by K E Osborn
One, Zero’s my best friend, and I want to make sure I do right by him. I’m also the VP, which means I need to step up in Zero’s absence.
Two, the most important factor, we’re going up against the Baron.
If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know how we’ll win this fight, even with Finley Knight—attorney extraordinaire—on our side. I’m trying to keep my head in the game, but every time I think we have come up with a good plan, my mind wanders thinking about the what-ifs.
What if I can’t come through for Zero?
He was there for me when I didn’t even know I needed him.
So, if I can’t repay the favor now, what kind of fucking friend am I?
Four Years Ago
What the hell is my life coming to? I am barely getting by trying to outrun the cops all the time, especially when I leave a fucking mess behind that’s getting harder for me to clean up. I’m reckless, and it’s becoming obvious.
As I sit at this dive bar in the backwaters of Houston, I’m drowning in tequila, trying to keep my addiction in check.
The need to wrap my fingers around a woman’s neck while I fuck her is something that’s getting out of hand. The need to strangle the life out of one of them is starting to win out. I feel like I’m losing myself. Honestly, I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Throwing back another shot down my throat, a man with long hair slides on to the stool beside me. He’s wearing a Houston Defiance MC biker cut, and for some reason, that makes me snort out a laugh. “You’re a bit far from home, aren’t you?”
The biker turns to face me, his eyes haunted as he grabs my shot of tequila and downs it without a second’s hesitation. I widen my eyes and raise my eyebrow, impressed with his deliberate action.
“That’s the entire point.” He slams his large tattooed hand on the counter. “Bartender, another two shots, please. Keep ‘em comin’.”
The biker doesn’t say anything.
I don’t say anything.
The bartender slides our drinks over, we grab them, and the biker slams the shot glass to mine, making some of the clear liquid spill as he lifts it into the air. “Cheers,” he calls out, then swallows the whole thing faster than I can even react.
Maybe he’s more fucked-up than I am?
“You all right, man?”
He laughs, a harrowing, big, fat, belly laugh. “Am I all right? Am I all right! Pfft, that’s a loaded fuckin’ question. Bartender, give us the bottle. We’re gonna need it!” he yells.
I like this guy, he’s my kind of person.
“You look like the type of man who understands women…” I scrunch up my face.
“Not real—”
The biker doesn’t wait for me to fully answer before he starts again, “They’re intoxicating, right? They make you fall for them. They make you love them. Then fuckin’ bam!” He slams his fist on the bar loudly, making everyone turn to look at us. “They snap you in half like a fuckin’ twig.”
I raise my brow. “Sounds intense.”
He groans, running his hand through his long wavy hair. “She’s a fucking bitch.”
“They all fucking are.”
He nods emphatically. “Right? Fuck! See… you get me. A total damn stranger, why can’t Neon?”
“Neon?”
“My best friend. Fuck! My best man… or was going to be…”
For the first time, I see his eyes twinkle as this tough façade he’s putting on might just crack. Then in an instant, the wall comes back as he shakes his head.
“You were getting married?” I ask.
“To my best friend’s sister. Yeah, what a stupid idea that was. Now, I’m down a woman, and my best friend is siding with his sister over me.”
“Mmm… that’s tough, man.”
Maybe my life isn’t so fucked up. No, it so is.
“She cheated, the night before the fucking wedding.”
My eyes widen. “Shit! Well, that’s jacked.”
The biker picks up the tequila, tips it up, and takes it straight from the bottle.
“When did this happen?”
He swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Two days ago.”
Well, fuck.
“I can always strangle her for you if you want?” I half-joke, half-think I might enjoy that experience.
The biker turns to me, raising his brow. He looks me over, taking in my tattoos. I don’t think he even knew who I was a second ago, but something in what I’ve just said has now piqued the biker’s interest. “You say that shit to everyone or just bikers?”
I shrug. “I don’t say that shit to any-fucking-one.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “But you’d do it, wouldn’t you? If I paid you, you’d take her out?”
Excitement bubbles up inside of me.
Could I do this?
Is that what I’m supposed to be doing with my life? Contract killing? Maybe this is who I’m supposed to be.
I glance around the room, trying to gauge if anyone is listening. “For a price, I guess we could arrange something.”
The biker shakes his head, letting out a small laugh. “You have a lot to learn if you wanna make this a gig, brother.”
I jerk my head back. “What?”
He slaps my shoulder. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
“No.”
He chuckles. “Good because I’m not serious. I was trying to see where your head is at. You look the type who needs a place to land his feet.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” My brows crease as I stare him down.
“It means I’ve seen your kind before. A wandering soul who’s lost in the world, needing a place to lay his boots, a place to let his demons run free.”
I sit back. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to sell me, but I’m not buying. Not with the way you’ve been crying into that bottle tonight.”
He shrugs. “My love life has nothing to do with the club. I don’t know anything about you, not even your name, but I know Defiance material when I see it.”
I scoff. “You think I should join an MC?”
“I think you should at least come check it out… see what we have to offer.”
