Love, Loyalty & Mayhem: A Motorcycle Club Romance Anthology

by Ryan Michele

  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.

  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.

  2

  Consuela

  Earlier that same day

  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.

  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.

  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.

  Things didn’t go as planned and Richard died in her 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 21st 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.

  The bartender looks me over with his greasy smile practically oozing calories. “You lost?” he says with a grunt.

  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 Blahniks.

  I came prepared for such a cold reception such as this. Sliding a few hundreds across the bar, 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.”

  With my shoulders back and my head high, I parade through the crowd of vagrants to the seat the bartender pointed out.

  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.

  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 looking 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 looking for 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.

  “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 the 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.”

  She nods.

  “Now, get the fuck outta here.”

  She scoffs but marches her happy stuck up ass out the door.

  Now to see about that pussy.

  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 but 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 looks of things no one will miss her when I kill her. I’ll be doing her a favor. Lighting up a cigarette, I wait for her to leave 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?

  I adjust my dick in my pants and try to think of anything but her lips wrapped around me. Breaking into her apartment can wait. Curiosity has gotten the best of me. I watch from a distance as she tosses her purse into the passenger seat of her yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Her choice in car is also surprising. I thought girls like her drove Mercedes or something fancy and expensive. A smile crosses her face as she rolls the window down. Rock music blares from the speakers. My lips lift into a smirk. She is nothing like I expected. Nothing at all.

  I hang back by a few cars and follow her to the public library. There’s a sign out front that says today is story hour with a princess. Parked across the street I observe mothers escorting their toddlers inside. In her car
Sybil touches up her makeup. I go ahead into the library to find a spot to watch her without being obvious. In the children’s section there’s a multicolored puzzle rug. The kids are already taking their seats sitting cross-legged on the floor. In the center of the room is a chair that resembles a throne. Sybil enters the room and takes her designated seat. An older woman hands her a book and she has the full attention of the children. The way they are looking at her you’d think she was the real deal and filled with magic. They are in awe of her and right now I have to admit part of me is too. She speaks softly to them as she reads, taking her time to pause and show them the pictures on the pages and changing her voice to match how the character might sound. It’s sweet. So damn sweet it makes my teeth ache.

  Having seen enough, I shove off from my spot before she notices me and head back to her apartment. Her lock is easy enough to pick. All it takes is a bobby pin. Quietly, I enter the apartment and hope she doesn’t have a dog. The air conditioner and the refrigerator both are humming but other than that the place is relatively quiet. Sybil lives in a one-bedroom unit. The living room is basic. A white loveseat, a yellow wide back chair, and a glass coffee table make up the furnishings aside from a bookcase. She doesn’t have a TV. Who the hell doesn’t have a television in their living room? The kitchen is nothing special, but I check out her fridge and cabinets. She doesn’t have a lot of food. Milk, cereal, bread, bananas, and a small container of ice cream. Maybe she is a minimalist.

  Her bathroom is small and contains the usual girly stuff one would expect to find. Hair products, face wash, tampons, and toothpaste. I move on to her bedroom. I haven’t found any personal effects. No pictures or whatnots. I don’t even think the girl owns a vibrator. There is a small flat screen television. Inside her nightstand drawer is the remote control, a pad of paper that looks as though it has never been used, and one of those black silk eye masks. Her closet is full of dark clothing. She owns a lot of blue jeans and dark blue tops. Must be her favorite color other than yellow.

  On day four I have come to realize that Sybil White may just be the sweetest creature on earth, and I don’t know if I will have it in me to kill her when the time comes. She intrigues and confounds me. Every day she volunteers for some new charity. First it was reading to children at the library, then it was taking food to the local animal shelter and volunteering at an adoption fair for the animals. The next day she visited an old folk’s home and played board and card games with them. I watched her sit with an elderly man for forty minutes and help him work a puzzle.

  She’s fucking perfect and pure. How could anyone want to see her dead?

  Why would anyone hire someone to kill something so sweet and innocent?

  Why would I agree to carry the act of her murder out?

  Why does anyone do anything?

  Greed.

  Lust.

  Envy.

  Revenge.

  Those are the usual but not Sybil. She seems to do good deeds because she simply wants to. I’ve never met anyone like her in my life. None of it matters. At the end of the day, I have a job to complete. It’s none of my business why her stepmother wants her out of the way. Though I am sure it is purely greed. My reason is purely selfish. I have a vendetta to settle with Wrath. I will put him to the ground if it is the last thing I do. Sybil just happens to be a steppingstone in getting there. I can’t allow myself to care about her or see her as a person. She’s a means to an end.

  Nothing more.

  4

  Sybil

  Squinting from under the brim of my hat, I smile as my favorite person approaches.

  “Like an apple from a tree I picked you, muñequita,” Sofia singsongs as she hands me a crate from the wagon. Sofia was my late paternal grandmother’s childhood friend and my godmother. She’s always called me her little doll. I’m not so little now though. My twenty-first birthday is approaching.

  I take the wooden crate, and Jose hops down and collects the three I’ve filled. “Buenos Dias, Sybi,” he says with a toothy grin.

