My Vice: Fallen Angels MC (Fallen Angels MC Series Book 1)

by Breanna Mansfield

  “I’ll be back then,” he says and nods at me.

  I watch as he opens the door and leaves the diner.

  I take a deep breath and wrap my arms around myself, warding off the loneliness that’s trying to creep in the same way it does every time he leaves.

  I turn around to my only other customer and ask if I can get him anything else.

  As I grab him some napkins and smile wondering what’s going to happen in an hour. I enjoy my shifts when Stanton comes in. He makes me smile, and after not doing that for so long, a simple smile feels huge to me.

  However, until then, I’m going to read about the bad boy bikers in my book.

  Chapter 3

  I hit the driveway of my mom’s house. I’m so sick of this shit! She gets herself into some trouble and then she calls me, begging for me to clean it up. If I tell her no, she calls my brothers at the clubhouse, and then they call me to tell me to clean it up so it won’t fall back on our club. That’s what she did this time. I ignored her to spend more time with Schuyler, and she called the clubhouse and told on me. Doc called me to clean up her shit. This is such bullshit, leaving me fucking exhausted. Exhausted from working. Exhausted from lack of sleep. But mostly, exhausted from wondering if I’m ever going to walk into her house to find her dead one day.

  My mom’s house sits on the outskirts of town, and it’s an old cabin she inherited from her parents. My grandparents used this as a getaway when they wanted to escape their billionaire lives.

  I laugh a humorless laugh. If this doesn’t show people how fucking selfish she is, I don’t even know what else would. Between her and her two brothers, she got millions of dollars when their parents died in that car crash; enough to last her a lifetime. Fuck, enough where I wouldn’t have had to work. But no, the selfish mother I have got high. Bought bullshit she later traded in for pennies because she needed that next high.

  She blew through the money, and lost her house. She now lives in the cabin she can’t even keep maintained. The gutters have fallen off. The rustic barn siding is starting to chip and break. There is trash scattered about, probably from when she put the trash out and the feral cats got into it. She’s too fucking lazy to clean it up.

  I swing my leg over my bike and pull my gloves off. I roll my head back and close my eyes for a second. Welp, let’s get this shit storm over with.

  As I walk up her short walk to her side door, something under my boot crunches. I stop and look down, and my lip curls as I see I’ve stepped on one of her fucking needle and syringes. I fucking hate it here.

  I open the door, and my mom trips, spilling her makeshift ashtray on me.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl.

  “Oh!” she laughs.

  I used to live for her laugh. It used to be so carefree when I was a kid. But now, it grinds on my nerves and the crackle it has now makes me want to punch something.

  “You got a clean towel, at least?”

  “Calm down, Stan. Yes, I’ve got a towel. Jesus Christ.”

  She walks to the tiny hall closet and reaches for the towel. The ash from the end of her cigarette falls to the floor, but she doesn’t even worry about it. She just leaves the butt hanging out of her mouth as she hands me a towel.

  “Alright, Mom. What do you need now?” I ask exasperated while dabbing my shirt off.

  “I should be getting some money soon, but I just need a little to pay back this guy I’ve gotten in with. He’s nasty, Stan,” she pleads.

  My lips curl at the shortened version of my name. I have the same name as my father and that’s where the similarities start and end. I hate it when people call me Stan, and my mother damn well knows it, too.

  “What’s his name?” I ask, bored.

  It’s the same bullshit every time she calls me. Some guy she owes money to, he’s awful, she’s innocent, the world owes her everything, and so on and so on.

  “His name is Nate. I don’t know anything else about him, though. All I know is he is violent and wants his money.” She explains like it’s this guy’s fault she owes him money.

  She seriously has no fucking remorse for her own actions.

  “How much?”

  “Only three thousand,” she says, like it’s nothing. Three thousand fucking dollars I will never see again because as much as she preaches that she will pay me back, she won’t. I know she won’t.

  I reach around for my wallet, while shaking my head.

  “I’m so sick of bailing you out, Mom. One of these days, I’m going to just fucking ignore you,” I tell her.