I stand, grabbing my leather jacket. “You can’t offer me shit! You won’t even be able to ride home you’re that wasted.”
The biker chuckles. “Maybe… maybe not. Whatever! You obviously know where the clubhouse is located, seeing as you knew my cut when I walked in. Come by, tell Gatekeeper Zero sent you. I’ll show you around.”
I pull a twenty out of my jeans, my last one until I can find another job, and throw it on the counter. “I’ll catch ya ‘round, Zero. Maybe in another life.”
Not moving, Zero lifts the tequila bottle to his lips as I pull on my jacket and head for the door.
Joining Houston Defiance wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, but I can’t risk joining and them not being supportive of my addiction. Why would they understand me when no else does, sometimes, even me?
My mother made me into the fucking monster I am.
The bastard who craves justice for everything that was done to me.
My need is getting out of control, and talking to Zero has made my self-loathing ignite.
As I head out of the bar, I turn left and walk down the street with my adrenaline pumping. My hands ball into fists, then I clench and unclench them, my skin prickling the way it does when the urge strikes me.
My skin coats in a fine sweat, the feeling almost euphoric as I turn down the side alley trying to combat the sensations overriding me. I lean against the bricks, taking in a deep lungful of air. I need to pull my shit together, or I’ll end up searching for some unsuspecting woman. Someone to fuck and then strangle half to death.
They don’t expect it.
They don’t enjoy it.
But I fucking do, and worse than that, I can’t control myself.
Sometimes it goes too far, so far that I’ve had to re
suscitate women in the past and then bail before they wake.
Taking in another lungful of air, the sensations filling my body aren’t calming, they’re only increasing. The need to wrap my hands around someone’s throat is becoming intolerable.
“Hey! This is my alley, find your own,” a croaky voice pipes up.
My head snaps to the side to see a homeless man sitting underneath a bunch of cardboard. His eyes transfixed on me as mine flash red. Everything inside of me ignites, and I can’t control myself. I lunge forward, my knees grating on the cement as I drop to them. My hands cling tight around the old man’s throat as his arthritic fingers come up to try and stop me, but it’s to no avail. My fingers tighten, and electricity courses through my veins feeding my addiction…
The tip of a gun is pressed to my temple. “Let. The man. Go.” The words come out clear as day, precise in their enunciation, and it breaks me from my haze.
I pant frantically as I drop back onto my ass. The old man falls to the ground catching his breath as I’m yanked up by the scruff of my jacket. “C’mon, get your shit together.”
He drags me to my feet, and I glance up at Zero, the biker from the bar.
“You need to keep your cool when we go back out on the street. Think you can do that?”
My body shakes from the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. “Yeah,” I mumble, and Zero grabs me, throws a couple of bills toward the old man, and ushers me toward the exit.
“Fuck… you!” the old man pants out as we rush toward the end of the alley.
“How did you know?” I murmur under my breath.
Zero chuckles, keeping me right next to him as we exit the alley turning in the opposite direction of the bar. “I’ve seen bloodlust in a man’s eyes before, and you have it in yours. Why do you think I want you to come to the clubhouse? You’re out of control, right?”
Fuck.
“Come to the club. We’ll help you curb the urge. Help you manage it. Give you constructive ways to externalize it. We won’t make you give it up. It’s more about giving you a way to do it in a setting that won’t get you arrested and chucked in the slammer.”
I glance at him. “Why? Why would you help me?”
“We always want more brothers, and honestly, I need a distraction from my disaster of a life right now. You can be my new proj—”
“I don’t want to be anyone’s fucking pet proj—”
“Project’s not the right word, I want to help you. Being this way comes at a risk. Why risk yourself without a cause. You’re a lone wolf, right? You don’t have anyone. You have no one to live for and no one in your corner?”
Those words hit home a little more than I want them to.
“So?”
Zero pulls me to a stop, making me face him. “Defiance isn’t just an MC, we’re a family, a brotherhood. You join us, and we got your back all the time, no matter fucking what. You’re a part of us, and we support you. I don’t know much about you, but I can tell you’ve had a pretty shitty life with no one looking out for you. Now’s your chance. Let us look out for you. No, let me look out for you.”
This all sounds too good to be true.
“What’s the damn catch?”
“No catch. You come check out the club, you like it, we get the approval from the president, then you stay. You don’t like it, you leave. No strings. Not my problem one way or the other.”
“What if the president doesn’t approve?”
Zero smirks. “I’ll put in a good word, plus he’s my father, so I think you’ll be fine.”
Rolling my shoulders, I exhale. “You’ll help me… with my addiction?”
“Hell, yeah, I’ll help you. Swear on my club and brothers.”
“Okay… I’ll meet with your president.”
Zero smiles. “I’ll call ahead and tell Frenzy you’re coming…” He raises his brow, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Talon.”
He places out his hand for me to shake. “Zero, VP of the Houston Defiance MC. Fuckin’ good to meet you, Talon.”
For the first time in a long time, it’s good to meet someone too.
