by Quinn Ryder
I groaned as I picked the heavy machine up off the ground and pushed it out of the brush. Then it took all the effort I had left in my body to get the bike started. Moving made the pain even worse, and I swear the wound in my back was oozing out even more blood. I knew if I didn’t get help fast, I’d be dead by sunup. Once the bike was started, I somehow managed to drive to the nearest hospital in town. It was only five miles away, but it was well into Viper territory. At that moment, I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was survive the night. I pulled into the small hospital’s emergency loading dock and collapsed just outside the door. Everything that happened from there was a blur.
I had no memories of staying in the hospital or who I was at the time. At least, that’s what I let the hospital believe when I finally came to. My identification, my cut, everything that identified me as part of the Devil’s Armada had been stripped from my body before I was buried. The doctor’s called me John Doe, and I didn’t correct them, because if anyone knew I was alive, I’d be dead by the next morning. After three days of admittance and recovery, and a lot of probing questions from a local cop I chose not to answer, I left that tiny hospital and never looked back. I left everything behind that day. I ditched my bike deep in Viper country, taking the wheels off and some chrome to make it look like it had been chopped, then I hitched a ride on a semi-truck that drove all the way to Dallas. My only regret was not finding Faith before I left and begging her to come with me.
Faith slammed a bottle of whiskey on the table and backed away. She refused to turn around, fear plaguing her eyes as she moved silently back toward the bar. I realized that things going on in the club were drastically different now. Faith feared outsiders. Something she had never done before. What was the club doing that would have her so paranoid? What kind of hanky shit did they have their fingers in? Before I left, the only shit the club got involved with was the occasional transport of stolen goods.
Dutch ran the club with an iron fist. He kept the club out of doing the hard shit and did his best to keep our nose clean with the law. Under Dutch’s thumb, I always felt safe. He was the perfect man to be patched in as president of the Devil’s Armada, always firm but never a coward. Dutch didn’t put up with anyone’s shit and that’s why I liked him. He was more of a father to me than my own dad ever was. I was just a young kid from the wrong side of the tracks who happened to stumble upon the clubhouse by accident. I was lucky they didn’t pulverize me right there, but Dutch, hell, he saved my life. He had a soft spot for misfits and wanderers, and when he saw the fear and desperation in my eyes, he took pity on me. I think it was because I reminded him of his own children. I was the same age as Scythe when he found me, and it didn’t take me long to fall into his ranks.
I started by sweeping the shop, watching the club with envious eyes as they formed a family I desperately wanted. My own parents wanted nothing to do with me and discarded me like a piece of trash the second they could. My father used to make fun of my weight, calling me a no good, fat piece of shit that wasn’t worthy enough to lick his steel toe boots. I used to blame his behavior on his alcohol addiction, but it wasn’t long before I realized my dad was just a shitty person in general.
My mom only encouraged his behavior, taking his side and babying him when she should’ve been taking care of me. When I turned seventeen and could no longer handle being my dad’s punching bag or my mom’s disappointment, I skipped town and somehow found myself deep in the heart of Armada country.
After a few months of being shop bitch, I earned the title of prospect and it wasn’t long before I had my own bike and was climbing the ranks until I found a steady foot as the club’s Tail Gunner. Being in the Devil’s Armada gave me the family I always wanted, and somewhere along the way, I fell in love with Dutch’s daughter, Faith. Scythe used to give me shit for fawning all over his sister, but it wasn’t long before we had both Scythe and Dutch’s blessing. I treated Faith like the princess she was, and since I was like a second son to Dutch, I had his blessing to make Faith my Old Lady for good.
Just thinking about all the things I had planned for us, brought tears to my eyes. I was supposed to marry this woman, and now she couldn’t even recognize me. Not that I expected her to. I went from a cleanly shaven, obese bastard without any ink, to a lean, tattooed asshole with a ghostly past. I looked nothing like my former self, and sometimes when I looked in the mirror, I had a hard time even recognizing person staring back at me.
