Chapter One.
Harley
T his was one for the books. How the hell would I explain arriving at the clubhouse with a bride in tow?
I was returning from Benton, Illinois, where I’d delivered a handcrafted sword. Making good time, I’d just passed through Galesburg when a woman in a wedding dress ran into the road.
The sheer panic and fear on her face had caused me to stop. This might be a runaway bride, but nobody should appear that terrified of getting married. I hadn’t even put a boot to the ground before she rushed towards me and climbed on behind me. Slightly disturbed, I was about to demand what the fuck did she think she was playing at, but something caught my eye.
“Go! Before they kill me!” she screamed in my ear.
That was a moot point, because I was already in motion. Clearly, this wasn’t a case of nerves. This girl was fleeing someone, and that was probably the three pissed-off assholes who emerged at the end of the drive she’d appeared from.
“Keep that shit clear of the wheels, or you’ll be pulled off,” I yelled, worried about the dress.
As soon as it was safe, I’d pull over and cut that damn mass of satin down. If the dress caught in my rear wheel, there’d be an accident.
Worried, I rode ten minutes out of Galesburg before pulling over.
“My name’s Harley,” I said to break the ice.
“Oakley.”
“Need to do something about that dress, Oakley,” I replied over my shoulder.
Oakley was pressed against my back and shaking. “Okay,” she replied softly.
“Swing your leg over, and I’ll cut most of that fluff away.”
Oakley obeyed immediately, and I swung off my hog. Her face was hidden behind a frothy veil, and I couldn’t see much. The dress was creased and screwed up, and I frowned at all the layers of material. How the hell we hadn’t crashed, I didn’t know.
I pulled a knife from my waist, and Oakley gasped and stepped away, holding up her hands.
“I’m going to cut the skirt down. Oakley, I swear you’re safe with me. But we can’t ride with that fuckin’ thing,” I said, motioning to the dress. “Someone needs to tell that thing that the eighties called and demanded their dress back,” I muttered, and Oakley giggled.
The laugh held a slightly hysterical tinge, but it was better than full-scale tears.
“Give me the knife,” Oakley ordered, and I handed it straight over. She began cutting layers away and ripping them off. Finally, Oakley left the bodice intact and what I believed was an underskirt. Oakley pulled some plastic hoop thing out, and the dress stopped being a wannabe ballgown and fell flat to her feet.
Silently, I helped Oakley cut the layers at the back, as she couldn’t reach them.
Oakley bundled up the fabric, and I took it and dumped it in a roadside skip.
“They’ll be looking for me. Can we go?” Oakley asked as she yanked the veil off her head.
Holy fuck, this girl was stunning. Although she needed to tone down the eighties makeup.
“Just wait a second,” I said as Oakley shivered. It was bloody December, and she must be freezing. Concerned, I dug into my saddlebag and pulled out two hoodies.
“Put them on,” I ordered, and gratefully, Oakley yanked them over her head. I shrugged off my heavy leather jacket and wrapped that around her, too. Luckily, I had a thermal top, tee, and a hoodie on.
Oakley shook badly from the cold, though.
“Now you are ready,” I said.
“Please, can we go? They’ll be looking for me,” Oakley almost begged.
“Sure. Where are you heading?”
“Wherever you’re going is fine,” Oakley replied.
“I’ve got a decent motel booked just outside of Des Moines in Iowa, if that’s okay with you?”
“A different state? Yes, leaving Illinois is a great idea,” she agreed.
Full of curiosity, I got on the bike and waited for Oakley to climb on. She tucked the dress around her legs, and once I was certain it was safe, I hit the road.
I was full of questions but sensed Oakley was barely hanging on. This wasn’t the time to be asking for information. Although it would have been nice to have some answers to concerns such as, why the hell was she leaving her wedding in such a panicked state? Was Oakley in serious trouble? Why the urgent desire to leave Illinois? The questions kept tumbling around my head.
The foremost one in my mind was simple: had I brought trouble to my club and family? I’d no idea who Oakley was, but those men had looked pretty pissed. I was certain Oakley had been fleeing them.
The girl hung on tightly, but I sensed the weariness she kept in check.
Three hours later, I hit the motel and swung into a parking space.
Oakley climbed off, winced, and stumbled.
“You okay?” I questioned, reaching out to steady her.
“Yeah. Is there a bus station near?” Oakley asked, running her hands through her hair.
“Probably, but you can’t hop on one in a wedding dress. If you’re on the run, then that will get you noticed,” I stated.
Oakley stared down and frowned. “I didn’t consider that.”
“Babe, you need a meal, clothing, and some sleep.”
“Is this where you suggest I fuck you as payment for my escape?” Oakley snapped, suddenly defensive.
“Hell no. I don’t need to blackmail someone for sex,” I ground out.
“Good, because it’s not on offer.”
“Great, because I wasn’t expecting it. Look, you seem to have had it rough. I can take you to a Rebirth Trust shelter and get you in,” I suggested, and Oakley frowned.
“That’s a bit overconfident, isn’t it?”