  One would think with my heritage and four years of language lessons my Spanish would be better, but it hasn’t improved in the least. “Good morning, Jose,” I return.

  Jose doesn’t speak a lick of English, but he smiles at me anyway. I come here to Sofia’s family farm when I need to get away. It’s been four years since my father died and ten since my mother passed away. Sofia has always been a constant in my life. Always looking out for me despite my evil step-monster trying to keep her away.

  “What are you doing here? You should be out doing things young folk do. Not here sweating. Your skin is going to burn,” Sofia chastises me. I have my mother’s dark hair, but I inherited my father’s fair skin.

  “I have plans,” I lie coolly, while trying to come up with something to do.

  “Come on. You can help me start the pies for the festival.” I hook my arm through hers and start back toward the house. The Apple Festival is an annual event that Sofia lives for. She loves baking apple goods and she is phenomenal at it too.

  Back at the house Sofia’s grandchildren run through the house playing tag while the dogs chase them. Her ranch style household is in constant motion. Family coming in and out. This is what I wish I had experienced growing up.

  Once my mother passed away and my father married Consuela my home tuned from bright and cheery to cold and dreary. The moment I turned eighteen I moved out, eager to get away from her. So harsh and controlling. She didn’t want me having friends or leaving the house. Though things have been better since I left for college. I rarely go home. Only showing my face when I am needed to make an appearance for Sybi Kids, my father’s children’s couture line. He started out as a cotton logo t-shirt manufacture. Sybi Kids was my mother’s dream and he made it come true.

  When I turn twenty-one, I will inherit the company—my legacy.

  Jesus, Sofia’s youngest son brings a basket of the apples in and places it on the counter. I start washing and he hands the apples off to his mother to peel. “That band you like is playing at Rocky’s Bar tonight.”

  I shove his shoulder. “No way. Get out.”

  “Way.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. Jesus is a few years older than me and like the big brother I always wanted growing up. I think Sofia has always hoped for there to be something more between us, but I just don’t see him in a romantic way. Not that he isn’t attractive with his obsidian eyes and dimples. “Thought maybe we could check it out.”

  “Sure. Sounds fun.”

  “You two should go out to a nice dinner and movie. You don’t belong in that trash bar,” Sofia complains.

  I smile at her and Jesus shakes his head. “You worry too much, Mamá.”

  Later that night I ride to the bar with Jesus hoping he doesn’t think this is a date. We pull up to the Rusty Bucket known for its fights and loud music. The neon sign flickers overhead and there is a line outside the door. Morbid Duplicity rarely does smaller venues these days as their popularity has grown. They started out locally in a garage and playing the festivals and fairs. Now they are going on tour with some bigger names.

  Jesus grabs my hand as a fight breaks out in line and pulls me back against his chest. “Stay close.” His days old stubble rubs against the shell of my ear, and I step forward, dropping his hand. The bouncers have already tossed the brawlers out of the line.

  I wipe my palm on the pant leg of my dark skinny jeans. His hand was sweaty. “I’m fine.” Shooting him a smile over my shoulder, I move up with the line now that the bouncers have restored order to the group. I have my ID ready. Too bad I’m not old enough to drink. I get the yellow wristband that implies I can’t be served alcohol, but Jesus will sneak me something I am sure once the lights go down and the music starts.

  Inside it’s loud and smoky as we navigate the large, tight crowd hoping to find a seat.

  “I’m going to grab a beer. You want anything?”

  “Nah. I’m good. I’m going to go to the bathr
oom. Meet you near the stage in ten?” I’m too nervous to drink just yet though it would probably calm my nerves.

  He gives me a wink and flashes his dimples at me.

  I make my way to the narrow hall that houses the bathrooms and groan internally when I see the line. I really don’t need to go, but I am getting a vibe from Jesus that implies that he does indeed think this could be a date. I don’t know how to feel about it honestly, but I don’t want to hurt him or give him the wrong idea. I won’t lead him on. Maybe his mother has been putting ideas in his head. Jesus would make any woman a great boyfriend. I adore his friendship but that is all we will ever be—friends.

  I know I spend a lot of time there on the weekends at their farm. Maybe I spend too much time there giving them the impression that I am interested. I frown to myself and am bumped roughly from behind, knocking me to my knees. A drink spills down my back, and I hear some guy muttering, “Shit. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” A tattooed hand waves past my face and extends to help me up.

  Taking his offered hand, I look up to see a gorgeous pair of blue eyes trained on me. “I’ll live.” He pulls me to my feet, and I bump foreheads with the guy. “Shit,” I hiss.

  “Damn. I’m not making a good impression, am I?” he rubs his forehead as I hold my palm to mine. I’m glad I don’t wear much makeup, or I would look like hell right now.

  I laugh. “Not really.”

  “Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?” He rolls his bottom lip inward, sucking his lip ring and rolling it outward. He’s cute. Dark hair frames his face and he runs a hand through it, pushing it behind his ears. “I’m Diego.”

  “Sybil,” I tell him, losing my place in line.