Lucky: Furious Skulls MC (A Bad Boy MC Biker Romance)

by Daniela Jackson

  My heart leaps. Michelle’s face flashes through my head. This is for her. Everything is for her.

  My eyes roam over the cage. Blood covers the corners of the mat. Blaze and Monk are standing outside the cage at the opposite end from where I’m standing. Their faces are stripped of emotions.

  The bell rings.

  The fight starts.

  It’s either me or my opponent. There won’t be mercy.

  We circle around each other. The bald head sways, every movement clean and precise. He bounces on his knees and sweeps his arm. I dodge his fist.

  He runs his finger across his throat like he’s slitting it and then points his finger to me.

  Right. Everything is more than clear between us.

  I keep my feet apart, knees slightly bent. The bald head throws his body at me. I swerve, but he suddenly changes the direction and his fist slams on the side of my chest.

  I fall down with the side of my body hitting the mat. Blackness obscures my vision for a split second. My lungs feel like blood is flooding them, and I wheeze for oxygen. A foot slams into my abdomen and I roll over on the mat. I almost spit out the contents of my stomach. Acid burns my throat.

  Blaze’s growl reaches my ears, but I can’t distinguish the words.

  For Michelle.

  Focus.

  Focus or you’ll die.

  I huff out and jump to my feet in one motion.

  The bald head flashes me a triumphant grin.

  I bring my fists up to my chest and watch him. He’s holding his right elbow too high. I move closer to him. I expose myself. He punches me in the face.

  Stars dance in my head.

  I fall down, landing on my bottom and blood gushes from my nose, but it was worth the broken nose. I know everything about the bald head now.

  I recover in one motion and we circle around each other. My opponent emits a series of furious growls and then we clash. He slams me on the rough wall of the cage as the bars dig into my back and his fist thrusts into my abdomen. I almost choke to death.

  I punch him in the side of his chest where his kidney is. A sharp pain seizes my fingers. The four of them are broken.

  The bald head hits my ribs and I feel like I’m dying for one second. Blood streams down my chest like my throat has been slit.

  Then I break his nose in return.

  We separate ourselves from each other. Our blood splashes against the mat and mixes. Chants and whistles deafen me.

  I throw myself at him, but change the direction abruptly a few inches from him. He raises his arms instinctively. I punch him in the heart area. He bends as I sweep my leg and kick him in the abdomen. He falls to his knees. I leap to him and punch him in the face. My fingers break again.

  I don’t feel the pain though. I feel the pure adrenaline circling in my veins. I feel the urge to murder.

  We clash again, my fist slamming on his ribcage. He wheezes and moves back, swaying. I bend slightly then spurt towards him. My body rotates. My foot shoots towards him and my kick knocks him out. I jump on his chest, grab his head and twist his thick neck. The click of his breaking cervical spine surges through me like an arrow.

  The bell rings.

  Arms and hands support me and haul me away from the dead bald head.

  Blaze’s and Monk’s voices tear its way to my foggy mind.

  They move me to the room where I left my cut and they sit me in the chair.

  Blaze examines my chest. “Ribs broken on both sides.” His voice is like an echo from a distance.

  “Fingers as well,” I wheeze. I feel weightless.

  “She must be a very special chick,” Monk says.

  I feel like I’m drifting in a grey void. I’m almost deaf and desensitized.

  “Let’s get you out of here, son,” Blaze says.

  Blackness cuts me off from reality.

  Chapter 7

  Michelle

  The man pulls the chair towards my hospital bed and sits down with his elbows placed on his lap. His hair is of a dark blond shade and falls to his shoulders in curls. His eyes have a deep blue colour. A few scars stretch across his cheek, but he’s a handsome man. Handsome in a wild, dangerous way. As alluring as a true Viking.

  “Are you a friend of his, Blaze?” I ask as my eyes sweep over his boots and the front of his cut.

  “I’m Asher’s dad,” he says.

  “My father-in-law you mean.”

