WED TO THE BIKER

by Zoey Parker

  Tears beaded in her eyes as she glanced helplessly at her brother, willing him to be wrong.

  “He rides with a motorcycle gang called the Skeleton Kings,” Zack continued. “They are a really nasty bunch of guys bred on violence. And they are looking to stir up trouble here in Colridge. Being with Max makes you a target. I’m just trying to keep you safe Brittany.”

  A motorcycle gang. The Skeleton Kings. Brittany felt dizzy as she tried to take it all in. She lowered herself onto her sofa and lay her shaking hands upon her knees. Zack had to be wrong. He just had to be. But even Nancy had hinted about the danger.

  “How do you…how do you know this?” she wondered woefully.

  “I just do,” Zack told her vaguely. “Trust me, the Skeleton Kings are trouble, Brittany. Look what they did to Jameson.”

  Jameson stepped forward and angled the damaged half of his face up towards the light so that Brittany could take a better look at it.

  “The Skeleton Kings - they did that to you?” she gasped, a hand flying up to her mouth.

  “Acid,” Jameson explained tightly. “Me and your brother made the mistake of turning up at the wrong bar a few years ago. It was a mistake the Reapers wanted to make sure we wouldn’t repeat again.”

  “My God,” Brittany couldn’t imagine the pain Jameson must have gone through. And all because he’d gone to the wrong bar. It all seemed to needlessly cruel. “And that’s how you know?” she glanced between the two men. “That Max is with this gang, because you’ve encountered them before?”

  Zack and Jameson shared a look.

  “Yeah,” her brother spoke up. “That’s how we know, Brittany. Now do you understand why I’m so worried about you? And why you have to leave here?”

  Brittany understood. Numbly she got to her feet and made her way towards her bedroom. As she hastily filled a bag with a few essential items, she thought of the girl she’d tattooed at the shop, the girl who worked at the bar. Had Max hurt her? No, that was impossible. Max would never do something like that. Brittany couldn’t ignore the fact that her brother might still be lying.

  With Zack and Jameson waiting in the main area of her apartment, she quietly pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Max. She wanted to at least give him a chance to explain himself. After five drawn out rings, a woman answered.

  Brittany felt like someone had electrocuted her. A violent shock raced down her spine when she heard the unfamiliar voice.

  “Hello?” they picked up with an air of impatience.

  “Hi…is….um, is Max there?” Brittany had to speak quietly for fear of attracting the attention of the men in the next room.

  “He’s passed out at the moment,” the woman replied briskly. Her words were cold and lacked any emotion.

  “Passed out?” tears started to run down Brittany’s face like a river. Why was Max passed out? Where the hell was he, and who was this woman answering his cell phone?

  “Sweetheart, if you know what’s good for you, you won’t call him again.” And the line went dead. Brittany stared at her cell phone in disbelief. How could she have been so very wrong about Max all along? She honestly believed he was a decent guy who genuinely loved her. Had he got blind drunk and slept with the woman who was now taking his calls?

  Brittany felt sick at the thought of such a betrayal. She dropped against her bed and cradled her head in her hands, her clothes still strewn around the room in her haste to pack.

  Five long minutes passed before a gentle knock came at the door. “Brittany, we really need to go.”

  It was Jameson’s voice, not her brother’s.

  “I’ll be right there,” Brittany sniffed and wiped her eyes. The door creaked open and Jameson slid around it, throwing her a sad glance.

  “I’m sorry if Zack scared you.” he noticed her tears glistening in the sunlight.

  “It’s okay,” Brittany wiped at her cheeks and stood up.

  “Let me help,” Jameson came in and started to scoop up some of the scattered clothes. As he did so, Brittany glanced again at his scar, noticing how it disappeared beneath the collar of his jacket.

  “It must have really hurt,” she noted sympathetically.

  “It hurt like hell,” Jameson gave her a lopsided smile. “But I think it gives me a tough edge, don’t you agree?”

  Brittany laughed softly. She admired Jameson’s strength.

  “Your brother will keep you safe,” he added, his tone becoming more serious. “He won’t let them harm you.”

  Brittany had previously thought that she could trust Max to keep her safe. But since a strange woman had just answered his phone she didn’t know what to think anymore.

  “Where is Zack?” she glanced beyond Jameson into her apartment.

  “Moving the bikes around to the front,” Jameson explained.

  “The bikes?” Brittany felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Was she supposed to ride on the back of a bike all the way back home? She’d never been on a motorcycle before, and the thought of doing so terrified her.

  “Yeah,” Jameson cracked a smile. “I’ll take your bags, and Zack will take you. Unless you’d rather do it the other way around?” a flirtatious fire burned in Jameson’s eyes. He was charming and despite his horrific scars, he was still handsome. But Brittany couldn’t give him the flicker of hope he was yearning for. Her heart still belonged to Max, even if it looked like he was going to break it.

