by Addison Jane
I held up my hands in surrender. “All righty,” I conceded, turning back to the car and yanking on the door handle. “You feel like hitting the m—”
“And I thought the club kept their whores locked up during the day.”
Brook and I both froze.
She was gripping the strap of her backpack so tightly her hands were going white, her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was chewing on her bottom lip as if she were trying to stop herself from crying.
This kid, she was strong.
She didn’t cry often, and when she did, she had a fucking good reason to.
“Get in the car,” I ordered, still not turning around.
I could hear the group standing behind us, watching us, chuckling and murmuring between themselves.
Brooklyn blinked, her eyes turning to me, water pooling on her lashes. “Please, Lake, I just want to go,” she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper. “He wants the attention. It’s just gonna make shit worse.”
“Baby girl, it’s fine. Just get in the car,” I told her, throwing in an unconvincing laugh to level out the anger in my tone. I wasn’t perfect, and I had let people treat me like shit for as long as I could remember.
Maybe that was just my karma.
You come at the people I love, though?
The people who have stood by me and had my back when everyone else turned theirs?
Well, karma could be a bitch, and I will burn your goddamn house down if I have to.
I tore the door open, the anger surging through my body making it feel like I could rip it off its hinges with one pull.
Brooklyn looked at me for a few seconds. She knew me. She knew there was no way in hell I was going to let these bastards make her feel like this. To try and embarrass her because they think they know who I am or what the hell my life is like.
Brooklyn swallowed sharply before ducking her head and climbing into the car. “Don’t get arrested,” she warned, looking up at me worriedly. “If I have to call Repo, you and I both know the whole club is gonna turn up, and I dunno if I can handle that right now.”
I grinned, standing a little taller. “I make no promises,” I sang sweetly before pushing the door shut.
Inhaling deeply through my nose, I turned on my heel and eyed the handful of teenage boys who were propped against the stone wall that ran the school boundary. My hand curled into a fist, the pressure sending a shudder through me before I released it.
Do not hit a teenage boy.
Do not hit a teenage boy.
I knew exactly which of the little assholes had made the obnoxious comment.
He stood a little taller than the others as he laughed like a hyena, proud as hell of himself. The others joined him, laughing and jostling with each other.
They looked like easy targets, but I simply wanted the jackass with the big mouth. He grinned widely, his eyes lit up as I walked toward him. He was an asshole and a confident one at that. His designer clothes were casual but obviously expensive, and the way he grinned with his impeccably straight teeth made me want to break every single pearly white.
The one thing he underestimated, though, was the fact that I was more than just a ‘whore.’ And I’d dealt with more than my fair share of rich kids.
Because I used to be one.
A hush fell across the group as I stopped a couple of feet from them and reached for my sunglasses, pulling them up on to the top of my head. “Here’s the deal, you little fuck knuckle…” I started, keeping my voice very calm, very even. His eyes widened slightly, every muscle in his body tightening. “As you so graciously just pointed out, I know my way around a dick. Even little, tiny, microscopic ones like yours.”
The smirk on his face instantly dropped, his friends coughing and choking on their laughter. I wasn’t above playing assholes like this kid at their own game.
He wanted to play the whore card, that’s fine. I had no shame in my whore card, so if he thought that was what would get to me, tip me over the edge, he was even more stupid than I thought.
I could already tell it wasn’t very often he’d gotten a dose of his own medicine. The way his hands curled into fists and he pursed his lips while breathing deeply through his nose was a tell-tale sign. He wanted to strike out, hit me, make me pay for the way his friends were laughing at him. At this age, in their world, reputation was everything, and I was threatening his.
“So, let me give you a little word of warning… you come for her…” I turned and pointed to where Brooklyn had now climbed out of the car and was twisting her hands together nervously at the curb, “… and… I will come for you. And your tiny dick. With blunt a knife. While you sleep. Comprende?”
Looking back over my shoulder with a smile, I watched as he and his friends began to shuffle away, leaping over the stone wall behind them. Douchebag number one glared at me, practically frothing at the mouth as he backed away. The way his eyes darkened and narrowed in on me told me this most likely wouldn’t be our last interaction.
He probably thought my words were just a threat.
He didn’t think I’d follow through.
He was wrong.
Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked back down the path to where the car was parked. The area was now far more crowded with kids, adults, and teachers. I rolled my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension I hadn’t realized had been building there.
When my protective instincts kicked in, my first response was fight.
Over the past few years living at the hellhole that was Red Riot MC, those instincts had often gotten me into trouble. And more than often, they got the shit beaten out of me. But I couldn’t fight them. I’d spent my life growing up with not a single person willing to fight for me, no one who thought I was good enough to step up for.
But I refused to be a product of my past.
I wasn’t going to be them.
I was going to fight for the people I loved.
With every last fucking breath.
“Was that necessary?” Brook questioned, her nervousness seeming to turn quickly to agitation now that the little punk was gone. “I could’ve handled it.”
