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

by Daniela Jackson

  “No,” Blaze says. “We’re even. All the debts have been paid.”

  Abramo sweeps his good hand. “Let me finish.” He mutters something in Italian and then takes a deep breath. I could have sworn the motherfucker is worried about something. He nods again. “I need someone to look after my daughter. You saw her? Poor being. So weak. Too weak to stay in my familia.”

  My club brothers exchange glances and grin. Blaze grins.

  “What’s the catch?” Blaze asks.

  “There’s no catch.” Abramo shakes his head furiously. “One of you takes my daughter and I’ll never ever involve you in my shit.” He looks at me. “Are you available?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m married.”

  Abramo looks at Hale. “You?”

  “Hale’s getting married soon,” Blaze says. “Python is getting married soon. Monk—“

  Abramo shakes his head. “Too old. Brass as well. Thunder? Nah, too crazy.”

  Blaze huffs out. “There’s nobody—“

  Abramo curses in Italian. “No, actually there’s only you, Blaze.”

  “She looks twenty,” Blaze growls.

  “Sofia’s twenty-two,” Abramo says, “but she’s very mature. Very intelligent.”

  “She’s a pretty girl, Prez,” I say.

  Blaze raises his hand in a threatening gesture then puts his elbows on the table. His eyes radiate mortal coldness as silence rings above us. “You’ll never ask for our help, but you’ll assist us in case we need your assistance.”

  “Of course,” Abramo growls. “She’s my daughter. You’ll have my men to support you if any shit happens.”

  “Let’s vote then,” Blaze says.

  Everyone raises their hands as a yes.

  Blaze nods. “So, it looks like I’m getting married.”

  Whistles and howls fill the air.

  Abramo is a dark dick, but he’s honourable. It’s the best deal we could have with him. It’s our chance to stay away from shit. Blaze has always dreamed of turning the clubhouse into a family home and now, he has the chance to make his dream come true.

  Blaze growls to silence us and ends our church.

  We tumble out of the office.

  “Fucking hell,” Brass says. “That was quick.”

  I slow down so Blaze and Abramo can catch up with me. We stop in front of the entrance to the bar and the Mafioso takes a few cigars out of his pocket. Blaze lights up one of them and inhales it with contentment.

  My dad doesn’t look unhappy. No, I’d say he’s excited.

  He’s forty-six, but the prospect of marriage has taken ten years off his face. Fuck me. My dad is getting married and he looks like a teen in love.

  I watch him smoke the cigar and a thought hits me hard. He’s never been in a long-term relationship. He’s never married any woman.

  He’s been practically single for all these years, having fun here and there. His women were nice to me, but he kept telling me they couldn’t stay for longer. They weren’t suitable for raising me.

  Blaze preferred to raise me by himself to giving me a worthless stepmother. A sense of guilt floods me. He sacrificed everything to give me a normal home. I feel like an ungrateful dick.

  “Dad,” I start, but my voice halts and emotion strangles my throat.

  He looks at me. “You’re happy. I want to be happy too. You saw her, son? A really pretty chick.”

  “I want you to be happy,” I rasp.

  I realise he feels guilty. His whole life has been about me so far. He worked hard to educate me and keep me safe.

  “My daughter is well-mannered and educated,” Abramo says as he pats Blaze’s shoulder. “Good luck. The wedding is in my place next month.”

  Abramo walks off, accompanied by two of his bodyguards, and that’s fucking weird.

  Blaze huffs out and we enter the bar.

  Sofia raises her eyes to us as we walk over to her.

  “So,” she says. “I heard the news. The old git then. Hope you’re strong and healthy, Blaze, because I’m not.”

  Monk erupts into laughter as Blaze kneels on one knee in front of Sofia’s wheelchair. “It’s an honour, sweetheart.”

  “You’re better than my familia, I guess,” Sofia says as she flashes him a half-smile. “Not to mention that I’ve always wanted to run a bar.” She takes a sharp breath as she winces. “I need to lie flat for a moment.” There’s resignation in her voice.