  “I’ll ride with Zack, its okay.” She also didn’t want a relative stranger feeling her quake with fear behind them, as they rode down the highway.

  “You called?” Zack was coming back into the apartment. Shadows hung beneath his eyes making Brittany wonder when he’d last slept. As soon as they got home she’d cook them something, then insist he take a long, hot bath before going to bed for several hours. Her brother clearly wasn’t doing a great job of looking after himself in her absence.

  “Apparently, I’m riding on your bike,” Brittany tilted her head at him, wondering if he’d sense her apprehension about the mode of transportation.

  “You’ll love it,” Zack reassured her though his expression remained stern. “Now let’s go.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  With the wind billowing in her hair, Brittany glanced back to see Colridge disappearing from view. Her brother turned the throttle on his motorcycle, and they picked up speed along the highway, expertly weaving their way through the traffic.

  Jameson was close behind, his own bike roaring its way down the highway. Brittany clung tightly to Zack. She could feel the power of the bike trembling beneath her legs. It was both a terrifying and exhilarating feeling. When Colridge was completely gone from view, she pressed her head against her brother’s back and closed her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The first time she was on a motorcycle she was supposed to be holding onto Max as they embarked on an adventure together. Hot tears washed down her cheeks as the bike moved ever faster. In that moment, she didn’t care if Zack lost control and the bike skidded across the road, tossing them both from its back like a bucking bronco. She already felt like the world was burning around her. She wanted to give into the flames, to let them consume her.

  Max had broken her heart. She could feel the pain growing within her, being more pronounced each time her heart dared to beat. And now she was leaving Colridge with no idea when, if ever, she would be going back.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Max groaned as he struggled to open his eyes. His whole body felt heavy and awkward. Wincing, he eventually managed to sit up. His throat felt dry and sore as he pushed his hands through his hair and looked around.

  He was bare-chested and sat on a sofa in a dingy back room, which he recognized as being part of the bar. Distantly, he could hear the hum of the jukebox playing a familiar tune. Max shuddered, his shirtless skin prickling in the cool of the damp room. He noticed his T-shirt and jacket neatly piled up on a nearby table and hastily reached for them. Pulling them on, he felt them
snag against the tightness beside his ear. Max grabbed his cell phone and turned the camera towards himself and then inspected his wound. It was no longer bleeding as several crude stitches were now holding it closed.

  “Ah,” Max massaged his aching jaw as he continued to scrutinize the stitches.

  “You’re up then?” the door to the room swung open and the aging blonde strolled in carrying a steaming mug of coffee. Max’ felt drawn to its acidic aroma, eager for the injection of caffeine.

  “Here,” she offered him the coffee and sat down on the sofa beside him. “This might help you wake up a bit.”

  “How long was I out?” time seemed to have lost all meaning. He could have been asleep for hours or even days and it would have felt the same to him.

  “A couple hours,” the woman gave a light shrug. “The sedatives I gave you should have pretty much worn off entirely by now.”

  Max nodded as he sipped at his coffee.

  “Whoever cut you with that blade caught you good,” she glanced at his fresh stitches. “Leave those in for a few days, let it heal, and then I’ll cut them out for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just don’t go getting too roughed up tonight. There’s only so much patching up I can do here.”

  “Tonight?” Max’ thoughts were coming too slowly as if they were stuck in glue. What was happening tonight? He knew he was at the Skeleton Kings’ bar, but he couldn’t quite remember why. It was as if he’d woken from a deep, deep sleep and was struggling to reconnect with reality.

  “You boys are storming Colridge tonight, remember?” the blonde gazed at him intently, narrowing her wrinkled eyes. “Those sedatives didn’t fry your brain too much did they?”

  “Colridge.” Brittany. Max’ senses instantly sharpened when he thought of her. She was still in Colridge, still in danger. He had to get to her. Leaning forward he placed down his coffee and stood up but, he’d underestimated the effects of the sedatives that were still lingering in his system.

  The dingy room tilted on its axis and Max swayed on his feet.

  “Careful now,” the woman appeared behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and gently guiding him back down toward the sofa. “You don’t want to run before you can walk,” she advised, handing him back his mug of coffee.

  “I need to get to Colridge,” he told her desperately.

  “This about that girl who called your phone?”

  “What?” Panic leaped up into Max’ throat, almost preventing him from speaking altogether. “Brittany? She called me? When?”

  He was firing his questions like bullets at the blonde.

  “She called while you were knocked out,” she replied slowly, not bothered by his level of desperation.

  “She won’t be calling again.”

  “Wait, what? What did you say to her?” Max felt like a mad man possessed as he reached for his makeshift nurse and grabbed her roughly by the collar of the dress she was wearing, which would be better suited to a woman half her age.

