Love, Loyalty & Mayhem: A Motorcycle Club Romance Anthology

by Ryan Michele

  I stopped in front of the ferris wheel, my neck craning back at an angle that was almost painful so I could see all the way up to the top. It lit up the dark sky with bright yellow and red lights.

  This would be my one exception tonight, my one indulgence.

  I got in line behind everyone else and waited. The wheel went around once, twice, three times before stopping to let people off. The line moved forward each time someone got off, and I moved closer to where I wanted to be. Eventually the line thinned out and I was the first in line,

  standing in front of the little gate, waiting for the attendant to take my ticket and escort me to my seat and strap me in.

  A touch, light as a feather, ghosted across my bare shoulders and had me whipping around.

  Hawk stood there, tall and imposing, right behind me.

  He wasn't looking at me though, instead he stared up at the ferris wheel, a thoughtful look on his face.

  "Uhh... Hawk?" I mumbled in a quiet tone and his gaze snapped down to mine. "Can I help you with something?"

  He gestured towards the ferris wheel. "Are you planning on going on this all by yourself?"

  "Yeah," I said in a tight voice. That was all I had now, myself. And wasn't that the sad fucking truth.

  "I'll go up with you," he said and his words were final, like he was used to telling people what was going to go down, and they were just supposed to go along with it.

  I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. He'd followed me, that much was obvious. What I wasn't sure of was why.

  The last I'd heard Hawk was in prison. He was a year or two older than me, but younger by a few years than my sister, yet that hadn't stopped her from having a serious crush on him. She'd said he had that bad boy hottie thing going about him when he'd been in high school and over the phone she'd shared with me that it had only gotten better with age, more intense even. Then he'd gone to prison for something having to do with his Club, and she'd never said a word about him after that.

  She'd been right though, about him getting better with age and it being even more intense. The intensity was not a good thing, I could feel it; it was raw, primal, and almost tangible.

  I wanted to tell him there was no way in hell he was getting on this ride with me but I thought better of it. The patch on the front of his leather cut read President. Something had changed, when I'd left that patch had belonged to his father. Death was the only acceptable reason for that patch changing hands.

  Reaching up, I flicked my fingers against it and asked, "Is he dead, your dad?" It was a rude thing to ask, especially since we were virtual strangers and I couldn't remember a time when we'd ever actually had a conversation before.

  He grabbed ahold of my hand before I could lower it and gave a little tug. I stumbled forward, moving right into his space, exactly where I figured he wanted me.

  His brown eyes were dark and filled with something I didn't want to think about. He didn't answer my question. "You two are up next," the man on the other side of the little gate said as he swung the door open. He held his hand out to us and Hawk dropped several tickets into his outstretched hand.

  I didn't protest this. He was invading my space and taking over, he could pay for the ride. That just meant I had more tickets for myself if I wanted to ride it again without him.

  Hawk's hand went to the small of my back and he gently urged me forward. My skin burned through the thin material of my dress where his hand sat. The urge to move away from him and his touch was strong, but I held my ground as I walked forward with him at my side.

  Silently, we climbed into the seat side by side and the man swung the bar around, locking it in place. Our thighs brushed up against each other, and this time, I did move away from him. I scooted over until I pressed up against my side of the seat.

  "You don't have to be afraid of me," he muttered irately as the wheel hummed and we moved forward.

  I nodded, as if I believed him, which I absolutely did not.

  The thing was though, it was him who should have been worried about me hurting him. I didn't care he'd been in prison most of the time I'd been gone and in all likelihood had had nothing to do with my sisters ultimate destruction. None of that mattered because of the cut on his back, and the patch he'd now had sewn into the front of it.

  The wheel moved until we were at the top where it stopped to let more people off and on. The seat rocked as he leaned forward, looking straight down.

  "Tell me, Poison," he said in a voice full of gravel, "what brought you back to this shit hole place?"

  Poison? He had to be joking, right?

  "My sister’s dead," I whispered, and I don't know why I said it. "Shouldn't you already know that though?"

  I figured they all knew it since she'd died at their stupid clubhouse. Shot up, her beautiful body filled with holes because of their Club bullshit. And she hadn't been the only one to die.

  He sat back in his seat and turned to look at me. I stared out at the town below us, refusing to acknowledge him looking at me.

  "Shit," he said in a soft voice. A voice full of compassion. "I didn't know. I thought..." he cleared his throat. "Well, I didn't think she was that kind of girl."

  Whore, he meant, and he'd be right. Franny hadn't been that kind of girl. But, that stupidly big heart of hers made it so she couldn't just look the other way when other people were hurting and she thought she could help them.

  "If it helps, it's been taken care of."

  Dead, he meant the people who were responsible were dead.

  It didn't help and wouldn't until the other people responsible, his people, were taken care of as well.

  "Nothing's ever going to help me," I whispered into the night, so soft I was hoping he didn't hear it.

  No such luck.

  Long, calloused fingers came to my chin, turning my head to the side, forcing me to look back at him.

