DAMON: A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel

by Meg Jackson

  I bounced down the stairs, knowing that breakfast was long over and that I’d have to prepare something for myself.

  “Well, there she is, our little sleepyhead,” Dad said when I almost ran into him rounding the corner to the kitchen.

  “Hi, Dad!” I said, pushing past him, food the only thing on my mind. I’d barely eaten anything the day before, too wrapped up in my thoughts, and was starving. I immediately pulled the peanut butter out of the cupboard and grabbed two slices of bread from the fridge. PB&J was my go-to snack.

  “Don’t fill up, now, we’re grilling this afternoon!” Dad said from the hall as he watched me spread the peanut butter over the bread. Perfect, I thought, a day relaxing by the pool and eating hamburgers with my parents. Exactly what I need!

  “Don’t worry, I can eat four meals in four hours. You know that,” I said, taking a huge bite out of my sandwich. Dad laughed. My insatiable appetite was a running joke in our family: I was always so involved in cheerleading and sports that I could eat way more than my relatively small frame showed. I was always hungry.

  “This is true, my dear,” Dad said, shaking his head as he watched me finish the sandwich in five huge bites. “Man, I don’t know where you put it all.”

  “Well, talking burns a lot of calories,” I said playfully. That was the other running joke in my family: my 5-miles-per-hour mouth.

  “Okay, well, I’m going to fire up the grill in an hour or so. Do you want to invite Becky and Alicia over, or have you had enough girl time for one summer?” I thought about it for a moment, and decided that I wanted today to be just about my family.

  I did miss Becky and Alicia already, and knew, from their texts, that they were missing me, too, but I wanted to get back into things one step at a time: Becky and Alicia would almost certainly want to talk about me losing my virginity to Boon, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. It was enough just thinking about it.

  “I think I’ll just chill with you and Mom today,” I said, trying to push thoughts of Boon away. Why couldn’t I just forget him, why did he have to keep popping up, even when I was doing something as innocent as eating peanut butter and jelly and talking to my Dad?

  “Okay, well, I’m gonna fire up the grill in an hour or so,” Dad said, moving away. I stood in the kitchen for a moment longer, listening to the clock tick, trying to ground myself in the room. This is my kitchen. This is my life. This is where I live.

  An hour later, I was lounging by the pool, smelling hamburgers on the grill, not a care in the world. I had my phone with me, obviously, and was lazily texting with Alicia about getting Thai food the next day. When my phone buzzed, I expected a text from Alicia confirming that she would be at the restaurant at two the next day.

  Which is why I just about had a heart attack and nearly imploded my own stomach when I saw that the text was from an unknown number, the same number Boon had texted me from in Vegas, the same number that I still hadn’t had the heart to save in my phone as his…

  Tag, you’re it, the text read. Attached was a photo. With shaking fingers, I tapped the link. The photo that popped up made my head spin. It was a photo of my house. The very house that I was currently lounging behind.

  How did he find me? Why did he find me? What…my mind was spinning. He must be joking, I thought. Not only did I not know how he could have possibly found my house, I also didn’t know whether or not the picture was real or just a joke, a picture taken from Google Maps or something.

  My heart pounded in my throat as I sent back the only text I could think of: ???

  The seconds seemed to pass like months as I waited for a response. When my phone buzzed again, I jumped out of the chair like I’d been bit by a snake.

  “Woah nelly, what’s wrong with you? Someone post a picture of their engagement ring?” Mom said, watching me as I shook in my flip-flops.

  “I…I…uh…hold on…” I said, my brain working at half capacity. Without answering my parent’s puzzled looks, I rushed around the side of the house, not even caring about how much I would be showing the neighbors in my bikini. I didn’t take my eyes off my phone until I reached the front of my house. Then, slowly, I lifted my gaze.

  And there he was. In all his muscled, tattooed, masculine glory. Boon. On his bike. Helmet in the crook of his arm, white teeth gleaming in the sun, blonde hair bouncing rays of sunlight, a picture-perfect moment. My heart was full. My jaw dropped. I giggled like a schoolgirl. I can’t ever remember being happier in my entire life. I looked down at my phone.