Rounding the car to the driver’s side, I scoffed loudly as I pulled the door open and folded my body into the seat, Brooklyn huffing dramatically as she did the same. “So, you handling it was running away from school at the end of the day and almost crying?” I asked with a frown before pulling my door shut.
“God! I liked it better when no one knew you and Kennedy were screwing a bunch of bikers.” The sudden outburst surprised me, but honestly, it shouldn’t have. Everyone had their breaking point. And it was starting to seem like we’d just found hers.
“The hell is going on?” I demanded with a deeply etched frown, wondering whether this kid with the big mouth that I’d just threatened to castrate was suddenly the least of our worries. “You’ve been at this school a grand total of four days.”
“Exactly, and yet, every kid knows who I am.” She sighed, throwing her hands in the air. “If they aren’t trying to be my friend so they can come to parties, they’re asking me if I’ve ever watched someone be killed!” Brooklyn threw her head back against the headrest and threaded her fingers through her hair, tugging at it.
“Woah, stop.” She pulled harder, and I reached over and grasped her wrists. “Brook. Stop!”
Her breathing slowed, and she finally turned to me with tears brimming on her lower lashes. “I love the club, Lake,” she whispered, but I could hear the sound of her heart breaking inside her chest as she said the words. “They gave Kennedy and me something I never imagined we would have.”
She was hurting.
This beautiful, seemingly indestructible girl who had been through hell and then some, was finally at her breaking point. I wasn’t sure what it was that finally snapped.
Maybe something.
Maybe someone.
Maybe both.
“But I don’t wanna be the kid who’s dropped off at sch
ool in the morning by club girls. I don’t want to be the kid being raised by criminals because her parents are dead. I don’t want to listen to other students constantly talking shit about the people I love.” Her chest was heaving as tears streamed down her face. Each word broke my heart. I tried not to be hurt because I knew she wasn’t lashing out. “I just need for once in my life to be normal. To be no one.”
I nodded.
I’d heard her.
I got it.
I knew what it was like to be judged, hurt, and ridiculed, not because of the person you are, but because of who your family is, because of the choices they have made. It was painful. It wasn’t fair. And slowly, it began to eat away at you as a person.
I didn’t want that for Brook.
“So, what do you want?”
I wanted to ask more like how the hell did things get to this point? How the hell did it escalate to this so quickly? Or, how the hell had she been hiding this so well?
“I think,” she whispered, licking the tears from her lips. “I think I want to go away to boarding school.”
Swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat, I took a deep breath. “You need to talk to Kennedy and Repo.”
Brooklyn’s head was already shaking back and forth. “I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not after everything they’ve done for me.”
“Repo knows you love him,” I reassured her, hoping like hell I’d read the man pretty damn right. “He will want whatever makes you happy. So will every single man and woman inside that clubhouse because that’s what a family is, baby girl. And you have to remember, you have one hell of a powerful one right behind you.”
Her shoulders slumped.
Like the weight of the world had just been lifted off them and she could finally breathe again.
“Come on,” I told her, clicking on my seat belt and throwing the car into drive. “We’ll grab a tub of ice cream for Kenz and a bottle of whiskey for Repo, and I’ll sit with you while you tell them what’s going on.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she nodded, almost like this decision had given her a little more strength.
Twisting around, I looked both ways as I began to pull out of the pick-up lane at the school.
But I paused.
The asshole teen I’d just had words with was still standing by the fence.
His nose flared like an angry bull getting ready to charge.
His eyes focused on our car.
No, not on our car.
On Brooklyn.
I shuddered, a chill working its way up my spine like an electrical current.
Beep. Beep.
The car behind me forced me to jerk my gaze away and focus back on the road as I turned into the flow of traffic and headed back toward the clubhouse.
Maybe her moving would be for the best.
MYTH
“Fucking Christ.” I leaned around the boxes to find Laken on the other side, looking up at the stack with wide eyes. “Anyone ever tell you guys there is such a thing as too many?”
The UPS guy had been here four times today, and he hadn’t exactly been all that happy.
“Anyone ever tell you not to use God’s name in vain?” I threw back, cocking my eyebrow at her. Ever since yesterday morning, I found myself itching to do shit to get a rise out of her. That spark in her eyes she shot back at me could easily become my addiction.
She scoffed, reaching up and pulling down the box at the top, an impressive feat for her five-foot-seven frame. “If God didn’t want his name used in vain, he shouldn’t be such an asshole to people.” She flashed me a pageant-worthy smile before she carried the box full of glassware to the other side of the bar where the dishwasher was located.
“Now we’ve moved on to name-calling?” I asked with a smirk, shifting around the bar. “I thought you’d be above that.”
“I’m not,” she chimed happily, not even bothering to look back at me.
“She called a kid at school yesterday a fuck knuckle.” Brook chuckled softly as she slipped around me with another large box in her hands, this one a little different to the others. “I thought he was going to cry.”