  Blaze sends me a wide grin. “That’s correct.”

  “Asher said he’d come to visit me.” Yes, my husband called me yesterday to tell me his dad would pop in, and his voice was hoarse like he’d been working in a coal mine for a week.

  “His job will take longer than he initially planned. He’ll visit you in a week.”

  Disappointment sits on my chest as anxiety stabs my heart. I want to ask Blaze a lot of questions, but I don’t. Maybe later.

  “Do you need anything, sweetheart?” Blaze asks.

  “My memories back?”

  He laughs—it’s a deep, warm rumbling sound. “It’ll be alright.”

  “Eventually.”

  He changes the subject. “Do they feed you properly?”

  I nod. “The food is good and my doctor said I could go for a walk tomorrow.” I glide my hand over my short hair. My doctor said my hair had been shaved just before the surgery and now it’s about one inch long. “It looks horrible.”

  “It will grow back in a few months.”

  “So I had long hair before? How long?”

  “Quite long.” Blaze runs the edge of his hand along his waist.

  “I knew it. I don’t like short hair. I mean I like it on other women, but I prefer long hair on myself.”

  Blaze chuckles. “You see. It will come to you as time goes by.”

  I think I like him. He looks rough just like a biker should look like, but his eyes radiate warmth and wisdom. A few grey hairs shine around his temples, but he looks forty-five at most. He has a beard that makes him look kind of crude and predatory. Yes, such a mix of contradictions.

  We talk about today’s nice weather and then about his clubhouse. When he mentions the name ‘The Grim Traveller’, uneasiness sits on my chest for some mysterious reason.

  An old woman wearing a blue uniform and a white apron brings us two cups of tea. Blazes flashes her a smile like she’s twenty years old. The woman rolls her eyes and chuckles like a teen.

  I wonder whether Blaze is married. He seems like a family beast.

  Fifteen minutes later, we say our goodbyes, and I roll over on my side to have a nap.

  A woman’s wrinkled red face appears in my head. I know her though I can’t recall her name or her relation to me. It’s just this face with pale brown eyes. Furious eyes. A memory flashes through my mind—her poisonous words.

  “You’re so stupid you should have never been born,” the woman says. She looks at me with fury, her thin lips held tightly together. “You stupid stupid cow.”

  I sit up and press my fist into my heart area. It hurts as though I’m having a heart attack. I can’t breathe.

  My first regained memory, and I hate it.

  Who is or was that woman? My mother? My grandmother? I’m unsure whether I even want to know. Maybe my amnesia is not that bad?

  I eat supper, shower, and stare out the window for half an hour.

  Why is Asher not with me? He’s my husband. He should take time off work and spend it with me.

  No, I shouldn’t be selfish. I’m fine and Asher must be at work.

  I roll on my bed the whole night. I crawl out of it and go to the bathroom as the day is about to dawn. Then I teeter between sleep and awareness. Blaze walks into my room with a box of doughnuts in his hand in the late afternoon. I eat two of them, and he takes me for a walk along the hospital corridor, offering me his elbow for support. I feel safe with him. The thought of seeing Asher soon kind of unnerves me. Yet I can’t wait to see him. Weird. But maybe wives with amnesia have such strange, cont
radicting thoughts.

  Blaze and I sit down on green plastic chairs that stand in a row by the corridor’s wall.

  “So,” I start.

  “I’m not gonna tell you anything. The doctors were very clear on your treatment plan.” A pinch of humour sprinkles his voice.

  “Are Asher and I a good marriage?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” I take a deep breath. “Something’s telling me we are perfect for each other, but… I don’t know.”

  His hand searches for mine, and he squeezes it gently. His hot, callused palm gives me a safety and certainty that I’ve never felt before. I don’t think I even had a father. Blaze feels like a father. No, like a dad.

  I feel so lonely tears prick my eyes. What is happening? I’m married to a wonderful man, but that strange loneliness inside me sucks the air out of my lungs.