  Come and see, the text read.

  14

  I remember the feel of the hot cement and street against my bare feet. I remember the glare of the sun off Boon’s helmet. I remember the heat of his leather jacket, the smell of his sweat, his stubble scratching my chin as we kissed. I remember, I remember, I remember.

  And I remember my parents’ shocked faces when I turned around and saw they had followed me to meet Boon. I remember my mother’s bemused my look, my father’s narrowed eyes and sneer. I remember my father suddenly disappearing into the house as my mother laughed at me. I remember turning back to Boon, apologizing.

  “My parents…” I said.

  “I don’t care, don’t apologize.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I have my ways.”

  We were locked in each other’s eyes, each other’s embrace. We were filled with each other, in that moment. It was a perfect moment.

  “What’s your last name, kid,” I suddenly heard from behind me. It was Dad, I could tell that without needing to turn around. What made me turn around was the sudden look of fear that came over Boon’s face. I tried to take everything in at once. My mother running across the lawn, my father’s face looking like pure hatred, the gun in his hand, the gun he was pointing at Boon.

  “Dad! Stop! This is…” I said, throwing my hands up to protect Boon, who was staring straight back at my father.

  “What’s your fucking last name,” Dad repeated, using his Sheriff’s voice. The voice that meant business. Serious, serious business.

  Part II

  15

  Did they make you read Romeo and Juliet in high school? They made us read it. I hated it. I thought it was stupid. I mean, these two kids just suddenly fall head-over-heels in love? They barely know each other! And then all that drama, all that pain, and they just wind up dead. What kind of story is that?

  I’m not here to tell you that “once you have real love, Romeo and Juliet makes a lot more sense.” It doesn’t. It doesn’t make any more sense to me now than it did in tenth grade English. That’s not how love works. No one ever needs to wind up dead. If you’re in love and you wind up dead, you weren’t doing it right. At least, I’m pretty sure of that. After everything that’s happened though…I guess I could see myself winding up dead.

  And “star-crossed lovers?” Sorry, but as easy as it might seem to blame fate, I don’t believe anyone winds up where they are because of things outside of their control. I mean, sure, oxytocin is a powerful drug, and a lot of the time you feel like you’re being compelled to do things, like you don’t have a choice, but you always have a choice.

  I guess that’s one of the best things I learned from all this. You always have a choice.

  But there is one bit of Romeo and Juliet that makes sense to me these days, on the rare occasion I think about it…

  O, I am fortune’s fool!

  16

  “Dad, no!”

  My father was standing, one eye closed, the other narrowed to a slit, with a shotgun aimed at Boon. Actually, the shotgun was aimed at me, and I was standing in front of Boon.

  “Get in the house, Samantha,” Dad said, not taking his eyes off Boon, who was gently pushing me away.

  “Do what he says,” Boon said to me, under his breath. I could feel his heart pounding against my back as I stood between him and my father.

  “Dad, you stop this right now. This is my friend, Boon, and whatever you think…�
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  “Samantha, I’m going to tell you one more time, get in the house,” Dad said, his voice increasing in fury with each word. My mother was hopping around in a frenzy, unsure of whether to try and calm Dad down or swoop in and yank me away. I could see terror in her eyes, and knew it was reflected in my own. Dad could be strict but this was…well, it was unusual, to say the least.

  “Tell me your last name, kid,” he repeated, menacing.

  “Culver,” Boon said from behind me, his voice betraying no trace of anxiety or pressure. He finally reached out and physically pushed me to the side, breaking eye contact with my father to look at me.

  “Get inside, Samantha. I don’t want you seeing whatever this is going to turn into,” Boon said. His voice made my heart freeze. He sounded like a man who was used to doing what needed to be done. Dirty things. Things that you wouldn’t want your kids to know about. He sounded, for the first time since I’d met him, like a scary biker. It was so different from the bemused, inquisitive, clever guy I’d hit it off with. I was sobbing by then, unaware of anything but the barrel of the gun, Boon’s wide, cold eyes, my father’s anger like a physical force.