  “I’ll just keep calling your clubhouse if you don’t answer,” she says in a sing-song voice as she counts out the one-hundred dollar bills I’ve just given her.

  My blood rises to the skin as her comment plays over in my head. Of course, she will. And of course, I’ll keep running to her, fearing my brotherhood will turn their backs on me. They are good guys, but we don’t do drugs. If wind catches that the Fallen Angels has anything to do with owing a drug shark money, I know they will put me out.

  “Fuck you. Clean this motherfucking place up, Mom, and try to keep the fucking needle out of your goddamn arm for the rest of the day,” I spit.

  As I walk out the door, I hear her “Mmhmm” behind me.

  Fucking addict. Fucking bullshit.

  This is why no one ever gets close to me. This bullshit is the reason. She controls my fucking life. When I come, when I go. How I live. I hate it.

  But, she’s my mom.

  I shake my head as I mount my V-rod and head back to the Lunch Box. As the wind hits me, I am disgusted that I can smell the nasty water mixed with cigarettes that my mom spilled on me.

  I look down at my watch and realize I don’t have time to stop at the clubhouse before Schuyler gets off work. That pisses me off more than I already am because it will cause questions. And questions are not something I even want to pretend to have to answer.

  I don’t even know why I told her I’d be back. There is something about her I just can’t leave well enough alone.

  The idea of her perfect ass on the back of my bike was also too tempting to pass up. It’s something I’ve imagined for months. Ever since I stepped into the damn diner.

  I don’t know what it is about Schuyler, but something about her draws me in. Her long brown hair that fans her heart shaped face…those golden eyes that remind me of the sun right before it sinks down below the horizon…or the smile that lights up the whole room when she gifts them to people.

  Her voice is soft, and when I am surrounded by hard shit all day, it’s one way I like to end my day.

  Chapter 4

  I’m drying the coffee mugs when I hear those beautiful twin motors pull up. One thing about Stanton is the fact I know he cares for that bike. He takes damn good care of it. I can tell just by the sound alone.

  I turn my head and watch him gracefully park his bike in the same spot he does every day. The diner’s east wall is full of windows and it’s a perfect view to look out at the parking lot. The sky is starting to turn the shade of blue that lets you know the sun is waking up. It’s like Mother Nature’s alarm clock.

  The wind chime on the door rings and I look up and the smile I have ready for him slips.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask as I see the annoyed look on his face.

  “Some asshole spilled their makeshift ashtray on me and I didn’t have time to stop and change. So, we gotta stop at the clubhouse so I can do that.” The roughness of his voice slides over my skin and warmth seeps through me.

  “And is that bad? That we have to stop? Like, you just wanna go do that first and then come back? I don’t wanna get you in any trouble if you can’t take me there.”

  “I think you’ve been reading those books too much, woman. I can bring anyone I want, whenever I want. I just didn’t wanna scare you because they had a party last night so there is bound to be some dirties there.” He shrugs.

  It isn’t my books that have caus
ed the thought to enter in my head. It’s the actual experience from my dad. I brought a friend from school to our clubhouse once and almost got beat because I didn’t ask for permission to do it. Nobody enters my fucking place without me knowing it. I shudder at the memory. That was the first time I got the gift of one of his backhands.

  “Those curb monkeys don’t bother me at all.” I smile at him.

  Chuckling, he nods. “Maybe they do teach you something in those books you read, then.”

  I laugh awkwardly while nodding. I need to remember to keep my motorcycle club terminology to myself. They aren’t always going to believe that I know them because of my books.

  “Maybe.” I wink. “I’ve still got about ten minutes. Sabrina isn’t here yet.”

  “No worries. We can wait.”

  As soon as he says that, the door opens and my favorite Texas tornado comes barreling inside.

  “I hate those damn wind chimes, Schuyler!” she whines.

  I snicker as I look up at them. It’s a small chime that only has four of those metal rods on it, but they are hanging from a pink trailer. The trailer has a glitter door and if it turns into the sunlight, it lets off the prettiest sparkle. I love that damn trailer wind chime.