WRAITH
Present Day
Meeting Zero was fate. He brought me into the club, kept me safe, and made me into the man I am today. A better man than I was. I have to help him because he sure as shit helped me more than I deserved.
As Neon, Texas, Chains, Kevlar, and I stride with purpose into the Central Police Station in downtown Houston, the redheaded beauty keeps pace with us. Her immaculate outfit showing how wealthy she is. The blazer would probably fetch close to two grand alone. I know this because when we went through the sell-through trade where we had thugs robbing stores, and we were reselling shit on the black market, we had a lot of this kind of high-quality stuff coming through. High-end fashion. It’s amazing how quickly you have to learn fashion brands when you’re hocking the shit out of them.
Then the stupid thugs got caught one night, and that part of our business dried up. We never went back into it. We ventured into other things like producing and distributing Snow White. Now that’s expanding too. Though with Zero out of action, I’m not sure whether to keep going with the plans to produce the pills or to halt production until we know what’s happening with our president.
I guess this is all shit I need to figure out.
Kevlar pushes the doors to the police station open. It must be weird for him coming back in here, to a place he worked for so long.
Now he’s back—as their enemy.
We stroll in, five bikers and one hot-as-fuck attorney, on a mission to get Zero back.
As soon as we enter, all heads turn. I witness it in their eyes, every cop behind their desk tenses. Anyone wearing this cut is a danger to them, but we’re not here to cause trouble, we just want to know what the fuck is going on.
“I’m here to see my client, Krew Walker. He’s been here long enough without representation. Anything he’s said up to now I want viewed as inadmissible. Take me to him now, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how the Houston Police Department fail in their civic duties at upholding the innocent until proven guilty verdict.”
I raise my brow as the officer behind the counter mumbles some shit under his breath, then moves to the doorway. “Yeah, sure, whatever, lady. C’mon through.”
Finley turns to me and whispers, “I’ll tell him everything you told me. See where his head is at. Hang tight. I’ll get everything I can, then come out with a full report.”
“Thanks. Make sure his headspace is okay. That’s the main thing.”
Her shoulders fall a little as the door buzzes, and the cop leads her through.
Letting out a long exhale, I turn running my hand through my short hair and walk back over to my brothers, noticing the cops behind the barrier eyeing Kevlar. I hate them judging him, so I’m going to do something about it. “Come join the dark side, you’ll love it over here as much as Lieutenant Kevlar does!”
My brothers all snicker, including Kevlar.
“He’s no lieutenant, he lost the right to that rank when he joined you dogs,” one of them rebukes.
I tilt my head. “True. He may have lost his rank, but he gained a family. I’ll tell you now, we look after our own. And for your info… I’d rather be a dog than a dirty pig.”
Texas bellows out an oinking sound making all my brothers chuckle as the cop stands from his seat aggressively pushing his chair back so hard it topples over, but the side door swings open, and Ethan steps out.
“Now, now, boys, let’s just calm down. Defiance, there are chairs over there. Go, sit, and wait for your attorney to come out. All of you, get back to work. There’s no need for a pissing contest. Last thing I need is for there to be piss all over everything.”
I dip my chin at Ethan as my brothers and I start heading over to the waiting area.
Kevlar hesitates, watching his brother bossing everyone around.
That was him once upon a time.
<
br /> This shit must be so strange for him.
Having the men who had his back once, so visibly turn on him now.
He lost his entire life because he chose the club. Because he fell for the daughter of a club member.
Where did that get him? I can’t help but feel for the guy.
I take a seat watching Kevlar as he turns and walks over to us. Dipping my chin to him, he sits next to me. I slap his shoulder. “Don’t spend time worrying about what they think. You made the right choice, Kevlar. You have two beautiful kids to prove it.”
He slumps into his seat, his eyes focusing on his blood brother. “Yeah, I do, but they’re not with me, are they? They’re living with my law-abiding brother. So, do I really have them when it all boils down?”
I’m not really sure what to say to that because it’s the truth, he doesn’t have them. Sure, Kevlar sees his kids all the time, but it’s not the same as having them with him at the club. Having them grow up as a part of the brotherhood and being part of our family.
Their mother grew up in the club.
Their grandparents are in the club.
Their father left the force to join the club.
And now Kevlar’s brother is holding it against him. I get Ethan’s doing it out of love for Sadie and Lucas. He truly believes the kids will suffer at the hands of the club, but Ethan hasn’t taken the time to get to know us. If he did, he would know his fears of the kids being harmed are unwarranted.
Ethan has blinders on. The club stole his brother from him. He won’t let it take his niece and nephew. In being so fucking firm about that fact, Kevlar has limited time with his kids. It’s crap. He’s a fucking good dad. The best. Those kids love him more than anything. But when your cop brother threatens to call in child services on you if you take them to the clubhouse, you damn well listen. At least this way, Kevlar still gets to see his kids whenever the hell he wants. Every day even. He just tells Ethan when he’s coming over. The arrangement works, but it’s not the same as having your kids with you. So, I get why Kevlar always has that sad demeanor about him.