Triplets for the Rival MC (Never Just One #7)

Chapter 1

Tori

I should have known my father was up to something when he said he was throwing me a party for my twenty-first birthday.

He’s never thrown me a birthday party before, and he’s never even given me a gift.

My birthday isn’t a day for celebration in our household, it’s a day of mourning.

Because on the day I was born, my mother died.

He never lets me forget that. Every year, he’s sure to remind me that he wishes that I was the one who died.

It doesn’t matter that I was an innocent baby, I also mourn the mother I never had.

To him, I’m the reason she’s gone and a constant reminder of everything he lost.

So, a couple of months ago, when he told me he was going to throw me a party, I was surprised.

Maybe after years of disappointment I should have been suspicious, but instead, I was only hopeful.

I wondered if after all these years he’d finally forgiven me for a crime I never committed.

I got dressed up for the occasion, and I even bought a new dress, one that skims over my stomach and makes my large breasts and full hips seem womanly.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked into the Raging Bulls clubhouse tonight.

My father’s the president of the motorcycle club, and yet this is the first time I’ve been here as a guest, not staff.

I wasn’t expecting everyone to jump out and yell surprise.

I wasn’t even expecting gifts, but I was hoping it would be different from every other night.

But when I walk in, I find everyone drinking and chatting as usual.

The bar is dark and dingy, cracked black leather bar stools and sagging chairs, black painted walls adorned with torn posters and road signs.

A confederate flag and two rifles hang above the bar.

It’s the kind of place that screams, outsiders are not welcome.

I’ve grown up in this place, lived above it my whole life, and yet even I feel like I don’t belong.

My father might be Prez, but I’m invisible at best, a servant at worst. At least tonight, no one is barking orders at me or drunkenly trying to grope me.

No one looks my way. No one wishes me a happy birthday.

A couple of the club bunnies snicker at my outfit, “Nice dress,” one of them says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Do they charge extra for all that material?” another says sweetly with a sneering, insincere smile, cackling at her own joke.

I blush, feeling self-conscious, now acutely aware of how the fabric strains over my breasts and hugs my waist tightly.

I ignore them and push past, making my way over to the raised level where my father sits with his club officers—like a king, looking down on his court.

“There you are, Victoria,” he says, his lip curling in distaste as he looks at me. For once he doesn’t comment on my appearance which is a small mercy. “Sit down,” he says, pointing to the chair next to his VP, Spike.

Spike is a skinny man with bulging eyes too big for his skull and a scraggly ponytail. He leers, his focus on my chest as he pats the space beside him. “Yeah, sit by me, darlin’. Unless you wanna sit on my knee?” he suggests, flashing yellowed teeth stained by chewing tobacco.

My skin crawls, remembering all the times when I was younger and forced to sit on ‘uncle’ Spike’s lap, how his scrawny hand with long, sharp fingernails would creep up my skirt and stroke my leg, making me feel uncomfortable and confused.

My father would only let Spike go so far before reminding him of my value as a virgin.

“Wait and see how she turns out. With any luck, she’ll lose the puppy fat and become a real woman. ”

The older I got, the more Spike’s interest in me grew. When my breasts developed, I used to wear baggy shirts to hide myself. He never touched me, but I think that was more because he was scared of my father, than any sense of decency.

Now I’m twenty-one I plan to leave. To move out and start a life for myself, far away from my father’s judgment, from Spike’s leering gaze, from the cruel, taunting club girls, and perverted bikers my father calls friends.

I have some money saved—two hundred dollars, scrimped and hoarded from the meager tips I receive working in the clubhouse.

I don’t get paid, family doesn’t work, they help.

At least that’s what my father tells me.

It’s probably not enough money to start over, but I don’t know how much longer I can stand it here.

My father stands, clapping his hands together.

The room immediately falls silent. His control over these people is absolute, just as it is over me.

When he says ‘Jump’, we ask, ‘How high?’.

He strokes his double chin, looking out at the crowd with pride, an expression he’s never worn when looking at me.

“My little girl’s finally a woman and officially not my responsibility anymore.

” There’s a small, scattered applause that abruptly stops when he holds up his hand.

I bristle, not sure what else he’s going to say.

“Thankfully, I know someone willing to take her off my hands and make an honest woman of her. My good friend, Spike, has agreed to step up and take her on as his bride. May the Lord have mercy on his soul!”

The crowd bursts into laughter at that.

My mind goes numb with horror. I must have misheard him. There’s no way he’s marrying me off to Spike. Surely, he can’t do that?

I sit in stunned silence as my father continues his speech.

“Spike’s gonna teach her what she needs to know.

Hopefully, it won’t be long before she spits out some rugrats and finally has a use.

” Bile rises in my throat at the thought of having sex with Spike, of carrying and raising his children.

There’s no way he can expect me to agree to this?

All this must be some sort of sick joke. Who does he think he is?

He smiles, opening his arms wide before picking up his glass. “To the happy couple!” he says, raising his glass.

The room echoes his words. Spike pulls me close, wrapping his arm around me and planting a big, wet kiss on my cheek.

The room spins, and I feel faint. He’s never going to let me go.

He hates me, yet he won’t ever let me leave, won’t ever let me live my own life.

He’s going to control me until the day I die.

Haven’t I been punished enough? When will this ever end?

The crowd gathers around my father and Spike, shaking hands and congratulating them.

For once I’m pleased to be invisible as I sneak out through the side entrance into the deserted alleyway.

Tears blind my eyes, and I take great gulping breaths outside, trying to quell the knot of panic that steals my breath.

I don’t even notice the stench of the trash cans, the stale smell of urine from the drunks, who are too lazy and impatient to wait in line for the toilet.

It’s quiet out here; the throbbing bass is the only sound that escapes from inside.

Out front, men laugh and show off, revving their engines.

I wonder if I can slip back inside and upstairs to my room unseen to retrieve my go-bag, the one I’d packed if I needed to just up and leave without being caught.

I was planning on leaving this week. I should have left when I was eighteen, but I was scared my father would drag me back.

At twenty-one, he can’t stop me. Part of me wants to turn and run, to leave now and never look back.

But where would I go? What could I do without any money?

I’d be forced to turn back before anyone even noticed I was gone.

Tonight is the final humiliation. My father thinks he’s broken me.

That’s why he doesn’t even send anyone after me.

He knows I have no place to go. He’s broken me down and made me feel completely worthless, as if I have no choice, but he’s overestimated his control over me this time.

I can’t marry Spike. I won’t. I’d rather die.