic one.
‘Five days. Then I want you to have an actual plan, or a body.’
‘Five days.’ Calvin muttered before signalling for another beer.
I liked Calvin, but not enough to endanger my kinds’ survival for him.
‘Greyson is spiralling’, I said, ‘Taking out prostitutes and dealers is one thing, the Governors can make it go away, but the politician’s wife last month? No one will let that go without an investigation. At the moment we are alive because we are useful, and because we have lived fairly peacefully below the humans scrutiny. If we flaunt what we are and play mouse with their people, they will turn. Even the smallest ant can take down a buffalo if there are enough of them. We’re not invincible.’
Calvin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes focused somewhere far off as he stared straight ahead.
The bar man stared at the other end of the bar, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. I followed his eye line until I found his object of affection. A woman sat in front of three shots of tequila, looking at them through bleary eyes. Her bottle blonde hair hung around her face, sticking to the edges of her bright, sticky lip gloss.
She looked like a train wreck waiting to happen.
She took a lengthy look down from my eyes to my big black boots and back upward, and what I saw reflected in her face wasn’t fear, or disgust, or shame. It was unadulterated hunger. Her lips opened as she brought the tequila shot to them, her tongue stealing out to wet them. Without shifting her gaze, she downed the shot and placed it on the water-stained wood with a crack.
‘Shit man, seems like you’ve scored,’ Calvin said, reaching over the bar and helping himself to another beer. ‘Looks like easy pickings.’
‘Leave it,’ I warned. I had no interest in drunk sex with the bar floozy.
‘What’s the point in being one of the Guardian’s of the Underworld if you’re not using it to your advantage?’
‘Not every chick throws her panties at me just because I’m a biker. Not the girls I like, anyway.’ Women didn’t frequent the bar often, and the ones who braved it were the biker groupies, the ones looking for drugs or losing themselves in drink. I didn’t want any of them, only her. The girl from the pizza place.
‘So you’ll turn down a quick ride with her for some imaginary thing with a woman you can’t have? Even if the chick was into you, you could have both, she’d never know. Fuck it, I’ll have her.’
Anger flared in me, not for the woman, but at his sheer stupidity. ‘You think taking women back into your club is a wise choice at the minute? Greyson might not be at full strength, but it
doesn’t mean he’s not a twisted fuck. You’ve got work to do, go do it.’
Calvin rounded on me, baring his teeth in an uncharacteristic flare of rage while his muscles bunched around his neck. ‘You aren’t my superior, Jed. I’m working with you on this, and we’re friends. Don’t go overstepping your place. I want a resolution, but I’m not a fucking puppy.’
His face was dead serious, and I couldn’t help but smirk. A puppy is exactly what he was. But I held up my hands in mock defeat and nodded. ‘All right. But maybe hold off pulling women while your leader is a homicidal douche-canoe?’
There it was. The corner of his lip turned up as he relaxed his shoulders. He could never stay mad at me for long.
‘I got to go.’ Calvin stood and shot one last glance at the tequila drinker at the end of the bar. ‘Can’t have politics restricting the hunt, right?’
‘So all it takes is missing out on drunken alley sex to get your ass in gear? Should have figured that out earlier.’
Calvin downed the rest of his drink and stood, pulling his leather jacket around his broad shoulders, the three-headed dog embroidered on the back sweeping past as he turned and left. The Sons of Cerberus were our rivals with women, with business, with territory, but coming together was a needs-must at times. And those times were breathing down my neck.
It was time to head back to the club and report to Abe, our president, and he would be pissed. If anything angered him it was inaction, and as an elder, he wasn’t a man to piss off.
As I downed the last of my drink, I let my mind wander back to the pizza place, to the woman. I’d seen her there before, all sad eyes and fuck me hips and though I knew she wasn’t the type to come back with a guy like me, I still hoped. I still turned up a few times a week hunting for even a glimpse of her. That night, I’d been close enough to touch her.