  Blaze throws his arm over my back and pulls me closer to him. “Everything’s gonna be fine, you little flea.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  Asher

  I had to wait until the bruising on my face faded and my nose regained its normal size, because otherwise Michelle could freak out.

  My broken ribs still hurt as hell, but my breathing is better, and I can get up without Blaze’s helpful hand.

  Yep, my dad’s been playing a good nanny since the fight. It’s getting annoying and embarrassing. I’m a grown man. A married man. My little wife needs to know I can take care of her so I’m gonna tell Blaze he’s moving out tonight.

  Dad said Michelle was getting better and better. And she’s asking more and more questions.

  We practice answering her questions every evening so that none of us will make any mistake.

  Dad said there would be a real mess when she regains her memory.

  But, what if she doesn’t? I have already planned our future together in detail. Our happy future together. Michelle doesn’t need her memory back. Doesn’t need to remember the shit that caused her to end up with the dirty money in the boot of her car.

  I grab a bag with two sets of tracksuits and two boxes of biscuits for Michelle and wave my hand to Blaze. He’s gonna drop me off to the hospital because I still can’t ride my bike.

  We get in his car and he puts his hands on the steering wheel. “I was thinking…” His fingers tap against the steering wheel.

  “Everything is as it should be.”

  “So far. What if you want to bring her to ‘The Grim Traveller’? The boys will take part in this masquerade for fun, but Tasha? Celine? The others?” There’s no accusation or anger in his voice just plain reasoning.

  “There is enough money to pay them.”

  I mean Michelle’s money. Franco did research and it looks like nobody is asking about her in the area.

  “This is her money,” Blaze says. “Dirty money, but still hers.” He looks at me with dark eyes.

  “We’ll have washed it within two, three months.”

  He tightens the grip on the steering wheel, his jaw muscles twitching. “Alright. If that makes you happy then I’m not gonna argue.”

  “She should be my wife,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Alright. I get it. We just need to have a good plan in case she regains her memory.”

  “We’ll deal with that as always.”

  Blaze nods several times as he takes a cigarette out and lights it up.

  “She’s really pretty, Dad.”

  “And very nice. Very modest.”

  “Really petite.”

  Blaze grins. “So, this is what it’s all about. Don’t blame you, boy.” He pats my shoulder. “She’s waiting. Let’s go, you can’t keep your woman waiting.”

  The car pulls forward with the delicate humming of its engine and I sink into my own thoughts.

  The house is ready. I’d painted all the walls before she woke up from her coma, and I removed all the evidence of my marriage with Sabrina. I bought a new bed to the bedroom and hung four pictures of fallen angels above the head of the bed. Everything for my gothic girl.

  The garden needs a bit of work, but Blaze and Monk have offered to deal with it. Maybe I should buy a kitten. Michelle looks like she loves cats. I’ll ask her today.

  Michelle

  Asher walks in and my heart stops beating. There is bruising on his face—dirty yellow and brown patches with two cuts that I notice at once. He drops into the chair, guarding the right side of his chest with his hand. His fingers are swollen and one of his wrists is wrapped in white bandage.

  “What’s happened to you?” I explode as I pull my knees to my chest, hitching the blanket up.

  “Hi,” he says and grins. “How are you?”

  “Hi,” I bark. “I’m definitely better than you.” I raise my hand. “They removed my plaster yesterday.”

  “That’s great.”

  “What’s happened to you?”

  He flashes me a beguiling smile. “I’m a bouncer in a night club. That happens sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Very mysterious that husband of mine, too mysterious for my tastes. I want honesty in life. That I know for sure.

  “The doctors are happy to discharge me from the hospital in two days,” I say. “Everything seems to be fine, everything except my memory.”

  “That’s great, baby.”

  I chuckle. “That’s scary.”

  “Everything will be alright.”

  I nod and inhale deeply.

  “I was wondering, Michelle.” Asher leans forward, putting his elbows on the edge of the bed. “You wanted to buy a kitten before the accident.”