  Blaze rises to his feet in one springy motion like he’s twenty and leans over her. He scoops her up into his arms. She chuckles as he lays her on the couch.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask abruptly.

  “CFS,” she says.

  “The fuck what?” Hale asks.

  “I’m tired all the fucking time,” Sofia says.

  “That’s not a problem,” Blaze says. “I’m strong and healthy.” He sits on the floor beside Sofia, takes her hand, and plants a kiss on her knuckles.

  Fucking hell. My dad looks like she’s the love of his life.

  Monk scratches his head as Brass and Hale nod at each other.

  “Hale,” my dad growls. “I need a blanket and a pillow.”

  “Aye, Prez.” Hale salutes him.

  Two minutes later, Hale returns with a grey blanket under his arm and two pillows in his hand. A few customers creep into the bar, but Tasha gets rid of them. I take my phone out of the pocket in my jeans. It’s 8 p.m. I should go back to my wife.

  Blaze wraps the blanket around Sofia like she’s a kid and puts the pillows under her head. She rests on her side, exhaustion sharpening her face.

  She’s really pretty—weak on the outside, but tough on the inside. I can sense a warrior in her. She’ll do perfect as Blaze’s wife.

  “I have to get going, Prez,” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Blaze says, turning to face me. “Just don’t forget about us.”

  I salute him. “See you.”

  “Take care, son.”

  “Take care, Dad.”

  Michelle

  My hands shake as I put the kettle on. Tears blind me. Through the fog of my despair, I see Sabrina tilt her head to me. I blink a few times. Sabrina’s eyes radiate softness.

  “Sit down, Michelle. I’ll do this.” She pulls forward and shoves me towards the table.

  I drop into the chair. Something heavy sits on my chest as I watch her make us two cups of tea.

  “So, you have this amnesia,” Sabrina says, “and he said you were his wife.”

  “The documents—“

  “Do you have any idea who he is?” She puts the cups on the table and sits down opposite me. “They’re outlaws. He bought fake documents for you from a criminal. My God, what a bastard. He lied to a sick woman.”

  My world has been crumbling since I met her half an hour ago.

  My marriage is a lie. Asher is a criminal. I don’t know who I am.

  My happiness is dying. Every sentence coming out of Sabrina’s mouth kills it bit by bit.

  “I knew something was wrong,” I say, embarrassed by my own stupidity.

  “That’s not your fault. There’s something wrong with Asher.” She sips her tea. “I started psychotherapy, you know, some time ago. I know I was a mess and he helped me, but he’s weird.”

  “He’s very possessive, but sometimes, it’s not a bad thing.”

  “Don’t do this, Michelle. He’ll suffocate you.” She tucks a wisp of hair behind her ear. “My therapist calls it learned helplessness, this thing he did to me. I got sick being with him. You’ll get sick too.”

  I disagree. He makes me feel better, not worse, but I sometimes see his need for having control over everything.

  He’s lied to me.

  He’s made decisions for me without my knowledge.

  He is married. God, it hurts so much.

  Sabrina takes a sharp breath. “I don’t want to sound like a bitch, you know. And I’m pretty sure my ex husband made a bitch out of me, talking to you. I mean I’m no sai
nt, but it’s always fifty-fifty. He’ll do all the practical stuff around you, but you’ll never know him. He’ll always be a stranger to you. The stranger doing the dishes, doing the laundry, doing all the other stuff. Bringing the money earned God knows how. I just couldn’t stand it. I know they’re bikers, you know, but even a biker can keep a healthy relationship. Asher is just… He thinks doing those fucking dishes is enough, but you need another human around you. I don’t know how to say all of this better.”

  I nod. “I understand. You needed communication and emotional support. Every woman needs this.”

  She nods. “Men are not as emotional as women, but with Asher? One day fucking wasn’t enough.” She sweeps her hand. “Not to mention his never-ending nagging about having kids. I don’t want that shit in life, you know. I have the right not to have kids in life. But he… He’s just a hard case. Maybe if he’d tried to be more understanding, more open… Never mind.”