  “You love it. Don’t lie,” I tell her as she passes behind me.

  “No, you love it.” She rolls her eyes. “Sorry I’m a bit late. That sleazy sleaze ball of an ex-boyfriend of mine kept me waiting. Doing that whole ‘please babe, she meant nothing to me’ speech. No fucking thank you.” She sings the last part.

  I stand there, smiling, and when she pops her head up from digging through her purse for her name tag, her whole face turns ten shades of red. Her eyes go back and forth between Stanton and me, at a loss of words. Oh, how I’m going to store this in the ‘never forget’ spot in my brain, a wordless Sabrina is a once in a lifetime occurrence.

  “Ohh…Damn it, Schuyler! Why didn’t you tell me the motorcycle model was here? And why are you standing so close to him?” She looks back and forth between the two of us again.

  I’m not too sure how to even answer her. What are we doing?

  “We are going for a morning ride,” Stanton replies and looks out the window. “Speaking of, we gotta get going. Time’s running out,” he says cryptically.

  “Okay. See ya, Sabrina!” I say with a huge grin.

  Her eyes are bugging out of her head as she watches us go, demanding I fill her in when I come to work the next time. I give her a nod and wink as I walk out of the door after the man who has my inner slut already on her back moaning. Hush, girl. Hush.

  “Have you ridden a bike before?” he asks.

  “Once or twice.” I smile up at him.

  “Okay. Well, that’s better than never. Put this helmet on. Do you need help?” he asks after he swings his legs over.

  “Nahh, I think I can manage,” I say as I loop the strap with the metal buckles.

  He holds out his hand for me and when I place my palm in his, I pause. The warmth from his palm has my whole body sagging in emotion. Excitement. Nerves. Dread. Hope. Acceptance.

  Excitement because it’s a new adventure. With every new adventure comes that freeing feeling. That feeling of finding yourself again.

  Nerves because feeling free after a year of hiding is so scary. I know it’s just a stupid motorcycle ride, but to me it’s so much more.

  Dread because a year of hiding, and my heart wants me to open up to someone. And the traitorous bastard chooses a mother fluffing vice fluffing president of a mother fluffing MC. Dread fills me if he ever finds out my past, and I pray I can keep my secret. I’m praying this relationship, friendship; whatever-it-is-ship won’t go that far. And yet, a part of me hopes it will.

  Hope because for once, I can feel what hope is. Hope that someone could accept my past in the future. Hoping that someone might want me for me. Not to get close to my father.

  Acceptance because for once I feel like Stanton would be able to handle my secret and still accept me for it. My gut never lies, and right now it’s telling me that if I was to tell someone about my past, he would be it.

  I step on the back peg and swing my leg over. My heart flutters when he puts his hand on my knee to help steady me.

  “You comfortable?” he asks.

  “Yep,” I pop out the word because I don’t trust myself to think, let alone talk right now. My heart is beating so loudly that if we were vampires, he would be deafened by it.

  He starts the beautiful white bike with blue custom painted designs on it.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “As I’ll ever be,” I respond, more to myself than to him.

  “Better hold on tight,” he says. “I don’t ride slow.”

  Awesome, I think as I wrap my arms around his body.

  As soon as my hands reach around his middle, my eyes prickle with tears.

  This is the first time in a year I’ve touched someone. The first time I’ve felt another human’s warmth. I rest my head on his back as he takes off and close my eyes. My mind drifts to day dreams, and for once I let them take me away. I imagine his hand holding mine. His lips warm on my temple. His soul making mine feel whole. My past long forgotten.

  I breathe deeply, imprinting his scent in my memory. His hand comes down and squeezes my thigh that’s hugging his hips and I want to cry out at the unfairness of it all. I don’t even care if I pretend I’ve never been on a bike before. Any excuse to glue myself to his form is fine by me.

  My inner hoochie is begging me to grind up against him. She is basically purring to herself, just thinking of the idea.