“Nope. My last name is Michaelson. Harley Michaelson. My mom is Phoenix Michaelson,” I said, and Oakley frowned.
“The woman who runs the Trusts? No wonder you’d get me in. No, I’m fine. But you’re right, I do need a meal and some clothes.”
“Stay by the bike. I’ll book two rooms, then we’ll figure everything else out. If you want to keep a low profile, staying out of sight helps,” I explained. Before Oakley could argue, I walked away.
I booked two rooms using my card and asked about food and a clothing store. On gaining the information from reception, I headed back to Oakley, who remained standing by my bike.
“Come on, I got us rooms,” I said as I got near. I spun on my heel, expecting Oakley to catch me up. After a few seconds, she didn’t, and I glanced behind. Oakley was staring down at the ground as she hobbled towards me.
“What the fuck?” I asked as I glimpsed toes.
I hurried back to Oakley, lifted her remaining dress, and gaped in horror. Oakley was barefoot, and her feet were a flaming mess.
“Put that down!” Oakley hissed, batting at my hands.
I didn’t bother arguing but scooped Oakley up and strode towards the motel room.
Oakley bitched as I carried her, but I ignored her and entered the room. Carefully, I dumped her on the bed and, crouching, grabbed an ankle.
I lifted her foot and hissed. Shit. Oakley’s skin was shredded. I didn’t attempt to check the other one. No doubt it would be identical.
Oakley gazed at me, her bottom lip between her teeth, as I rose to my feet and walked into the bathroom. There, I pulled a bowl out from a cupboard, washed it thoroughly and filled with warm water.
“Honey, I’m going to fetch you some food and clothing. While I’m gone, keep those feet soaking. We need to clean the dirt out. Then I’ll take a proper look,” I said.
“Harley, I can’t go to the hospital,” Oakley demurred immediately.
“I’m a trained first aider. Hopefully, I can do something about them. If not, you’re in for an uncomfortable night until I get you to a doc tomorrow,” I replied.
“I can’t see a doctor,” Oakley gritted out as I placed her feet into the bowl. She winced, and tears formed in her eyes.
“You got any allergies?” I asked, and Oakley looked puzzled.
“What?”
“Allergies? Any medicine you can’t take?”
“Oh, no, I’m good all round. I don’t have any.”
“Take these,” I ordered, handing over two Tylenol. I gave Oakley a glass of water, and she swallowed them.
“Let those soak. Are you a vegetarian?”
“Hell no,” Oakley exclaimed, causing me to smile.
“Good, I won’t be long. Don’t walk on them,” I ordered and left.
Oakley
How the hell did I manage to find a knight in white armour that rode a Harley Davidson? Even better, he was called Harley and owned a Harley. Dude! My luck must be changing.
I propped some pillows up behind me and leaned back. My feet were in agony, and I hoped the Tylenol kicked in soon. The church drive had torn them up good and proper.
The package pressed into my belly, and I needed to remove it. But did I trust Harley not to steal it?
I shoved that thought aside. Harley could have hurt or disappeared me easily. He’d hardly harm me now. Wriggling around, I managed to get the package out, and my stomach thanked me. It was a brown envelope and quite padded.
Inside was my birth certificate, driver’s licence, and my qualifications. The envelope also contained a secret bank account nobody knew about, five thousand in cash and a few other bits and pieces. The account held over half a million dollars, meaning I had plenty to survive on for now.
But I couldn’t use my ID. My family and Reverend Jeffrey could trace me the moment I did. Perhaps this Harley had contacts who produced fake identification. Bikers tended to have a lot of acquaintances. I didn’t want to judge Harley, but hopefully, he wouldn’t take offence at the question.
After twenty minutes, my feet were starting to resemble prunes, and I was considering taking them out of the now lukewarm water when Harley returned. He carried several bags and dumped them on the floor.
Harley reached into the first, withdrew two packets, and handed one to me.
“There’s a pretty decent diner next door. I got you a ham salad sandwich. If you don’t like it, I have a turkey salad and can swap,” he stated.
“Ham is fine. Jeez, I’m starved. I’ve not eaten since last night,” I said as my stomach growled. Greedily, I unwrapped it, disappointed to see just the one. Right now, I could eat a platter full.
“Don’t worry,” Harley added, reading my mind. “Dinner can be collected in an hour and a half. I ordered a load of shit, so you better be hungry.”
“I’m starved,” I admitted around a mouthful of food. Rude, I know, but I didn’t really care.
Harley continued to empty the bag, and I noticed a lot of pharmacy items.
He gently lifted my foot up and grabbed a stool. Harley placed my leg on it and began examining my foot, letting out a low whistle.
“Some of these need stitches,” he replied, and I blanched.
“Harley, I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Good job I’m trained then. Oakley, I can stitch these up, but you aren’t walking anywhere for a while. Let me see the other one.”
Gingerly, I moved my leg and allowed Harley to examine my right foot.
He winced, and I bit my bottom lip.
“That’s worse than the left?”