  Her words hurt me so much I choke back tears; they shred me into pieces and kill me in every second that passes. “Nobody has ever taken care of me.” It’s like a dogma in my head. “I like Asher’s care over me. And I like kids.”

  Sabrina flashes me a smile of pity. “I’m trying to help you, but I can see you’re a hopeless case.”

  “Why are you here?” I ask, my voice dry. “You want him back?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I want him to sign my divorce papers, that’s all. I have a nice boyfriend and we’re planning to get married.” She rises to her feet and digs her hands into her expensive handbag. She takes out an A4 envelope and puts it on the table. “My new address is in the envelope. Tell him to sign them and send them back to me.” She frowns. “He blocked my phone number so I had to come here. Anyway, give it to him.”

  “I don’t know whether—“

  She sighs. “Don’t make a desperate decision. He put a lot of effort in order to keep you. Talk to him. Maybe there’s a hope for you two.” She rolls her eyes. “You see? I’m not a bitch. I was, but I’m not any longer.”

  “I don’t want to talk to Asher.” I will never ever talk to him again.

  Her voice drills into my head. Stupid stupid stupid.

  My temples pulsate with pain. My heart speeds up.

  “I need a walk,” I say.

  “Sure. I’m leaving anyway.”

  I stagger towards the exit as Sabrina’s concerned voice echoes behind me, but I can’t discern the words. Memories flood me—dark flashes, red flashes, voices. Disturbing images—blood, vomit, two men fucking a woman. Fucking her.

  I leave the house and keep walking like I’m going to lose balance any moment. I can see her in my mind—her red face, her greasy hair, her hateful eyes.

  I remember everything.

  Chapter 13

  Asher

  I walk into my house and it’s as quiet as a tomb. I move across the hall and step into the kitchen. My hand rises and I switch on the light. It illuminates the figure standing by the window.

  “Michelle, why aren’t you in bed? It’s late.”

  She turns to me. There’s something off about her appearance. Something ghost-like written all over her face, something threatening in the void-like blackness of her hoody and something strict about her boots laced up in a very neat way.

  “Where’s my money?” she asks, her voice harsh.

  “What money?”

  “My money. It was in the boot, remember?”

  My heart leaps. “What are you talking about?” I move closer to her, but she steps aside. I follow her so we face each other with the length of a forearm separating us.

  “I want my documents and my money back,” she hisses as her hand jerks up like she wants to punch me in the face.

  She doesn’t. She moves back instead.

  I wouldn’t mind. If your wife wants to slap you across your cheek then it means that you fucked up and you deserve a black eye.

  Sabrina never wanted to slap me. Never attempted to. We argued, and that was always about Tasha or Evie. Absurd arguments flooded by her complaints about our shitty, of course only in her opinion, life. Then she’d go clubbing with Evie. I’d get drunk in solitude.

  “There’s no money and no documents.” I stride over to Michelle and shoot my arms towards her, pulling her to me. She doesn’t fight. “I burned your documents.”

  No point in lying. She seems to have regained a few of her memories.

  “Why?” she hisses.

  “For your own good.”

  “So those fake documents from some Mafioso are better than my legal ones?”

  “Michelle, what are you talking about?”

  “You tell me, Asher. This is your masterful creation after all.”

  “Michelle, calm down, please.”

  “I am calm. Very calm given the fact that Sabrina was here.”

  “Who?”

  “Your wife, you moron.”

  I feel like life is evaporating from me. “You talked to Sabrina?”

  “Yes, and I can remember everything. Everything.”

  I’m fucked. I’ve never been that fucked in my life. “I can explain.”

  “I bet you can.” She takes a convulsive breath. “And I think we should talk.”

  “Alright, let’s talk, baby.”

  She tries to wiggle out of my embrace but I don’t allow her to. She must remain in my arms so that she won’t escape from me.

  “I can’t focus,” she gasps.