Laken’s laughter filled the entire kitchen as she continued to busy herself. “Guess the truth hurts.”
Shaking my head and fighting a smile, I fell into step with Repo as he passed while chuckling under his breath, the two of us moving through into the workshop.
“You think Laken has ever walked away from a challenge?”
“Never,” I answered with complete conviction. “The girl wasn’t made for backing down.”
Because if she did, there would be a chance people would get in, and if they got in, they might just see the real her—the broken her. And they might start asking questions she simply did not want to answer.
The past couple of days had taught me a lot about this mystery girl. Then there were these moments, times, where I caught her with her guard down, seeing that tough shell crack for just a moment and getting a glimpse of the person behind it.
Repo nodded in agreement. “Then how the hell did she end up in a place like Red Riot MC? Why the hell would a girl like her let them treat her the way they did?”
It was a question I’d asked myself a million times over in the past week she’d been here.
Laken was in no way afraid to speak up.
She was independent and fierce.
At least, that’s the act she had perfected.
But that was the thing about those who were the most damaged, they fought the hardest to hide it.
“I think, honestly, it was because Kennedy and Brook were there,” I answered, pushing through the doors with a shrug. “She wasn’t still there when you found her, right?”
Repo didn’t say anything for a second, so long that I stopped and looked over my shoulder at him, expecting him to be distracted or maybe that he hadn’t heard me. But when I turned, he was still, his eyes on me, but they’d grown darker, more narrowed.
“What?”
There was something I was missing.
Something he either couldn’t tell me or something he didn’t want to tell me.
“Hurry up, you’re late,” Shotgun ordered, stepping out of the meeting room, holding the door with a heavy frown. “Let’s get this shit done.”
Repo moved first, but I just followed him as he stomped through into the room, confused by this sudden change. Repo and I had been close since we were prospects. He wasn’t the type of guy who held his tongue very often, but I knew he was now. And with Shotgun looking like he was ready to shove his dirty boot up my ass if I didn’t move, I didn’t exactly have time to confront him about it.
Later, though.
We took our seats around the table, Shotgun handing me the floor to speak about the package that had come in the mail.
The club here in Phoenix was slowly growing, and there were future plans to expand the clubhouse along with it. We had a couple of prospects and at least three new members transferring from other clubs over the next few months. The business side of things was booming, and it had a lot to do with the relationship we’d created with The Exiled Eight MC.
“So what do you want to do?” Huntsman asked seriously, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest.
Having another club president in church with us wasn’t exactly the norm, but The Exiled Eight had become like family.
No, not like family.
Actual family.
Not only were we business partners, but Shake—our Vice President—was Huntsman’s son- in-law and the father of his soon-to-be grandchild. I had a lot of respect for Huntsman, not just as the president of one of the most notorious clubs on the West Coast but as a man who was hard as fucking stone and always put his family fucking first.
“Preferably, I’d like to put a bullet between his eyes,” Repo announced, shaking his head. His fingers strummed on the grand, hand-carved mahogany table, clearly agitated. “Honestly, this is one
bastard the world would not miss. Not for a fucking second. They’d probably offer us the Nobel prize or some shit for getting rid of him.”
Shake smirked across the table at Repo. “I dunno if they hand out Nobel prizes for murder.”
“The guy who invented lobotomies got a Nobel prize,” Auron stated with a shrug as though it was one of those things most people knew.
“Maybe we should just get him one of those,” Shake offered.
Shotgun slammed his fist on the table, shaking the wood beneath my hands and gaining the attention of the room. “Listen, this asshole is fucking insane. We all know it’s not going to be long before he steps shit up to the next level, and I’m not sure I want to simply sit around and wait till that happens.”
I nodded in agreement.
That wasn’t what we were about.
We didn’t sit around waiting for shit to come to us while constantly looking over our shoulders like we were scared. Hell no.
“We’re not going to sit around. I’m taking the fight,” I announced, my leg jumping under the table, an uncontrollable habit I developed as a kid. “That’s the end of it.”
“Myth,” Shotgun warned.
“Fucking Christ,” Repo growled, glaring at me across the table.
Huntsman cut in before my best friend could knock me out, lock me up, and make the decision for me. “Well, fucking hold on,” he growled, pushing to his feet and leaning into the table with his hands pressed to its top. “We need to know what the fight is gonna entail. Are we talking public? What kind of fighting? Refs or no? Where? When? Fucking what?”
All valid questions.
None of which I had the answer to.
I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll call my ex-manager, see how much information he can get from Jester about what the fuck he actually wants.”
“Did we ever find out where the package came from?” Auron asked curiously, looking around the room.
Shotgun heaved in a heavy breath. “Tyler caught up with the kid who delivered it. Said he usually did the paper run around town, and when he picked up his papers, a young guy in a suit asked him if he’d drop it off here and paid him fifty bucks.”