MALICE (A HOUNDS OF HELL MOTORCYCLE CLUB ROMANCE)

by Nikki Wild

  A time before I knew of mountains and oceans.

  Before I knew of great castles and bustling metropolises.

  I swallowed the tension that appeared in my throat. This was a place that I never liked to dwell on, and it was the place to which I had resigned myself.

  I was going to live here again.

  No friends.

  No job.

  No nothing.

  As if reading my gloomy mind, Mom chirped up. “Oh! My disability check should be in the mail again any day now. Until then, I’ve got some food in the fridge you can have. I picked up your favorites when I knew you were coming…got you some of those juice popsicles you used to like so much, some cherry Pop-Tarts, some Lunchables…”

  “Mom, I never liked those popsicle things,” I told her. “And what about stuff like bread, or vegetables, or fruit? Can I go get some of that?”

  “Nonsense!” She smiled toothily. “We’ve got some bread at home, some peanut butter…no jelly, though…and I think I still have some grapes or something. Let’s wait for that check, and then we’ll take a look at what we can get you.”

  “Wait…did you say that you collect disability now?”

  She glared at me.

  As if I’d questioned her moral integrity.

  “Of course I collect disability. My knees are so weak, I can barely get anywhere! Always hobbling around, I’d fall and hurt myself otherwise! And without that son of a bitch ex-husband of mine, I’ve got to support myself some way!”

  I snuck a discreet glance down at her legs.

  They looked fine.

  “Okay, Mom,” I smiled faintly. “I’m sorry that I offended you. And thank you. For getting me, and everything else.”

  “Of course, dear,” Mom sweetened slightly, pulling into our drive. We scattered gravel as we drove past concealing trees and foliage, finally exposing the green, barely livable, large shack of a house. “Anything for you, my sweet darling.”

  I was wrong earlier.

  THIS is when I resigned myself to my fate.

  Well…at least Roger’s not here.

  It was the only solace that I had now.

  Twenty-Seven

  Trent

  There was only place I could think to look for Angel, and that was where I’d met her.

  The last time I was in Alabama, I’d been reduced to the resources that my tour had provided me with. Namely, we were given access to a sleek pair of fresh but ultimately cumbersome jeeps.

  Not this time.

  This time, I rode in style.

  It was just the way I liked it.

  I revved the handlebar of the motorcycle, feeling the engine rumble with satisfaction between my thighs.

  This was the way to do it.

  As I whizzed between cars on the interstate, whipping from lane to lane, I kept an eager eye out for the proper exit. At my last stop, I’d paused to re-evaluate the directions, and I knew my turn was coming up soon.

  But not just yet.

  Which gave me time to think.

  Steven had crossed the fucking line. He had been a self-righteous loser and a pain in my ass from the start, but now he had interfered with my personal life.

  And now, here I was.

  Cleaning up his fucking mistakes.

  Taking back what was rightfully mine.

  And there had been co-conspirators.

  After everything that I’d done for them, half my band had turned on me. Everyone from the manager to the drummer had been a part of this.

  But not my bassist.

  Nice to know there was someone I could trust.

  I shook my head, clearing it for what was coming next. Because there were more pressing matters to attend to…

  There it is.

  Riverton.

  When we’d left in one of those silly jeeps, I thought that was the last time I’d see this backwater scrape of a town. Nestled serenely between the sticks and the ass-crack of nowhere, I figured that was that.

  Funny how life turns out, I guess.

  As I found my way onto the main highway through this boring little town, I felt my mind wander. I remembered what it felt like, feeling like I was covered with filth all the time. Dirty. Disgusting. A hideous creature, relegated to the shadows.

  The filth, burned off by the light… Angel was my light.

  I was drowning in brightness. Why the fuck did I leave her behind?

  You’ve changed me so much, I whispered in my head to her. I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to find you, and I’m going to bring you back.

  After a few minutes, the ramshackle bar came back into view. It looked even worse with no darkness to hide its decrepit nature.

  I crunched gravel beneath my tires. Stabilizing the motorcycle, I brought it to the side of the building, kicking down the support stand.

  Pulling off my helmet I heard the door creak open, then a pause. I could only imagine what was going through his head as I had my back turned.

  After a moment came the sound of mirthless, angry chuckling. “Of course it was fucking you,” rang out the defeated mutter of Old Greg.

  I hung the helmet from the handlebar, turning to face the crotchety old man. As I did so, I heard the click of his rifle, and gazed upon his furious, wrinkled form.

  “You have some fucking nerve coming back here, boy.”

  “I need your help,” I responded.

  He laughed, spitting into the grass. “My help? You took her away! You swooped out of fucking nowhere and you stole her away from me!”

  “She’s gone,” I replied, ignoring his rifle.

  Angel’s lost.

  I can’t die now.

  Maybe when I know she’s safe.

  “She’s…gone?”

  “You’re the only person who knew her,” I answered, holding my hands up – out of respect, rather than any fear. “I care about the girl. I’ve come here to find answers. I need to know what happened to her, and I think you know more than you’ve told her.”

  Old Greg’s eyes quivered with fury, but he slowly lowered the rifle. “I’ve told her everything, asshole. The problem is that she can’t remember any of it.”