  “Relax,” she didn’t bat an eyelid as she eased herself out of his grip. There wasn’t even a flash of fear in her eyes. She was well accustomed to the tempers on display in the bar.

  “I kept her safe,” she told him sternly.

  “I can keep her safe!” Max insisted shrilly.

  “Can you?” she cast a dubious eye over his latest wound, which would surely leave a scar. “Because, son, I’m not sure you can. And if you’re really sweet on this girl, you’ll just let her go. You see, you’re already in a relationship, with the Skeleton Kings, and your Uncle. He don’t take too kindly to anyone cheating.”

  Max groaned in frustration. What had Brittany said when she’d called? What had his nurse said? He could only imagine how mad she must be at him. He needed to talk to her, to convince her of how much he loves her.

  “Let her go,” the blonde advised, getting up and dusting off her dress as her old bones creaked in protest. “The Blood Gang is no place for a lady. Unless you want her to turn out like me.”

  Max looked at the old blonde, really looked at her. Behind her tired eyes, there was still the sparkle of the beautiful girl she'd once been. A girl who had been lured into the gang by his Uncle Alex back when the old man was enigmatic and handsome. No, this wasn’t the future Max wanted for Brittany, for her to sit around and stitch up gang members. He wanted her to follow her dreams, to follow her art, her passion. He rubbed a hand across his chest, across the tattoo which had originally bought them together.

  “Take care, kid. Think about what I said,” the woman was at the door now, about to leave.

  “Thanks for fixing me up,” Max forced a weak smile and tapped the side of his head.

  “Anytime. Just be careful out there tonight, you hear?”

  Max nodded. He wasn’t ready to go back to Colridge, to fight again. But if Brittany was there, he’d have to. Somehow, he’d have to sneak away from the others and get to her apartment. They’d have to run. If he abandoned the pack during a fight, there was no way they’d take him back. He’d become as much as an enemy to them, as a Red Riders member. But for Brittany, Max was willing to run and turn his back on everything he knew. She was worth that. She was worth running away for.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  “He rises,” Henry grandly gestured towards Max as he slumped out of the back room. The bar was busy once again with pack members crammed inside, all proudly wearing their leather jackets and polluting the air with all their cigar smoke.

  “Welcome back, slugger,” Henry tipped the shot of whiskey he was holding towards Max before letting the liquid slide effortlessly down the back of his throat. Will was on the barstool beside him, nursing a beer. Both men still looked worn down and beaten, thanks to their night causing chaos at a local bar in Colridge.

  “Hey,” Max dropped down onto a vacant stool beside Henry.

  “Feeling better?” Henry’s breath stank of liquor. Max wondered how late in the day it was, and how useful his friends hoped to be in any sort of melee if they were already pretty drunk.

  “A bit,” Max’ head started to throb once again but, he refused to take the pain medication his nurse had left for him. He needed a clear head if he was going to abandon his pack in Colridge, and save Brittany.

  “Me? I’m itching for another round,” Henry dramatically cracked his knuckles to emphasize his point.

  “Speak for yourself,” Aaron scoffed, gazing sadly at his beer. “I’m still recovering from the last round.”

  “But this is the defining one,” Henry smacked his hand against the dirty bar and grinned maniacally. “This is the one that shows all those Red Riders assholes just who owns this town.”

  “Yeah,” Max gave a sad smile. All around him the air was filled with excited chatter about how much blood would be spilled, how many teeth would get knocked out. The entirety of the Kings consisted of men born for violence; they came alive when they were cracking skulls. But more often than not, things went too far.

  With a shudder, Max recalled the story he’d heard of the young man who had been disfigured with acid.

  “He was Red Riders scum,” they’d declared with a dismissive shrug. “He’d had it coming.”

  The perpetrators had lived off that act for years. Each time they came into the bar they were given free drinks and a thunderous round of applause led by Uncle Alex. Alex admired their savagery, liked how they’d helped make his pack infamous and feared. Back then, even Max had admired them, which made him feel shame now. But he was young and impressionable all those years ago, and he wanted to be revered like they were. So each time he went out with the gang, he was overly vicious. He’d bite off men’s ears, crack open their skulls and watch with morbid interest as their precious contents slid out onto the street.

  But now things were different. Now there was Brittany and a reason to walk away from all the violence, all the madness.

  “I’m bringing my little friend tonight,” Henry grinned. Max didn’t need to
ask who his little friend was since he already knew. Henry’s friend was a machete he’d bought during a vacation to Mexico. If kept sharp enough and used correctly, it was capable of decapitating a man with one deadly blow. Not that Henry had ever achieved such a victory, and given his slurred words now, Max doubted he’d be able to pull it off tonight. Which meant that with the machete in hand, he would be capable of grievously maiming, but not killing a man, which in most cases would be worse. Max had heard the stories of men so badly beaten that they spent the rest of their lives eating through a straw or in a vegetative state.