The man in the mirror was the opposite of everything Midas stood for. Midas was about pride and protection. He didn’t give a shit about how he looked or what people thought of him. His life revolved around the club and keeping Faith safe, and when he died, so did his purpose. Midas wouldn’t have lost half his body weight, grown a beard or bothered marring his skin with something as trivial as tattoos. He didn’t need it. But Midas was dead, and Holden needed a second skin—something that would conceal him safely in the shadows and away from those who wished him harm.
Now my body was a canvas of pointless ink, with only a few illustrations thrown in that I actually gave a shit about. I hated my beard, too; it’s itchy and gets in the way of eating. It’s also a bitch to keep tame because my whiskers are assholes that do what they want and could give two shits about my comfort. The beard was an unfortunate evil that had to stay, at least for now because it hid the scar my family would immediately recognize if I shaved my face. It wasn’t easy hiding a two-inch scar that dragged across the entire length of my face behind anarchist chin whiskers that refused to cooperate. If I cut my beard too short, I ran the risk of my scar making an appearance, if I kept it too long, I looked like Adam Parrish when he emerged from the board game in Jumanji.
I even used fucking contacts to change the color of my eyes. They used to be a cool, ice blue, now they’re a mix between slate gray and amber. The most difficult thing to disguise had to be my voice. While down in Texas, I picked up a southern twang and learned to control my tone, making it deeper and more seductive. Even my own mother couldn’t recognize my voice anymore. I would call the house every once in a while, to check up on her, but I would always have some stupid bullshit excuse as to why I called. Sometimes I pretended to have the wrong number, other times I would just sit and listen to her say hello. I’d done this move on Faith, too, but I never had the guts to speak to her either.
Being a ghost was harder than it looked, and every day that I lived underneath this ghostly façade was another day I had to go without her.
But here she was standing before me, a completely different person than the woman who stole my heart.
Faith was a hardened woman now. I could see it in her fear driven stare, and the wobble in her shaky fingers. The carefree woman I fell in love with was gone, and now there was an armored tank surrounding her. I wonder what changed her?
“What’s your name?” I asked her, toying with the bottle of whiskey she gave me.
“None of your business,” she snipped, placing the gun on the bar.
“Not much for small talk, are you?” I grumbled, taking a swig from the glass.
“No, I just don’t have time for some bullshit biker that has a death wish.”
I laughed, because her comment was hilarious. “Honey, a man like me laughs in the face of death. I’ve walked that line and evaded his grasp for far too long.”
She frowned. “Well, when my brother gets here and finds you inside his club, you’ll be wishing it was death that found you instead.”
I smirk over my drink, admiring the bite in her words. Hardened or not, Faith was feisty, and a feisty woman was my favorite kind of woman to chase.
I tipped the bottle in her direction, “Cheers to your brother, then. I look forward to meeting him.” I take a drink and wipe my beard with the back of my hand. “And cheers to you, too. A woman who possesses both beauty and a quick tongue is a treasure even the richest man desires.” I threw her a flirtatious wink and reveled in the sudden flash of pink that highlighted her cheeks.
I was getting to her, and very few words had been used to do it. Midas still had that golden touch even from beyond the grave.
She opened her mouth to say something else to sass me, but she was interrupted by the revving of motorcycle engines pulling up outside.
She gasped and went incredibly still. Her reaction could only mean one thing. My family had finally returned home.
Chapter Three
Faith
Was this guy stupid or just plain dumb? I tried to warn him about what would happen once my brother got back, but he was refusing to leave, sitting there smugly in the corner booth, drinking his whiskey straight from the bottle.
I couldn’t protect him now. He’d be lucky to leave this place in anything less than a body bag.
I could hear their laughter as my brother and the rest of the MC walked up to the front door. I was tempted to text Jimmy before he drove up to give him a heads up that some stranger was in our bar, but something about this man made me want to protect him—now I was too late. My eyes swiveled over to where the strange man sat. He was encased in shadows and didn’t seem concerned that a handful of bikers were about to enter the bar.