  “Help me find her,” I pleaded. “Someone near me sent her away, alone and afraid. I’ve come to keep her safe. But I can’t reach her. Do you know where I can look for her?”

  He planted the head of the rifle against the floor, leaning on it disdainfully. He stared at me angrily for a moment, and finally sighed and shook his head.

  “You love that girl?”

  “More than life,” I replied, not a moment of hesitation in my voice.

  “I guess you’d better come inside, then. We have a lot to discuss if you want to find my granddaughter…”

  Twenty-Eight

  Angel

  It was mid-afternoon when I finally woke up.

  I don’t recognize this ceiling…

  And then I did.

  And I almost went full panic mode.

  But I settled down as I remembered the events of the previous day – of arriving at the bus station, of Mom picking me up and driving me back here…back where it all began.

  A shudder slipped through my shoulders.

  Reluctantly, I tossed off the threadbare scrap of a blanket, crawling off of the mattress on the floor. It was stiflingly hot and humid, and I didn’t like it.

  Rising up and looking at myself in the cheap mirror that had been pulled out for me, I realized that I looked like a total mess.

  Huge bags under my eyes? Check.

  Ratty t-shirt and a pair of panties? Check.

  Ragged, unwashed hair? Check.

  Don’t I just look like a fairy princess.

  I could hear scrounging about in the kitchen.

  “You finally awake in there?” My mom called out from a few rooms away.

  “Yeah, going to take a shower,” I replied back.

  “Go on, then!” She shouted.

  I stumbled over to the bathroom with a change
of clothes, flicking on the shower. As I waited for the water to warm up a little more than arctic blast, I stared myself in the mirror.

  This is what life is going to be like, I told myself. At least for a little while. I can always find another way once I’ve got my footing. Maybe I can hitchhike out to the city and find myself a job waiting tables.

  I shook my head.

  The last time I pulled that stunt, I got lucky. Things could have ended up so bad… Like with those bikers back at the bar…

  Can I be lucky a second time? A third?

  I doubted it. I’d used up most of my luck living this long.

  Once the water was finally just warm enough to climb in, I settled into the shower. She only had a single bar of soap, so I tried to lather off the top layer before rudimentarily scrubbing down my body.

  I needed it. The thin layer of oil and grime came off.

  I’d only been in the shower less than ten minutes before the water starting turning bone-chillingly cold again. Shrieking and fighting the faucet, I hopped back out and dried off, then dressed myself in my underwear, a graphic tee, and my miniskirt. All I had were some of my old bartending clothes. At least I felt human again…

  I wandered into the kitchen, where my mom was watching her soap operas on a small countertop set.

  Mom glanced over at me and scowled.

  “You look like a hooker.”

  “It’s just hot in here,” I told her sadly.

  “Yeah, well, the A/C still ain’t fixed. Get used to being hot. Speakin’ of, you used up all my hot water, didn’t’cha?”

  “I wasn’t in the shower long, Mom,” I reassured her, moving towards the refrigerator.

  “Now how am I gonna shower?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t need it?”

  “Are you back-talking me?”

  Fearfully, I glanced over at her. Mom’s eyes were wide and calculating, and I was afraid that she was going to lash out at me.

  “No, Mom. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear!”

  She glared at me furiously.

  Finally, she huffed with a cruel smile.

  “See that it doesn’t, baby-child.”

  I nodded, and she turned her attention back towards her soap operas. Meanwhile, I scrambled as quietly but quickly as possible. She hadn’t gone to the grocery store or anything, so it was looking like breakfast was going to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  Scratch that… Peanut butter sandwich it is.

  I toasted a pair of bread slices and waited the two minutes in painful, awkward silence. When they popped out, she jumped slightly, casting me a scowl, and I apologized and slathered one side with peanut butter.

  “You gonna just sleep all day?” Mom asked as I was disappearing through the door behind her.

  “No, Mom.”

  “Good. See that you don’t. I have a friend coming over later. I need your help.”

  “Help?”

  I turned towards her, and she tilted her head as if to continue talking to me. Her eyes were still glued to the countertop television.

  “Yeah. This place is a mess. Maybe you could show your appreciation for the roof over your head by cleaning up a bit. Been hard to keep the house up with my disability...”

  “Who’s coming over?”

  Mom turned to me.

  “Someone like none of your concern.”

  I could feel myself trembling. I didn’t know who was coming, but something told me that I wasn’t going to like it.

  Mom’s face sweetened with pity.

  “Oh Angel…I’m sorry. It’s just…you’ve been gone so long. All those sleepless nights, afraid that you were dead…maybe I’ve forgotten how to be good to you. Come here.”

  I set my sandwich down and padded over to her. She threw her arms open, and I bent down to hug her.

  Her embrace was strong. Warm. Relaxing.

  “There, there…I’m sorry that I’ve been a bit grumpy today. I can’t find my medication. I know it does things to me when I don’t take it…”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I told her.

  “That’s right. It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

  I nodded, and we separated.

  “Now, I’ve got something for you to do. Something to help you pass the time, at least. I won’t be having any more back talk.”

