FORSAKEN: The Punishers MC

by April Lust

  There was a hint of a smile on her fat face. “I see here that you’re leading the Skullbreakers?”

  I shook my head and grinned at the nurse. “Was,” I said. “I’m not anymore. I’m a family man now.”

  The serious face returned. “Your wife was gravely injured,” she continued. “She was very badly beaten, and she’ll need some physical therapy to regain her motor skills. But I’m confident that within a few months, she’ll be back to normal. She may suffer frequent headaches, and there’s a possibility of PTSD with all kidnapping cases.”

  My mouth went dry at the extent of Angel’s injuries. I felt so bad for her, and the yearn to see her was like a physical ache in my belly. “I understand,” I said softly. “I’m committed to providing the best possible care for her, and I’ll hire a home nurse until she’s back to normal.”

  The nurse nodded. “I’m glad to hear that,” she replied. “And what are your plans for the boy?”

  “Excuse me? I didn’t think he was hurt.”

  The nurse shook her head. “We strongly recommend that children who undergo trauma be placed in counseling,” she said. “Something to make sure PTSD won’t develop at a later age. Are you willing to place him under the care of a professional?”

  I nodded. “Of course,” I said. “Whatever Chuckie needs, he’ll get.”

  The nurse smiled. “Chuckie? That’s a strange name.”

  “We love it,” I said automatically, even though I’d agreed with her when I’d first heard his name. But now it seemed a part of him, like everything else. I’d never pegged Angel to be one of those women who gave her kids a stupid name with a weird spelling, but now it didn’t seem dumb at all. And there was a nice ring to Chuckie Minter.

  “Well, I’m sure you’re very happy as a family,” the nurse said. “Would you like to see your wife now?”

  Suddenly, I felt nervous. “Could I have a few minutes alone with my son? We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk since the officers picked him up.”

  The nurse nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Just let me know. I’ll be right on the other side of the door, and then we can go see Angel.”

  “Angel,” I corrected automatically.

  The nurse didn’t smile as she let herself out.

  When she was gone, Chuckie peeked up at me from his perch in the corner. “Can you come over here, buddy?”

  Chuckie got to his feet and walked over to me. I could tell he was nervous, too.

  “I’m hungry,” Chuckie said. “There was bread in the basement, but not a lot.”

  “We’ll get you a cheeseburger as soon as we’re done here,” I promised. “With fries. Would you like that?”

  Chuckie nodded excitedly. He climbed in my lap and wrapped his arms around my big chest. “Do you love my Mommy?”

  I swallowed a lump that had formed in my throat unexpectedly. “I do,” I admitted. “I love her very much. Do you want to go see her together?”

  Chuckie nodded. He bit his lip. “I’m scared,” he said. “I shouldn’t have run away. I should have stayed with Mommy.” He climbed off my lap and walked towards the door, but I caught up with him and kneeled down to his height.

  “No, you did everything right, Chuckie,” I said solemnly. “It was for the best that you ran. You did a great job, and Mommy and I are both really proud of you.”

  Chuckie blushed. Standing up, I took his hand. The nurse showed us into Angel’s room.

  “She was asleep a few minutes ago, but I think she just woke up,” she said quietly. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

  Fifteen minutes seemed like torture compared to the years we’d spent apart, but right now, I was glad to take it. In the hospital bed, Angel looked like a small, fragile figure. There were bandages all around her head and her face was puffy and swollen. When she saw me, a faint hint of a smile played on her lips.

  “Trey,” she said softly. I moved closer to the bed so I could hear every word. “Trey, I’m so sorry.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t talk,” I said firmly. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Chuckie’s totally fine, and he’s right here with me.”

  “Good,” Angel said. She let out a long sigh followed by a raspy cough. I was alarmed at how many bruises covered her pale body — she looked worse than any of my guys ever had. “I love you, Trey.”

  The lump that had formed in the waiting room suddenly intensified and I felt tears well up in my eyes. “I love you, too,” I told her, reaching forward and gently stroking the back of her hand with my index finger. “I love you so much.”

  “Mommy?” Chuckie looked into the hospital bed. “Mommy, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, sweetheart,” Angel said. She reached forward and gently stroked Chuckie’s hair. “I promise I’ll be just fine. Are you okay?”

  Chuckie looked scared, but he nodded. “I’m fine, Mommy,” he said. “Trey took care of me!”

  Angel gave me a smile and I could have sworn I saw the hint of a blush on her cheeks. “I think you should start calling him Daddy now, sweetheart.”

  Chuckie grinned, a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Mommy, Daddy loves you!” he chirped loudly. “He told me when we were waiting to see you!”

  Angel looked at me and I felt my heart swell. As I looked down at my family, I realized I’d never been filled with so much love or so much pride in my whole life. Suddenly, they were the only things I cared about. I no longer cared about stepping down from the Skullbreakers, or the fact that Damien was taken into custody. Let the cops deal with him. I had a family now.

