“Girl I swear you can’t pay for tits that amazing,” she says looking down at her own manufactured breasts, as a result of breast cancer. “Your mom had an outstanding rack too,” she adds.
I laugh slightly with a roll of my eyes, not quite sure if this is true or not. Like I said, I don’t remember anything about my mom, aside from knowing her name was Shine. Since we had no pictures of her in the house growing up, I had no clue what she even looked like. Resembling nothing of my dad though, I sort of figured I took after her. Everyone told me she was Native American, so I assume my dark hair and tan skin tone is a result of her genes. Missy then frees one of my hands to pet Bagheera’s head.
“Please tell me you’ll be over for dinner this Sunday; it’s been long enough.”
I sigh, knowing I’ve probably pushed the amount of Sunday dinner absences.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“No, you better, if you don’t I’m sending Dornan over to get you,” she points a French manicured fingertip at me.
“Fine. I gotta go, I’ll see ya Sunday,” I tell her before pulling away.
“Okay, taking Skye out to lunch.” She waggles her fingers in a wave over her shoulder, as she heads towards the shop.
Rocket holds the door for me as I make my way into the clubhouse, I thank him while entering the dark main area. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust from the harsh afternoon sun, to the black painted walls inside. The front doors open into a bar, with several pool tables on the far side, while couches and assorted sitting areas pepper any open space of floor. The rest of the clubhouse is made up of apartments for members, a huge restaurant style kitchen, which comes in handy when we host other clubs or through parties. A large conference type room, rounds out the space. This room we used for gathering, or any other club business. The room has a massive wood table in the center, and everyone sits in order of rank around it. Sven, who’s president sits at the head, the prospects and nomads stand along the walls and aren’t allowed to sit, but are allowed to be involved in the meetings. Most everyone’s already in attendance and milling about when I enter, but I don’t have time to hang out and talk. I have work at the shop to finish and want to get this session done, so I walk in and take my seat alongside Sven. Sven’s the same age as my dad, born only two months apart, they were practically raised as brothers. Sven’s a large man, tall and solid, keeping up the physique he had as a high school football player. He practically has to turn his body sideways to let his shoulders lead him through doorways. Growing up he was a local legend, a college bound football player. People still talk about some of the plays he made all those years ago. But Vietnam came, and he was drafted, dismantling any hopes he had for a future in football. Other than his dirty blond hair graying on the sides, he still resembles the teenager he once was.
Rocket sits on the other side of me, Chain across from me. Chain’s Joey’s dad and beside Chain is Pipes, who’s also been in the club as long as our dads. Next to them is Dornan, Joey, then Dusty, Smokey, Ace, Drag, Boo-Boo, and then Phil brings the circle back to Rocket. There’s several members out on runs, but the club’s made up of about one hundred and fifty guys. Thirty located here in Plantain, while the rest live within the surrounding cities.
“Okay so the matter of today’s meeting is the business in Briscoe, we’ve had some intel from Chilly that Demons Fire MC got wind of our plans, and want a piece of the action. They want to actually buy the supplies, so we need to get there first. Which means we need to move our plan to tomorrow night,” Sven announces.
There are assorted nods and grunts around the table, the air feeling uneasy. Everyone knows we’re pushing these plans way ahead of schedule, and anytime we rush a job, it only inflates the tension.
“You sure we got enough info ready for that?” Chain asks.
“We know the comings and goings, what’s inside, what we need. Sitting on them another month or so, isn’t gonna do nothin’. Except give them time to sell to someone,” Dornan answers.
Most of us nod, knowing what he’s saying is true.
“V, you got the set up to get in?” Sven asks me.
“Yeah, just simple locks and the security isn’t anything spectacular,” I answer.
Sven looks around the room, before asking, “All in agreement for tomorrow?” he barks.
“Aye’s.” Go around the table.
“What’s going on with the new club?” Sven questions.
“Rocket and I are going out to Woodside to meet with the builder’s in a few days,” I reply.