  "You shouldn't stay here in this town, Poison." he said. "It's rotten and will only ruin a girl like you. You're too good for a place like this and if you stay I can't promise I won't..."

  His voice trailed off and I blinked at him, stupidly. That was not what I'd expected to hear him say.

  "You don't want me in your town?" I asked in surprise, a hint of anger in my voice that I couldn't hide.

  "No," he said. "That's the thing, I do want you in my town. But, you ran once and what's to stop you from running again? I don't need any more damage right now and, like I said, you're Poison."

  I leaned in until we were mere inches apart and hissed, "Excuse me? Did you just fucking call me poison? Like you're better than me?”

  He leaned in, closing the distance between us, and pressed his forehead to mine. His eyes closed tightly and he whispered in a hoarse voice, "You're Poison because that's what you are to me, dangerous and fucking toxic. I had my eye on you before but never made my approach because I knew better, you're too good for the likes of me. Now, I'm even dirtier than I was before. If you stick around I'm going to get what I want from you and you're going to ruin me when you run again."

  I jerked back away from him and he grunted in frustration. His hands went to the metal safety bar and he gripped it so tight his knuckles turned white.

  His words ran through my mind and left me conflicted inside.

  I could use him, make him mine before I made them pay. I was biding time here. Killing time until I could strike, taking all the King's men down with me.

  Hawk was giving me the opening I needed, I just had to reach out and take it.

  The seat jerked to a stop and the man running the ride stepped into view. He unlocked the safety bar and pulled it to the side.

  Hawk jumped out immediately and I was surprised when he turned around and reached for me. I put my hand in his and allowed him to help me down. He let go of me as if my skin burned and I followed him out the gate.

  He stopped to look down at me and I braced at the look on his face. He leaned down and put his face in mine.

  "Run, little Ma
ggie," he said in a harsh voice. "Run and don't ever look back. This is the only chance I'm going to give you."

  And with that he turned on his scuffed motorcycle boots and stormed away. The crowd parted for him, watching him uneasily before he was swallowed up amongst the people who were clearly afraid of him, and gone from my sight.

  I wanted to think good riddance. Instead, a thrill of excitement shot through me.

  I told myself it had everything to do with the possibility of being able to actually avenge my sister. I also told myself I wasn't a filthy liar, but I was pretty sure I missed the mark on that one.

  3

  Maggie

  I'd never been more thankful for sunglasses in my life. I'd picked out a black, oversized pair that covered up half my face. They kept my eyes hidden from the people standing across the gravesite from me. The only emotion they got to see from me were the tears that trailed silently down my face. I couldn't help those, no matter how hard I tried.

  I stood alone on my side. No family, no friends to my name, and I was more than okay with that. No one by your side meant there would be no one to betray you later.

  I stared out across my sisters’ casket, taking in the sea of men and women who stood across from me, and I couldn't even be mad that they were here. Franny would have loved that they were here for her funeral, and she’d have insisted they were mostly here for me. I could hear her sweet voice inside my head, chiding me, telling me to be grateful they were here and to look at the bright side of things.

  That just made the tears come faster.

  The preacher droned on, talking about my sister like he'd actually known who she was before last week. I wanted to grab that black book he held clutched into his hands like it was the only thing on this planet that was worth a damn, and beat him mercilessly upside the head with it.

  I hadn't wanted this. I'd wanted to have her cremated then have some small ceremony for her by myself where I could say goodbye without people staring at me, and other people pretending like they loved her just because she was dead. However, Franny had other plans and she'd left explicit instructions as to how she wanted her funeral planned. Because I loved her, even though she was dead and wouldn't know the difference either way, I followed her instructions to a T.

  Underneath that closed lid to the casket my sister lay dressed in exactly what she'd asked for. She had on a sweet dress covered in sunflowers. A red bandana had been folded over and tied around her blonde hair in a makeshift headband. And, on her feet, black scuffed up Chucks. I had wanted to protest this but couldn't help but smile, thinking it was so like her to not want to be dressed up in some fancy thing that would have made her incredibly uncomfortable to wear while she'd been alive. She'd asked for no jewelry so I'd left her wrists and neck bare. The only other thing in the fancy, expensive box with her was the pink teddy bear I'd won for her playing darts all those years ago.

  That one had almost killed me and made me curse the stupid letter I'd found tucked away in the top drawer of her dresser. It'd been addressed to me and I'd found it on my second day back, after I'd gone looking for something of hers to wear so I could breathe in her scent. I'd clutched that stupid fucking pink teddy bear to my chest while I'd read her letter and an important piece of my heart had shriveled up and died with each word.

  So, even though I hadn't wanted to part with it, the pink bear went in the casket with her. And that had been the only thing she'd asked for.

  Why she’d had such a letter hidden away in the first place bothered me. Maybe she had known things with the club were going to shit?

  My shoulders shook with emotion as I tried to hold the sobs at bay, not willing to give into them until I was alone and no longer on display.

  Arms wrapped around me from behind and I was turned into a hard body that was way bigger than mine.