  Good. She should be distracted. That will help her calm down.

  “There’s food in the oven,” she says as her fingers dig into my forearms.

  “You cooked supper for me?”

  “Of course, I did. I’m your wife, right?” Sarcasm coats her voice.

  I move her towards the table and drop into a chair, planting her on my lap.

  She growls like a furious little animal. “I’m not your wife, huh? Sabrina is your wife. Tell me Asher, how can you look in the mirror every day, huh?”

  “You are my wife. Sabrina is my past. The bitch should be happy I’m not hunting her to put a bullet into her skull.”

  Michelle shudders. “She was nice. Don’t hurt her. It’s not her fault. All of this is your fault.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m not a fucking psychopath, Michelle.”

  The tone of my voice must scare her to death because she bursts into tears.

  “Michelle, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry, baby.”

  Wrong, wrong, wrong. I’ve been there before. It’s like some fucking curse.

  Michelle

  He showers me with his kisses. I know I should escape from him and never look back. I would if I was normal. I’m not. I’ve never been. I’m as damaged as he is.

  “Where is my money, Asher?”

  “Why do you need it? It’s dirty money, too dangerous for you to keep it.”

  “What? It’s not dirty.”

  “Michelle, you’re too young to bathe in shit.”

  The meaning of his words tears its way through my shaky mind. “Wait a minute.” I turn on his lap so I straddle him. “You think I’m a criminal?”

  “I know you’re a good girl, but you met bad people and they made you do bad things.”

  I burst into laughter. It’s a bit hysterical and Asher looks at me with tension on his face.

  “I won five millions in a lottery,” I say.

  “Like hell.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I can show you proof. It’s in my house in Normandy.” Emotions strangle my throat and my voice halts for an instant as Asher watches me with suspicion. “I won that lottery prize and she… died on the same night. My mother. I buried her, took some cash and decided to go travelling. That’s my story.”

  “Why were you driving such a shitty car then?”

  “I can’t buy expensive things.” Embarrassment burns up my chest. “I can’t spend money. I’ve always saved money… if I had any. Most of the time I didn’t. That car is like pro
of, I guess.”

  “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “I’m serious, Asher. I bought an old car because I’m a scrooge. I got in and went travelling.”

  “Alone.”

  “Yeah, I’m an idiot.”

  “You’re irresponsible. Thank God, you stepped into my bar.”

  He’s right. Who knows what could have happened to me. I didn’t think. I just took the money and settled myself behind the steering wheel. I wanted to be free and happy.

  “I’m rich, Asher,” I continue my story, “but I’m not a spoiled brat. I bought only the house and I put the rest of my money into my bank account.”

  “I thought you were a drug dealer.”

  “Me?”

  “It didn’t suit you, but when I saw that money in your car boot… I just wanted to protect you.”

  “You didn’t even know me.”

  He bought fake documents for me and made me his wife. To protect me. That’s crazy. No, that’s crazy beautiful. God, like some black comedy.

  “I knew you were for me,” he rasps, “from the moment I saw you in my bar.”

  His arms collapse as I slip away from his lap. I need space so I move back and lean against the cupboard.

  “You’re a criminal,” I say.

  “I was until today. Now, I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.”

  “Your money is being laundered at the moment.”

  I’m not even surprised. “It doesn’t need laundering.”

  “Now, I know this. You’ll have all your money back as soon as possible, I promise.” He rises to his feet and moves closer to me. “Are we good?” A wide grin crosses his face like we’re talking about our holiday plans.

  “What? Hell no.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “You’re still married and I need to go back to Normandy.”

  “No fucking way.”

  I freeze at the fury exploding in his eyes. He looks like a wolf that’s going to catch me and devour me. The air of brutality around him is almost tangible.

  “Asher, I need to be far from you for a while.”

  “No. Fucking. Way.”

  “I’m not your prisoner.”

  “You’re my wife,” he yells.

  I cringe into myself. “I’m not your wife. Sabrina is.”