“Good, anyone have anything they need to air?” Sven asks.
When no one replies, he opens his hands to signal that gathering is over. I stand to leave and I’m almost out the door, when Sven calls after me. I stop just as Dornan looks back, and I nod for him to go ahead, which he reluctantly does after a moment. I turn to face Sven who’s still sitting at the head of the table, rising as I walk closer.
“You’re going out to Palm Lake after Woodside,” he orders.
“Am I?”
“Need you to go out there,” he repeats softening his tone.
Sometimes it freaks me out how much Sven and Dornan look alike, as if I’m looking at a younger version of Sven, and an older version of Dornan.
“To tell him about Briscoe?” I ask, confused.
“No. Not club matters, to visit.”
I rub a hand over my eyebrows in aggravation, not wanting to have this conversation again. Sven’s always asking me to go visit my dad. I’m not sure if Sven thinks it’s something I need, or he’s annoyed with the amount of times my dad begs him to get me there on his every visit.
“If it’s not about the club, we don’t have anything to meet about,” I shrug, my voice not convincing.
But Sven’s wearing me down on the subject. And honestly the more I kick the idea around, and the more time that passes, I know it’s something I’m going to do eventually.
“He’s your dad Maven.”
“It’s complicated. I’m not ready yet,” I start.
“It’s been five years V, how much time do you need? He really wants to see you.” He pauses and takes my hand in his large rough one. “I know it’s hard, but ignoring that he exists isn’t good for you, or him.”
Good for him? He’s the one who put himself where he is. There’s no point in arguing and no matter how much of a fight I put up, I know it’s time I see him. I need to stop being an asshole, and come to terms with the fact that my only living parent will be behind bars for the rest of his life. I nod slightly, then turn, and Sven allows my hand to slip free as I walk out of the room.
What I just sat in on here, was a meeting of Warrior of the Gods MC, MC as in Motorcycle Club. The reason I sit in the Vice President’s seat is because my dad, Owen Lofgren who was the W.G.’s V.P., is currently serving a life sentence in prison. As a deal he worked out with Sven to keep the Lofgren bloodline in the club, I’m to sit in for my Dad until Sven appoints a new V.P., which doesn’t seem to be something high on Sven’s to-do list. My dad’s been gone for five years now, and I’m beginning to think him and Sven enjoy this slow torture they’re causing on my life. As a woman, I’m not supposed to be part of the club, I’m not supposed to ride, or be a part of the things I do. Working on the business part of the club is what I’d planned to do, but no. Unfortunately for me, I’m really good at breaking into places. I’m also really good at hacking into computers. Sure, it was fun when I was a kid. Dornan, Joey, and I used to fuck around and steal shit, getting popped by the cops wasn’t anything but a minor offense. But this wasn’t minor anymore, these were guns we were about to steal, to rob very bad people who could come after us and kill us. My grandfather Ivan Lofgren, whose house I live in now, started this club back in the 1950’s. He left the service and felt like the bond of brotherhood he loved in the army, was something he was missing in his now civilian life. So he started a club with likeminded men. Of course the other founding members were Dornan’s and Joey’s grandfa
thers, so this shit is in our blood.
“V.”
Dornan’s voice hits me as I exit the clubhouse with the intention to head back to my office. I stop and wait for him to come up behind me, his hand pressing on the small of my back and urging me to walk with him.
“Your dad?” he asks.
There’s no need to reply, since this is usually what Sven speaks to me privately about. I don’t want this life and my dad knows it, but does he care? No. He also doesn’t care that he’s involving me in serious illegal activities with consequences that can lead me to where he is, prison, or be killed. And for what? Bloodlines and history? But I love him, I don’t understand his sacrifice to miss out on my life for the club, but I’m stubbornly dealing.