  “We will have a cat?” Excitement rushes through my veins. “I want a grey kitten. Or maybe a white one.”

  “Or maybe two kittens? A white one and a grey one? I don’t mind having a bunch of kittens. Or maybe we could take a few cats from a pet rescue centre, huh?”

  “Can we really have a few cats?” I move closer to the edge of the bed, sitting on my heels.

  “Why not?”

  “I know nothing about cats.”

  “I’ll buy you some books on cats.”

  His hand rises and he runs his knuckles down my cheek. The flame in his eyes frightens me and tempts me.

  “Do I have a job or something?” I ask unexpectedly as my voice falters.

  “No, and that is because we want to have children. You’ll return to work when they are big enough.”

  I move to the opposite edge of the bed, almost falling off.

  It’s not that I don’t want to have children because I want to. I like children.

  It’s just that he’s talking about it like we’re going to have sex just after I leave the hospital.

  He is a stranger to me.

  A stranger who’s going to dominate me the moment I enter his house. Fuck. Our house.

  Asher is a sweet guy, but he likes things to be his way. His whole being oozes his dominant nature.

  A sentence wafts through my head, a sentence said by those thin lips of hers. It’s a memory. “If you have an itch put your ass into the nettles.”

  I see that angry woman’s face in my mind again. My heart pounds in my chest as my hands shake. I feel humiliated and defeated, as helpless as a child.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” Asher’s voice tears me out of my nightmare.

  “Nothing. It’s just a headache.”

  Fuck. I’m lying to my husband. I shouldn’t lie to him. Marriage is about trust, truth, and communication.

  Our gazes meet, and I take a shaky breath. “It’s that woman’s face in my head.”

  Asher nods as his jaw muscles twitch. “A memory?”

  “Yeah, but not very pleasant. Do you know my mother?”

  “No, she’s dead.” His eyes gleam like he’s a predator as he tilts his head.

  No emotion is written on his face.

  “Right,” I say. “Good to know.”

  The lack of emotion i
n my own voice surprises me. We’re talking about my mother and there is emptiness inside of me like I had no mother. Or like I hated my mother.

  Asher reaches out for my hand, takes my wrist, and kisses my knuckles. “Get some sleep.” He rubs his thumb against my wedding ring.

  “Okay.”

  He rises to his feet, his face sharp with pain. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you.”

  “Don’t think about your memories too much. That pretty head of yours should rest, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Everything’s fine, baby.”

  I nod.

  He wants to say something else but seems to change his mind. He winks at me and walks off.

  Asher

  I drop into the passenger seat as Blaze starts the engine.

  “Her mother is dead,” I say.

  “What?”

  “If Michelle asks about her mother—“

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Asher. This is boggy ground, son.”

  “No kid will travel with dirty money in the boot of their car if their parents are good people.”

  “You sometimes travel with dirty money in the boot of your car, and I’m a damn very good parent.”

  “We’re exemptions.”

  Blaze emits a low chuckle as I sink deeper into my seat. Pain makes me pant like I’m some fucking fish taken out of the water. A cold sweat pricks my forehead and I feel dizzy. My heart thunders and I teeter between lightness and darkness for a few seconds. I take a deep breath and my chest hurts so much I almost throw up. My forehead rests against the window, and I think about Michelle. That takes all the pain away from me. In two days, I’ll have her in my bed. I can’t wait to sink my dick into her hot, tight cunt. I’ve been waiting for her for so many weeks. I’ve been waiting patiently. I’ve been faithful to my sweet little wife. Soon, she will reward me for all my efforts.

  The car moves along the high barbed wired wall that encircles the local prison building and then we drive along the motorway. My eyelids grow heavy and I allow myself to have a shallow nap. A rock ballad seeps into me, giving me a moment of tranquillity.

  I must have drifted off to oblivion because Blaze shakes my arm and when I open my eyes, I see the clubhouse.

  “You want a walking stick?” Blaze asks with sarcasm.

  I know he’s worried sick. Worried about me. Worried about Michelle.