  I looked up through my sunglasses at a sharp jaw. His shoulder length hair that was just slightly darker than mine hung down and free around his face. I expected to be greeted with his beautiful dark eyes and was stupidly disappointed to see them aimed across the casket, roaming over the crowd of people he'd come here with.

  His strong arms wrapped around my shoulders as he pulled me into his side. His hand slid up the back of my neck. He gave a gentle squeeze as he pulled my face into his throat his rough hands grazing my skin. It was oddly sweet and incredibly intimate for two people who barely knew each other and were virtual strangers two days before. Not that we hadn't known who the other was, just that we'd never actually had a real conversation before our insane ride on the ferris wheel.

  His chin rested against the top of my head and he muttered under his breath, "I don't like the thought of you standing over here all by yourself crying your eyes out. It's not right."

  I wondered if he even really knew the difference between right and wrong and figured I wouldn't like the answer.

  Still, something about being wrapped up in the warmth of his embrace settled something inside me and the tears stopped flowing. My shoulders stopped shaking and my body slumped into his in a show of defeat. I'd take what he was offering for now, because he and his stupid club were partially to blame for me being here in the first place.

  I turned my head away from him, staring back out across the mass of people. This time, they stared right back at me. More like me with Hawk wrapped all around me. Without thought, my hands went to Hawk’s middle and I grabbed fistfuls of his leather jacket, holding on for dear life.

  His arms around me tightened, almost to the point of pain.

  "They're not staring at you, Poison." he muttered under his breath. "They're staring at me."

  He wasn't entirely truthful, and I figured he'd lied to try and make me feel better about being the sideshow freak on display at my sister’s funeral. All these people knew exactly who I was and that my mother had made it so Franny and I had been off limits to them before she'd died. Then, I'd been gone and there had been no one to stand in the space between them and my sister. It had been the only good, decent thing my mother had done with her life.

  Now, JoJo was dead, Franny was dead, and I was all that was left of the Mayson girls. The barrier was gone and this time I was thankful for it.

  The preacher finished speaking and gestured towards me. Hawk gave me one last reassuring squeeze before letting me go. His arms dropped down to his sides, but he didn't move away from me.

  I shook my head at the holy man, having nothing I wished to say about my sister in front of these people. I'd say my words later, whisper them to the wind like a vow I hoped carried all the way to wherever she was now.

  I stepped up to the casket, bent down and picked up a handful of dirt. Without a word, I sprinkled the dirt on top of her casket.

  Ashes to ashes.

  Dust to dust.

  The space around my heart constricted as bile climbed it's way up my throat.

  Without a backward glance, I turned and walked away.

  I felt their eyes burning into my back the whole way to my car.

  No one followed me.

  4

  Maggie

  I was drunk. There was no other way to describe it.

  It had been four days since my sister's body had been put into the ground. Four miserable days where I'd laid around crying my eyes out and eating everything in sight. It had been absolutely pathetic, I was being pathetic. And I was getting absolutely nowhere in my plans to avenge my sister, which was really the only thing I had going for me at the moment.

  Since I had decided I sucked at everything and I might as well make it worse for myself than it already was, I drove into town and bought myself a bottle of vodka and a carton of orange juice and went back home to drink myself into oblivion.

  I'd found no oblivion, but I had stopped crying for a few hours. At least there was that. Hysterically, I wondered if Franny would see that as looking on the bright side.

  Pounding on the front door made me jump. I spilled my drink on the carpet and slid off the couch, lan
ding on the wet spot in a heap.

  I laughed loudly as I rubbed my cheek against the carpet, thankfully I'd found a dry spot my drink had missed to rub my face up against.

  The pounding on the door grew louder, more insistent.

  "Damn it," I slurred.

  I set my cup on the floor beside the couch and was proud of myself when it remained upright. Tomorrow I'd scrub out the orange stain I'd left on the floor. Tonight, I didn't have it in me to care.

  I stumbled towards the front door and crashed into it.

  "Shit," I muttered under my breath as my hand went out to the wall beside the door to steady myself.

  With hands that didn’t seem to want to work properly, my fingers fumbled but I managed to get the door unlocked and flung it open. And immediately slammed it shut again, slamming it in Hawks face.

  If I was forced to interact with him in a drunken state, something unfortunate was bound to come out of my mouth.

  Hawk was having none of it and he shoved the door right back at me before it could click shut.

  I stumbled back away from the door and him. Tripping over my own feet, I stumbled back and slammed into the wall.

  “What are you doing here?” I slurred at him.

  His eyes narrowed on me and he snapped, “Are you drunk? Who sits at home all by themselves and gets fucking blotto? I thought you were at least better than that.”

  His words stung, and I acted out on impulse, the rage and unfairness of it all exploding out of me. I brought my hand up and I slapped him across the face. Being drunk made my movements slow and sloppy. He had time to stop me but he didn’t. He just stood there unmoving and took it.

  He stood there as I let out all my pain, all my hatred of his club and what they’d taken from me, and he took it all.

  I slapped at his chest, over and over again, screaming incoherent words, just angry sounds coming out of my mouth. Primal noises like a wounded animal.