We walk in silence as Dornan leads me towards the back of the clubhouse, I know where we’re going, and let him guide me there. Stopping at one of the huge oak trees that lines the perimeter of the compound, and I begin to climb up to the tree house we’d built as children. Over the years we’ve kept up the condition of the decent sized fort, so kids of members can still play up here during family parties. I sit with my knees bent and legs folded, Dornan digs in his pocket, his tattooed forearms flexing with the action before sitting and mocking my position. My eyes scan above the shop’s rooftop and clubhouse. Being up here always makes me feel childlike again, stepping out of reality for a moment. When things got loud at the club or shit was a little too tense, we’d always come up here as kids. Dornan lights a joint and the smoke blows into my face along with the soft breeze, he hits it a few times before passing it to me. I let the smoke fill my lungs as I close my eyes for a moment, taking in the heat of the sun muted through the leaves in the trees.
“Mom texted me you’re coming Sunday.”
I nod, handing him back the joint.
“Still pissed about Brayden? I mean, that’s why you haven’t come back, right?”
There’s a pang in my chest at the mention of his name, but I tamper it down and look over at Dornan, his eyes straight ahead as he looks outward. His hair’s so short sometimes it seems that he cut it bald, but the sunshine reminds me there’s a half-inch of blond there. I watch his beautiful profile as he smokes, his strong chiseled jaw covered in short stubble, his full lips curving around the joint, his eyes narrowed to block the brightness of the sun as he looks out towards the property.
“A little,” I answer softly.
He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.
“Fucking dumb asshole,” he mumbles.
“I’m the dumb asshole who believed him,” I reply.
His clear blue eyes cut over to mine, hardening with a look of annoyance at my comment.
“I mean, who knew he wouldn’t leave her,” I add.
Brayden is my one and only heartbreak. Brayden’s dad is the President of The Children of the Reaper MC, that club and our club team up occasionally. Years ago, when his dad would go out on runs or come to Plantain for business, he’d bring Brayden. Every time he came for a visit we’d hang out, the older we got the more we hung out just the two of us. Eventually, I lost my virginity to him in one of the nasty vacant apartments at the clubhouse on a dirty mattress. Even then, I should’ve known that I meant nothing to him. But in my young teenage mind, I ignored the alarm bells that clearly alerted me to the fact that I was a fuck buddy, just a piece of ass for when he came to town.
He was dreamy to me, older, dangerous, from a big city across the country, something different. I believed the bullshit he told me, and he captured my heart. I wanted to give my everything to him, my devotion and faithfulness. Even though I knew he was hooking up with other girls when he wasn’t with me, and sadly I allowed it to be okay in my head. We were young and he was travelling with a biker club, I didn’t expect too much from the situation. But every time we had sex, it left me wanting. Not for more sex, because honestly I didn’t see what the big deal was. There were no earth shattering orgasms, nothing like how I feel when I got myself off. No, it left me wanting aftercare, cuddling and lingering kisses. That flutter of anticipation when we’d see each other again, that desire for him to touch me. None of that was there with him. Regardless, he promised me things, a life with him. I would listen to plans he’d imagine as we’d talk on the phone at night, like us marrying someday. And I admit those things sounded nice, the thought of a future with someone was a settling feeling. I dreaded and had zero desire to be an old lady to someone in an MC, but always planned to work at the shop and marry a civilian. Distancing my personal life from the club as much as possible.
Three years into our ‘relationship,’ Brayden told me he was getting married, that he’d knocked some girl up from his neighborhood, and it was the ‘right thing to do.’ It broke my heart, as much as I tried to tell myself that what we had was casual and that I hadn’t developed feelings for the guy, I had fallen in love with the idea of us. Of course the news of his upcoming nuptials and eventual marriage, didn’t stop us from hooking up every time we got together. I knew it was wrong, but I believed the words he said when he told me he just felt bad for her, and he was all she had. I also believed him when he said once their son got older, and they were more financially set, that he’d leave her and come for me.