“Faith, a round of beers for the family!” my brother Jimmy, also known as Scythe, shouted as he slammed open the front door. “It’s time for a celebration! Cipher has been officially patched in as one of our brothers.” The members of the Devil’s Armada filed in like elephants marching in a line, a few of them toted skanky girls on their arms, while the others plopped down in vacant booths. Nobody seemed to notice the strange man in the back of the room.
Jimmy wandered up to the bar with his arm around Cipher’s shoulders. I quickly grabbed two beers and handed one to my brother and the other to Cipher. They both took their drinks greedily. They clinked glasses before downing their first drop, then plopped down into the chairs at the bar.
I was happy that Cipher had found a home with us. He was young and new to the club, but he had proven his loyalty enough for my brother to patch him in the second his mandatory year as a prospect was up. He’d been hanging around the clubhouse for quite some time and his unusual talents were what first attracted my brother to him. That’s how he got his name, Cipher was a genius when it came to anything electronic, and his hacking skills were definitely an asset this club needed, especially with all the shit my brother seemed to be getting into lately.
The club had taken an ugly turn when my father was forced to step down from his position. After my brother was patched in as president, the club went from law-abiding citizens to outlaws within days. I did my best to keep my nose out of club business, but sometimes they forget that I am here, and I overhear things I shouldn’t.
I liked to believe that it isn’t my brother’s fault that the club has gone south. Switchblade, his VP, and Guerrilla, his SGT at Arms, are bad influences on my brother, they are always encouraging him to get involved in bad shit. My dad would’ve never let the club get this bad. Half the senior members left when my dad was asked to step down, and my brother had no problem filling their spots with lowlife assholes that spent most of their time in jail or on drugs. Cipher seemed different though, he wasn’t like the others. I actually liked him, as did most of the sweetbutts looking for a man to break them in. Not only was he easy on the eyes, but his intelligence was far more advanced than any of the beer drinking thugs who hung around my brother and Switchblade. There were only a handful of members in the Devil’s Armada that I actually liked besides my brother and Cipher, the ones I did like, were friends of my dad’s and promised him that they would stick around to protect me. Everyone else could go to hell for all I care.
I was so busy grabbing the family their drinks, that I didn’t even notice someone invading my space behind the bar.
“Let me buy you a drink,” a slimy voice whispered into my ear. “Then we can go back to my room and have a little fun.” My skin crawled the second Switchblade ran his greasy fingers down my arm. I flinched away from him and moved so I couldn’t feel his sad attempt of a hard-on behind me.
“You know better than to be behind my bar, Curtis.” I said his real name with a sarcastic tone, showing him how little I actually thought of him. Switchblade was proud of his nickname and didn’t allow anyone to call him Curtis, which is why I made sure to use it as much as possible. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, I guess. He had all the makings of being attractive: tall, long blonde hair that looked like it was hardly ever washed, and he was beefy in that “I spend too much time at the gym” sort of way. Yeah, I guess other women would find Switchblade’s meathead exterior appealing, but his attitude only made him ugly to me, and I couldn’t see past his playboy, over-confident persona to consider him as anything but a thorn in my brother’s side and a mosquito I wanted to slap the shit out of.
His brow arched, his mouth pulling into an unnatural sneer. “The name’s fucking Switchblade, Bitch, and you know not to call me anything else.”
“Watch it, Switchblade. That’s my sister you’re calling a bitch, and I won’t allow you to talk to her like that,” my brother defended me.
Switchblade’s eyes cut over to my brother, before he reluctantly moved out from behind the bar. “She needs to be tied down, Scythe. A woman shouldn’t be able to run her mouth like she does. She needs to become someone’s Old Lady—mine to be exact. I’d keep her in line better than anyone else in the club, and if she didn’t listen, she would after I was fucking done with her.” He raised a hand, threatening me with an unclenched fist.