  Boon suddenly softened, his face seeming to melt into pleading. He reached out for me.

  “Don’t fucking move,” Dad cried out. I could see the situation was beginning to wear on him, could see his hands shaking as he held the gun. Ignoring him, I took Boon’s hand. He slipped something into my palm. Then he dropped his gaze, turning back to my father.

  “My last name is Culver, sir. My father is Tank Culver. Of the Cold Steel Motorcycle Club,” he said, swallowing hard but not giving up the staring contest. My mother rushed to me, and I folded into her arms, wanting her comfort.

  “Daddy, please,” I managed to cry as my mother struggled to corral me away from the scene.

  “Do you love him, Samantha?” My father suddenly asked, not turning his attention (or gun) away from Boon. His voice, though, was softer, almost as though he was anticipating my answer, and was already disappointed in me. I guessed he had seen everything he thought he needed to see in that first moment he saw us together. After all, the way I’d rushed into Boon’s arms, the way our eyes had been locked together, it probably did look like love.

  But was it? In a second, I knew I had my answer.

  “No, Daddy, but he’s my friend,” I said. This wasn’t, of course, nearly the whole truth. But it was some sort of truth. I didn’t love him, at least not then. After all, I’d only just met him, and it was going to take a lot more than one huge romantic gesture for me to start confessing undying love.

  On the other hand, Boon certainly wasn’t just a friend. He was…something else. Something in between. The best way I could sum up exactly how I felt about Boon, how I’d felt when he sent me that text, was that I was excited beyond all reason to fall in love with him. I could feel it had already started to happen, and I was ready for it to happen.

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I looked to Boon’s face, trying to see how he’d react. He didn’t look crestfallen. He didn’t look dejected. He looked…cold. He wasn’t looking at me, but at my father. I wanted to explain more. I wanted to tell them both: I’m confused! I could love him! If you’d let me, Dad, if you’d let me, Boon, I could love him!

  “Please, Daddy, stop,” I finally managed to say, more tears leaking from my eyes. And then my father deflated. Like a balloon, he just seemed to lose all the air and strength in his body at once. He didn’t drop his eyes from Boon’s, but he did drop his gun. His shoulders slumped. He shook his head.

  “Kid, you must have had some sorta traumatic brain injury on that hog of yours if you thought coming around here was a good idea,” Dad said at last. Boon’s shoulders dropped as well as he relaxed, no longer the target at the end of Dad’s shotgun. “Now, I suggest you get on that death machine of yours and ride it as far the fuck away from Missoula, Montana as you can get before you drown.”

  With that, and nothing more, Dad turned. He strode towards Mom and I, who were huddled together, both sobbing, and grabbed us, pushing us ahead of him into the house. If I wasn’t so shocked already from everything that had happened, I would have been shocked by this rough treatment. Dad never laid a hand on Mom or I. Looking back once more before falling across my doorstep, I saw Boon, head hanging for just a moment before rising again and looking, defiantly, at my father’s back.

  That look scared me almost as much as anything else that had just happened.

  That look made me think that maybe I hadn’t been behaving very intelligently. That maybe I’d been downright stupid. Maybe I’d dragged my friends, my family, into a dangerous situation. After all, Boon was a member of a freaking biker gang, for god’s sakes.

  His tattoos weren’t just there to look cool.

  He didn’t ride a bike for fun.

  This wasn’t a hobby.

  He was trouble.

  And I’d walked right into it, given him everything, been led on by his cute smile and strong arms and deep eyes. He got me high, and I made out with him in a bathroom. Suddenly, that story didn’t seem cool or edgy or fun. It seemed downright…stupid.

  I began to panic as my family filed into the house. What if he comes after me, what if he comes after my dad, what if…

  I remembered that I was still holding whatever it was Boon had slipped into my palm. In my frenzied state, I didn’t even bother looking at it, just slipped it into my pocket.