Years later I still waited, and like the dumbass I was, I didn’t sleep with anyone else, wanting to remain faithful to Brayden. Then one Sunday a few weeks ago, I headed over to Sven’s and Missy’s for dinner and saw Brayden there, with his wife and kids. He never told me he had more than one baby with her, the reality hit me as I stood there in the dining room just staring wide eyed at his family. His wife was blonde and beautiful, and I could see the love they had for one another, he was using me the whole time and I believed all his lies. Since I didn’t want to freak out in front of everyone, I fled for the bathroom. A few minutes later he entered and informed me he wasn’t leaving his wife, and never would. That he was sorry and didn’t mean to hurt me, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t still hook up and continue on like nothing had changed. I should have been relieved, happy I wouldn’t be an old lady. Instead, I punched him in the balls and left, not returning to Sunday dinner since then. The embarrassment of being taken advantage of, my trust obliterated, I’d never felt so alone in my life. There was a sinking feeling that I would never be cherished, or a man’s number one and I was coming to terms with that. I would rather be alone and never know love, than live in a delusion of love and lies.
“I just feel stupid,” I mumble.
“Don’t. When you want something bad enough in life you convince yourself that it will happen, if you’re patient it will work out. Hindsight and all that shit. But maybe the better thing is that it didn’t work out. Now you won’t let another ass clown string you along like that,” Dornan tells me.
I watch as my friend continues to smoke. He always got me, understood how my brain worked, and I love him for that.
“Not that I would’ve been any better, but it pisses me off the shit he did to you.”
I give him a soft smile, wondering to myself sometimes what Dornan and I would be like as a couple. Then I always remind myself that for one, I can’t ever be an old lady. Another thing, Dornan’s too promiscuous, and I will never again be another disposable vagina. As gorgeous and sweet as he can be, Dornan’s never had a girlfriend. I wondered why that was, assuming it’s because he just doesn’t want one, but who knows.
“You wouldn’t have made me promises.”
I smile while nudging my elbow into his, causing him to give me a smile. He wraps his arm around my neck, pulling our sides together. Breathing him in, he always smells so good, a mix of cologne, leather, and just him. Whatever the combination is, it always makes me a little hot.
“You’re okay though, right? I mean, you realize you deserve better than that?”
“Yeah, it bothers me that I was so blind but, I think I know better now. Like when someone wants to be with me, I won’t fall for the bullshit. So maybe it’s better I went through all that
so I will recognize a good man when he comes my way.”
Dornan’s arm squeezes me a little tighter, his rough fingertips caress my bare arm before clearing his throat.
“V, I want to talk to you about something-” he begins, before a giant bee flies past my nose.
“Oh my God!”
I shriek and begin waving my arms around while darting for the ladder, all the while Dornan’s deep laughter rumbles behind me. My feet hit the ground, as I continue to flail my arms like a lunatic, then Dornan grabs my wrists.
“I think you’re safe,” he chuckles.
His words don’t stop me from glancing around, or steadying my breathing. He continues to smile at me and hold my hands, his eyes glinting with humor.
“Stop laughing at me, asshole.”
I snort and pull my hands away, smacking his shoulder, further causing him to laugh. We head back towards the clubhouse in silence, remembering he was saying something before we were interrupted.
“What were you going to say back there?” I ask a few feet from my office.
He looks around, the parking lot’s crowded with the guys and loud with laughter, along with bike engines revving. He shakes his head before giving me a long look.
“Later, we can talk later,” he says and I don’t like that he’s holding back, important or not.
“Okay,” I reluctantly reply.
“Later, V.”
2
The next morning, I ride my bike into work. I own a fully restored 1978 Harley that Dornan and Joey fixed up for my eighteenth birthday. Bagheera stayed home much to his disappointment, but I promised him an extra-long run the next morning and that seemed to appease him. The whole day everyone lays pretty low. It’s always like this the day of a job. Nerves and also running over every possible scenario of what can happen and go wrong. Needless to say, I hate the day of a job. So, I immerse myself in getting all my billing for the shop done. I also clean out my desk drawers just to keep my hands busy, and although distracting, it doesn’t calm my nerves.
Running with the Devil: Plantain Series Book One Page 2