  “Let’s always stay together,” Angel said. She reached out and wrapped her swollen fingers around my hand. “Promise?”

  I looked into her green eyes and felt just as deeply in love with her as I always had. “I promise,” I agreed. “We’ll always be together. You, me, and Chuckie. We’re a family now.”

  Angel smiled. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the pillow, clearly exhausted. “That’s what I’ve always wanted,” she said softly. “That’s what I’ve wanted ever since I met you.”

  “I’ve wanted that, too,” I said. “And I wanted something else.”

  She looked up at me, curious. “What do you mean?”

  I smiled. She looked so innocent and beautiful just then, in that moment. She had no idea what was coming. I wanted to live in that split second forever, just staring into those big, perfect eyes looking up at me full of trust and love.

  I opened my hand and showed her what I’d been hiding from her. It didn’t look like much – just a small velvet box. But when I cracked it open to show her the ring inside, her jaw dropped.

  “But, bu… I mean, baby, you…” she babbled.

  “Shh,” I whispered jokingly. “Just tell me yes or no. Will you marry me?”

  She leapt forward and pressed her lips against mine. “Of course!” she murmured with our mouths barely millimeters apart. I could feel her hot breath on my skin. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

  We held each other for a long time after that. There wasn’t much else that needed to be said. Her skin on mine was all the confirmation I needed that I’d made the right decision. I didn’t know what this feeling was. It was familiar and yet so foreign. But I liked it. It felt right.

  “I love you,” I told her again, stroking her hand until she’d fallen asleep. “And I promise, this time we’ll be together forever.”

  THE END

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  THE BIKER’S BRIDE: Bloody Saints MC

  By April Lust

  THE RING ON HER FINGER MEANS SHE’S MINE – AND NO ONE ELSE CAN TOUCH HER.

  Messing with her is messing with me.

  And no man survives a mistake like that.

  Lay a finger on her and I’ll break it in half.
<
br />   That’s a motherf**king promise.

  She tried to put me in my place.

  So I put her in hers:

  Bent over my bed with her dress hiked up and her hair pinned back.

  I make her say the truth out loud:

  She belongs to me now.

  And by the time I’m done, she knows it, too.

  But hearing it isn’t enough.

  Only seeing is truly believing.

  So by the time all this is over, I’m gonna claim her in the purest way I know how:

  With my ring on her finger.

  The thing is, that depends on keeping us both alive.

  I’ve got enemies, and they’ll do whatever they can to hurt me.

  Even if it’s by hurting her.

  She’ll have to get used to living on the edge.

  That’s what comes with being a biker’s bride.

  Chapter One

  Victoria

  Victoria Parker stretched her arms over her head, the motion sending her slightly-too-tight shirt a few inches up over her stomach. It exposed the tan skin there in a way someone might describe as sexy, not that that had happened in a while. She didn’t do boyfriends. Especially now that she bounced from bar to bar. Bartending had been her thing since freshman year of high school when she was just 15 – God knows how she’d managed to get employed at all, much less in one of these dumps – and the appeal decreased as the years went by…

  Not that there had ever been much appeal to start with.

  She looked around her. It was just past 5 in the evening now, so the nightlife scene wouldn’t be coming to life at all for a few hours. At least, it wouldn’t if this was any other city. But it wasn’t, and patrons were already trickling in, and, to be honest, she was sick of all of it. But more than anything, she was sick of working at some shoddy bar a few blocks off Main called Lanterns.

  This bar didn’t even have much of what its name advertised. It was a dark, gloomy place on a dark, gloomy street, and not many people even knew it existed. There were no social media sites up for it, none at all; not even some crappy review site where people basically extort businesses. Lanterns sat down a pot-holed street that could be described as “dim” in the best conditions, and the street posts leading to it had worn down paint. It was hard to get here, after all. Most people wouldn’t even know this bar existed unless they wanted to go looking for it.

  But why would they want to go looking for it? Victoria shook her head, pulling her dark brown hair out of her loose ponytail and wrapping it around again for the eighth time this hour. It had only just turned 5 in the evening – some people might even still call it the afternoon, but those weren’t the sort of people who frequented this place – and the bar was already starting to get crowded.

  Of course it was. The only people who occupied this joint belonged to the Bloody Saints. Sometimes a fresh person would walk in. That didn’t happen often. The newbie would inevitably recognize what had happened – by the sad or angry or sad-angry looks on everyone’s faces, the excessive leather, the bad tattoos, and the overly-shined motorcycles taking up the entirety of the street out front – and leave immediately.

  “Aye,” she whispered to herself. She hated working here. There was only so much she could do to avoid throwing herself into her job every day, and the hours she worked there added up to a number that ended up being “too much” in her head instead of any kind of numeral. “Whatever.”