  “How did you meet him?” Dad asked, turning to face me as I stood in the hallway. He didn’t look angry anymore, just…confused? Maybe a little angry, still, but mostly sad and confused. I struggled to breathe, never mind speak.

  “Hugh, give her a minute,” Mom said, coming to my rescue. She threw her arm around my shoulders, curling me in close. I closed my eyes and let my head rest against her, feeling her breathe, steady and deep. How can moms go from freaking out to perfectly calm so quickly? How are moms so good at doing whatever the situation calls for? I know for a fact that Mom was not, in fact, feeling very calm at that moment. Despite the steadiness of her breathe, I knew that, inside, she was as strung up as I was. But she managed to keep it all under wraps. For my sake.

  “Vegas,” I finally managed to sniffle. My father rolled his eyes so hard he must have caught a glimpse of gray matter.

  “Vegas? Vegas, Samantha? You met him on your girl’s trip? Jessica, I knew we shouldn’t have fucking let that happen, Jesus Christ, and you gave him your address? Where the hell did you meet him in Vegas? Did you guys go to a goddam biker bar?” My father was about to launch into one of his famous tirades: a steady flow of words that could go on for hours, days even, if left unchecked.

  “Bill, you were the one who suggested Vegas,” Mom said, coming to my defense once more.

  “I didn’t give him my address, Daddy, I swear,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes. “Are we gonna be okay? Why did you do that, Daddy? What did he do?”

  “Just…go upstairs, please, Samantha, for now,” Dad said, sighing, looking defeated. I stayed put, not willing to leave until I got some answers. The panic had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache. Later, I’d know this was shock. At the time, it was all I could do to think straight. I was tired and angry and upset and hurt and curious all at the same time, but all of those feelings were just below the surface, just out of reach.

  “But…” I sputtered, but knew better than to protest further. Dad’s eyes had fallen on me, and I knew there was no arguing. Breaking away from my mother, I slowly shambled up the staircase to my room. For some reason, as I went, I thought about the day my parents had planned: a sunny, summer barbeque by the pool. The thought broke my heart into a million pieces. And I ruined it, I thought, finally reaching the top of the stairs. I looked down behind me; Mom and Dad both were staring up at their daughter: their beloved, straight-A, “saving it for marriage,” daughter.

  I’d never been so happy to be sent to my room.

  17

  S.O.S., I
tapped with shaking fingers on my phone, sending out a distress call to Becky and Alicia. Within seconds, they’d both responded.

  Coming over now, Alicia wrote back.

  Be there in ten, was Becky’s response.

  No, can’t, stuck in room, skype?!?!?! I shot back. I turned on my computer and opened Skype; they were both online already, and soon we were set up in a three-way chat. They could see, from one glance I’m sure, how upset I was. As I told them the whole story, from the text to the showdown to being sent to my room, their jaws dropped.

  “Holy shit, Samantha! How did he find you?”

  “Wait, your dad threatened him? With a gun?”

  “Do you know where he is? You gotta talk to him,” Alicia said. Becky’s face scrunched in reaction.

  “Alicia, what the hell are you talking about? You gotta stay far, far away from him, Samantha!”

  “Guys, I…”

  “No, no, I mean, we met him, too, Becky, I mean, he showed up at her house, what kind of guy does that unless he…”

  “Um, a serial killer?! A psycho, that’s who, Alicia! Samantha, if your dad…”

  “Your dad let him go, so obviously he’s not a murderer, girl…”

  “Alicia, you are the worst! Samantha, you CANNOT go looking for this guy, he’s bad news.”

  “He’s totally in love with you! So he’s got a past? Who doesn’t? Sammy, you absolutely cannot let him leave without…”

  “Guys, guys, I can’t, right now. Please, stop. I mean…he could be dangerous, like really dangerous! Or he could just be…I don’t know! Please, just everyone stop talking for like five seconds,” I finally managed to blurt out, breathing heavily. They were like physical representations of my own torn mind: what I wanted, and what I knew was right.