  Mom pointed towards the kitchen at the huge stack of filthy dishes overflowing in the sink.

  “Clean that up like a good girl, then you can start on the rest of the house. Now, let me catch up on my soaps, and I’ll take you into town later to get you some groceries. That sound good to you?”

  I nodded reluctantly.

  It was hard to keep from feeling a little uneasy. Something about this place seemed wrong. Wisps of memories flashed in and out of existence, but my time in this house was a dark blur. Fear. Sadness. Hopelessness…

  Amidst them all, the one dark memory of this place I could still hang onto… The one I wished I could forget…

  The night I ran away.

  Twenty-Nine

  Trent

  “You’re Angel’s grandfather?” I asked, thoroughly surprised. “She never said anything like that to me.”

  Old Greg muttered under his breath as he popped off the cap and handed me a beer. With a deft maneuver, he effortlessly burst off the top to his own against the bar table.

  “Ever since the accident, that’s one of those scraps of information she can’t seem to hold onto,” he grumbled. “Probably for the better.”

  “She told me that she trusted you,” I commented.

  For a moment, it looked like he might smile.

  We sat in silence as Old Greg took a long drink. Over his shoulder, I saw something pinned up on the wall – a sheet of paper, heavily crumpled, and filled with the scratchings of a marker. It looked like a hasty note that had been squashed into a ball, then unfolded on second thoughts.

  He followed my gaze.

  “She left me a piss-poor excuse of a letter. I didn’t believe it at first, but when she wasn’t back the next morning, I knew it was true.”

  “Why the next morning?”

  His old chest sighed. “She’s walked out of here half a dozen times, but she always comes back.”

  Old Greg glared at me for a moment.

  “It’s hard to have your granddaughter almost taken from you. To watch her lay there, lifelessly in some hospital bed, barely clinging to life. You think there’s nothing worse in the world. Nothing besides death, at any rate… But then I got her back. She’s healthy as ever, getting better every day. Problem is, somehow, I’ve still lost her. She’ll never remember the times we’ve had together.”

  He swigged from his beer, still glowering at me.

  “And I’m a coward. I couldn’t tell her.”

  “You didn’t tell Angel you’re her grandfather? What the hell is wrong with you?” I said.

  “Some things are better left forgotten. That girl, she’s been through hell. Don’t want to go dredging up bad memories. That accident was a blessing in disguise. She was safe here, and now you’ve gone and lost her.”

  “I’ll find her.”

  “If I had keeled over these last few days you’d be fucked, and you know it,” he growled, pointing towards me with his beer hand. “Only reason you’re here is because you have no idea where else to turn.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed, “and I know I’ve fucked up. I don’t know how, but I’ll figure it out, and I’ll keep it from happening again. But I’ll fight through hell and never stop searching until I find her.”

  “And why the fuck is that?”

  “Because I love her.”

  Old Greg laughed heartily. It was a sarcastic, holier-than-thou laugh, and it gradually contorted into a horrendous coughing fit.

  I jumped up to help, but he waved me away and drowned it out with the beer.

  “You think you love her. What a fucking joke. You’re even more hopeless than I thought,
dick-bag.”

  “You don’t know me,” I reminded him tersely.

  “Oh, I know you,” Old Greg chuckled, his breath rattling in his chest. “I know your type. You think you’re the hero in some bullshit romance, right? Just gonna swoop in and save the distressed damsel? Please.”

  The old geezer was starting to seriously test my patience.

  “If you’re not going to help, then just say so,” I demanded, crossing my arms. “But if you are, then we need to cut the shit now.”

  He stood up, walking over to me.

  “You saved her before, I recall. Bunch of drunken, horny bikers wanted to rape her. Tell me, fuckface, why haven’t you brought that up yet? Why not twist my arm with that? You know it would work, and you’re just wasting time…”

  I stared this angry, sly bastard straight in his fiery, ancient eyes.

  “Because if you are her grandfather, then you’ll never forget that. And I’m not going to resort to some cheap trick to convince you.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Look me in the eyes,” I told him, “and tell me to my face that I wouldn’t tear the world apart for her. Go on.”

  Old Greg searched deep into my gaze.

  The silence of the room was deafening.

  Finally, his shoulders sagged.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m Trent Masters. Of Trent Masters and–”

  “I’ll tell you who you are,” he cut me off indignantly. “You’re a cocky scrap of shit. You’re a fucking arrogant piece of work who thinks you can walk into a broken girl’s life and just save her. As if it’s that fucking simple. This is my granddaughter. I’m not talking about some street urchin – this is my flesh and blood, and you…you’re used to getting your way. You don’t accept ‘no’. You can’t accept ‘no.’ You’re just some misguided force of nature who sweeps people up and leaves them broken in the dark, only this girl… She’s already broken.”

  “That’s not who I am at all,” I told him confidently.

  “Oh yeah? How many?”

  “How many what.”

  Old Gregg smiled evilly. “Don’t play stupid with me. I can smell the filth on you, boy. Before you met my granddaughter, how many girls did you chew up and spit out? How many girls did you leave when you were finished with them, cast aside in your wake?”