Both Cipher and my brother quickly stood up, wedging themselves between Switchblade and me.
I rolled my eyes. I would never be any man’s Old Lady, and I sure as shit wouldn’t be tied to someone as sleazy as Switchblade.
“You need a fucking genie to make that wish come true, Curtis. I wouldn’t touch your dick with a ten-foot pole, let alone allow you to claim me as your Old Lady. Go fuck yourself.”
Switchblade lurched over the bar, grabbing me forcefully by the shirt. “Lessons begin now, Bitch, what’s my fucking name? You better get it right this time!”
“Curtis,” I smarted.
Switchblade’s brow arched menacingly, and before I knew what was happening, his hand was cocked back and flying right for my face.
Inches he came from punching my nose before someone jumped in and grabbed his arm mid swing.
“If you want to keep this arm, I suggest you never touch her ever again.” Seductive, Southern, and goddamn sexy, that’s what the mystery man’s voice sounded like as he took charge of the situation. The fact that he would jump in and grab Switchblade’s arm, when the whole club was in the bar watching us, is both a turn on and a little alarming. The dude definitely had a death wish.
“What the fuck?” Switchblade growled and wrenched his hand out of the stranger’s grasp. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Just a man whose drink was disturbed by your blatant display of machismo. Do you have to hit a woman to make you feel more like a man?”
Switchblade pulled out his knife and toyed with it in his hands. He pressed a button and the silver blade magically popped out of the hilt. The cold metal played with the neon bar lights, reflecting them on its surface.
“You’re gonna die mother-fucker.”
The stranger reached behind his back and pulled out a gun, aiming it at Switchblade’s head. “Never bring a knife to a gun fight, Son.”
Every man in the building was suddenly on their feet, ready to kill on command. Half the guns that were hidden behind people’s backs were now pulled and aimed at the mysterious stranger whose gaze was fixated only on Switchblade.
“Stop it!” I screamed, desperate to break up the nonsense. “Both of you need to calm the fuck down. Mister, I don’t know who you are, and although I do appreciate you stepping in to help me, I don’t need any man to defend my honor. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. As for you, Curtis. Learn to take a fucking joke.”
Both men looked over at me. T
he stranger reluctantly lowered his gun; Switchblade, on the other hand, lunged forward, stabbing the knife toward the stranger’s stomach. It was a dick move on his part, but the stranger seemed to be ready for it because he countered the move easily and knocked the knife out of Switchblade’s hand—something no man has ever been able to do before.
The room went eerily quiet. Even Switchblade looked stunned.
“You should really learn how to use that thing. You wield it like a bitch.”
“Fuck you, motherfucker. I’m gonna rip your god damn head off.” Switchblade’s fists balled up against his side and I could tell he was two seconds away from knocking the shit out of the stranger’s smug face.
“For what? Protecting a lady. For commenting on your shitty knife-wielding skills. First off, you need to learn some manners—a woman should be treated with dignity and respect, not like some whore you can smack around. Second, I could see every move you made before you made it. If we were playing chess, you’d already be in checkmate, bitch.”
I had to admit. Mr. Sexy Stranger had massive balls. He wasn’t afraid of Switchblade or anyone else in the club. The look on my brother’s face was priceless. Somehow, this stranger had earned Scythe’s respect. I could tell by my brother’s stunned silence and the slight smirk that quirked at the corners of his lips.
“That’s enough, both of you need to knock this shit off,” my brother barked, breaking the silence. He turned toward the stranger. “Look, I don’t know who you are or why you feel like you can just walk into my bar and have a drink, but this is Armada country and outsiders aren’t welcome here, but because you jumped in to protect my sister, I’m gonna give you a once in a lifetime pass. You got two seconds to pack up your shit and walk through that door without any of my brothers interfering, otherwise, you’ll be leaving my bar in a body bag.”