  He turns into a huge parking lot and parks next to a solid matte black bike. I lift my head and look around, eyebrows scrunched together; I wonder why these two bikes are isolated from the others. These two sit in the first row, and the others are one row back. There are three spots to the right of Stanton’s, but no bikes are parked there.

  I feel a thumb press between my eyebrows, smoothing out the wrinkle there. My eyes meet those of the deepest brown. They remind me of a grizzly bear in the winter time.

  “The officers park here. The brotherhood parks back there. It’s not written in stone, just a show of respect on their behalf for us. Still gives me chills.” He smiles.

  “Oh. That’s pretty neat.” I smile back at him.

  He takes my hand in his and my palms turn sweaty as he leads me up to the front entrance. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, waving it against the lock, and the door beeps and then clicks. He pulls the door open and ushers me inside, still holding my hand.

  We walk along the hallway and around the corner, where three guys lean against the wall. When they all turn their heads our way, their eyes bug out of their sockets.

  “Do we have an issue here, boys?” Stanton asks.

  “Uh, no, just thought you had gone home for the morning,” one of them stutters while looking at our hands.

  I feel the heat in my cheeks as I remember he grabbed my hand when we walked inside. I pull my hand away and Stanton looks back at me, down to his now empty hand, and then back to the guys.

  “Don’t even fucking think about it. She’s not a curb monkey, so any thoughts you were having, you better get rid of ‘em now,” he barks out.

  The guys don’t even say anything – they just nod before they turn around and walk away. On the back of their cuts, it says they are prospects.

  They are allowed inside here? This must not be the real clubhouse then. This must be the party den or something.

  “So, what is this place?” I ask while wrapping my arms around myself to keep from reaching out to grab his hand again.

  “This is our clubhouse. We do all of our important club business here,” he says. I can’t believe there were prospects in here.

  “Oh. It’s nice. And huge,” I say, looking around. This club house is bigger than my dad’s, not to mention nicer, too.

  I shake my head at the thought of my dad. I am stepping right back
inside what I left behind.

  “You okay?” he asks me as he puts a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  I look up into his eyes and as much as my head is screaming for me to run, my heart is begging me to stay. Why did this man have to walk into my diner? Why did I agree to go on a ride with him?

  “Yeah, this is just all so… I don’t know. Crazy.”

  “Yeah, it’s a bit different than your books, ain’t it?” he asks.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I mumble.

  “Let’s go up to my room so I can grab a shirt, and then we are out of here,” he says as he puts his hand on my lower back.

  “Do you stay here?”

  “Nah. Well, yeah but I have my own house, too. When I wanna take a break, I go home. If I’m busy, I stay here.”

  “Oh, that’s pretty cool,” I say, intrigued.

  We walk up a flight of stairs and when we get to the landing, there is a room on each side. He turns to the right and unlocks the door, letting me go inside first.

  I walk in and I’m blown away. He has a king-size bed against the wall underneath a huge window overlooking the clubhouse floor. There is a long, black dresser with a huge mirror on it across the end of the bed. He has a loveseat against the wall and a full bathroom on the other side of the room. It’s surprisingly very clean in here, as well as relaxing. Not what I expected at all.

  Stanton walks over to his dresser, pulls open the drawer and grabs a heather grey thin t-shirt. I can’t stop staring at him as I lean my hip against the wall by his closet. I watch him grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it off in one swift pull.

  My eyes are glued to his reflection in the mirror. His abs ripple as his arms move. He has scripture tattooed down each of his sides. The shadowed room makes it difficult to make out what the words say. He also has his MC logo tattooed in the middle of his back with a scripture in Latin running underneath it. That’s a huge piece, and I know it was painful to get. My own back tingles at the memory of getting mine.

  My gaze travels up to his face in the mirror and our eyes meet in what feels like a head-on collision. The air is sucked from my lungs and I’m left standing there, staring into the eyes of this man. My heart is beating a million beats a minute, all the while holding my breath. I can feel the connection we’ve had since the very first day he walked into my diner burn brighter. It’s like when two exposed wires are put together.