  She wouldn’t have to stay here forever. There were other bars to go to.

  She could bounce whenever she needed to.

  It wasn’t the bar that bothered her so much as it was the people who went there, and the lifestyles they led. She had no interest in it; honestly, the obsession with money, power, and “fucking as many bitches” as they could – to quote a phrase she had often heard working behind the bar – disgusted her.

  Ignoring the regulars (read: the only effing people who walked into this trash dump), the bar wasn’t actually that bad. Sure, it was sad and decrepit, and everything in here needed to be thrown out. And sure, the bar needed a boss that actually gave a flying F about who went there, and how many times fists collided with flesh, and about the actual reputation of the place.

  But then again, who would care? The only people who knew about Lanterns were the exact type of people who enjoyed going there. It was a freaking conundrum.

  Victoria’s eyes went to the couch at the far left of the bar, pushed up against the wall. It was a light brown made much darker by years of use. The boss didn’t bother changing out furniture anymore; as he said, “it just gets ruined anyway.” Fair point. But…she gritted her teeth. Did no one around here even pretend to put in any effort?

  Nope. The TV hung up a few feet above the far left of the bar didn’t even get reception to any channel anymore. But when had it? Not any time since she’d been here. Yet it still had people dutifully staring at it. They – three dudes in maybe their 40s who looked like they had similar enough crises that they all ended up decked out in leather, colorful variants of the same star tattoo, and sitting in a dive bar at 5 something on a Tuesday – had that glazed over, asshole look on their face that said that anyone who talked to them would be met by a stream of curses and turning the volume on the TV up (if there had been any show to watch in the first place).

  Victoria sighed for as many times as she had in… just forever. Her eyes went to the far right of the bar. There were seats and tables there, which was at least remotely normal. Maybe in the past this place had pretended to be a restaurant? She didn’t know, and didn’t really care to figure out if that was the case or not, truthfully. People littered the seats there, too, and they all looked the same.

  Of course they did.

  It was a club. The Bloody Saints Motorcycle Club. Or, as she liked to think of them, the “I’m just a brat but I threaten people and think it makes me significant in some way” man-children.

  She noticed them. She noticed all of them, and every little flaw in this place. Yeah. She had to get out of here. Too bad her experiences were all in places like this, and no decent place – like an actual restaurant – would hire her to be the bartender. And too bad she couldn’t just quit; she had to make rent somehow. She looked behind her.

  The back of the bar was the only place in this joint that was in remotely good condition. It wasn’t in its best condition, but Victoria made the most she could of the materials back there, and in the supply closet just behind her. She sighed, glancing at it, thinking of how many times idiotic drunkards had tried to get in there, thinking she was just being a bitch and hiding a “public” bathroom from them. There was a piece of paper on it now because of that, and the sight of it bothered her. (“Notice: this is not a bathroom. This is a supply closet.”) Other than that, though, the rest of the back was organized.

  Shelves behind her held the booze, the brands getting fancier and more costly the higher the eye traveled up the three shelves there. Beneath those and to either side of the shelves were a bunch of storage bins, chock full of extra straws (did anyone here even use straws?), jars full of olives and stuff like that, umbrellas for martinis and shit (no one ever bothered with these, either), and other stuff. In the back, in the supply closet was a fridge full of cold beers. Most people just ordered off tap, however, and that was directly in front of where Victoria stood now.

  Beneath the bar top, there were various bins. Garbage bins, empty bins, bins full of things that were actually useful. Small cleaning supplies she could just pick up, so she didn’t have to go into the actual supply closet and fight with some kind of mop there. She bent down, her hand going towards that area, and she grabbed a rag.

  Yeah, no one there noticed her. It didn’t bother her much; not that she wanted their attention anyway. It’d be nice to be treated as a person sometimes, but what could she expect? She hated every one of the men there. There were rarely women in the bar, so she didn’t include them in her line of thought, but she hated all the ones who did c
ome, just the same.

  Her eyes went to the wood of the bar boards in front of her. It was clean, like it had been clean when she washed it over again two hours ago. She’d come in at 2 P.M. She wouldn’t leave until 4 in the morning. It was one of the joys of being the single bartender bold enough to come into a place like this, especially as a short woman in her 20s. She brought the rag to the boards, running it over the thick indentations in the wood from where some wannabe-tough-guy had dragged a knife against it. There was way too much shit carved into that bar.

  She brought a hand to her temples. If anyone tried doing that when she was there to see it, she might just have to stab them back. She didn’t have time to deal with any of this. But she had to.

  Her nose twitched; the place smelled like diesel, as usual. It made sense. These jerks liked to rev their engines as they pulled into and out of the lot, and it left literal clouds of smoke all over the place whenever they did it. She bet these people, if they could even be called that, put too much oil all over everything on purpose.