“Yeah. You’ve done some real damage. Oakley, I’ll clean these and stitch the worst cuts. Shit, it looks like razors were taken to your skin. I got some numbing lotion, which will allow me to work on you. Once these are clean and stitched, I’ll help you into the shower. We’ll have to saran wrap your feet to keep them dry. I bought some clothes, just some sweats, jeans, and tops.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. Harley was proving to be so kind. I didn’t expect this from a man who belonged to a MC.
Harley turned away, and I got to study the huge patch on his back. Rage MC, Rapid City, South Dakota. I wondered if South Dakota was far enough away. Hell, was the other side of the world enough distance between Bronson and me?
Harley picked up my foot and set out cleaning swabs, antiseptic lotion, and other things he needed. I tried not to stare at the needle and thread and was relieved when Harley gently cleaned my painful foot. The Tylenol was kicking in now, but a dull pain remained. I hated to guess what it would have felt like without painkillers.
Harley used tweezers to pick out tiny bits of grit and stone and delicately treated each cut. He used a lamp to focus on my wounds, and I was surprised at how diligent he was. After forty minutes, Harley seemed pleased with his efforts and lathered on the numbing cream as I gave a sigh of relief. Then Harley slowly stitched the worst of the cuts up.
My other foot took another half an hour, and afterwards, Harley picked me up and placed me in the shower. He’d already put a chair in there, so I didn’t have to stand. He deftly wrapped my feet in saran wrap, checked I could wash okay, and left me alone.
I nearly shrieked when I saw myself in the mirror. My makeup had run, and I had streaks of mascara running down my face. The blusher was so red I resembled a clown. This was not me.
Harley had been right. I was a reject from the eighties. Even my hair had been puffed up and held in place with a tin of hair spray.
In distaste, I stripped off the ruined wedding dress and tore the sexy lingerie off. My mother had purchased it to reward Bronson with my body. I’d have cut the asshole’s dick off first.
Throwing everything into a heap, I saw that Harley had bought me toiletries. There was also a bag on the floor, and when I checked, it contained underwear, which made me blush. Harley clearly liked feminine underwear, as there wasn’t a pair of granny panties to be seen.
Happily, I turned the water on and squealed as it ran cold before hot. Then I set out washing all the shit off my hair and face my mother had forced on me—and I cleansed my hair three times and conditioned it twice to get the crap out.
Once done, I scrubbed my skin and washed before turning the shower off and wrapping up in a big towel.
Quickly drying myself, I pulled on the underwear, ignoring the white lace, and yanked on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. Damn, I finally felt like myself. Gently, I brushed my hair and would allow it to dry naturally.
Harley knocked on the door just as I’d finished. “Are you done?”
“Yes.”
Harley entered, scooped me up, and walked me back to the queen-sized bed. He placed me on it and waved his hand at the table, which held a load of containers.
“Bought lasagne, chicken and fries, stew and dumplings, and pot roast. Which do you fancy?” Harley asked.
“Stew or pot roast,” I said. Harley rattled off side dishes, to my amusement, before serving everything and giving it to me. To my surprise, before Harley ate his own food, he unwrapped my feet and checked them over.
I didn’t wait. Screw manners. I dived straight in. Because of how I’d felt about my impending marriage, I had not eaten properly for over a month. My mother had been delighted at the sudden weight loss, considering that my capitulation to her desires. In fact, the thought of being married to Bronson and having to fend off his advances was enough to make anyone sick.
I inhaled the stew and eyed the pot roast. Harley was halfway through chicken and fries, and he put that to one side and served me the second dish. Shocked, I sat there open-mouthed as he did.
“What?” Harley demanded as he handed me the laden plate.
“You stopped eating to feed me,” I answered, shoving a potato into my mouth. Oh wow, proper food.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes?”
“Then I stop and make sure you’re fed,” Harley responded, as if it was that simple.
“You’re a unicorn,” I replied around a mouthful of lamb. I can’t remember the last time I had lamb and was prepared to lick the plate clean.
“Your family doesn’t eat meat?” Harley asked, looking puzzled. Oops, I’d said that aloud.
“Yes. But my mother put me on a boiled chicken and rice diet to lose weight. And the thought of the impending nuptials helped me lose sixteen pounds in a month,” I replied.
“That’s extreme,” Harley muttered. “You need to put some on. Why do idiot women think men like a rake in their bed? Being jabbed by hip and rib bones isn’t fun.” I snorted. Harley just said what he thought.
“My mom is thin. Dad says it makes her look good. I was always curvy, and they hated that,” I replied.
“Your father is missing out,” Harley retorted.
“No, Dad has a curvy mistress on the side,” I declared with a laugh.
“Ah, a two-faced asshole. I know the breed well,” Harley said and carried on eating.
I used a piece of bread and wiped the gravy clean and sat back with a full tummy ten minutes later.
Dear God, a bowl of stew and a pot roast. Harley must’ve thought I was a pig, but I didn’t care. That had been the best meal I’d had since my wedding announcement.
“So, wanna talk about what you were running from?” Harley asked, and I immediately became guarded.
Harley regarded me openly, curiosity in his face, but nothing else.
“I didn’t want to get married.”
“Guessed that, Oakley. No woman runs from her wedding that desperate she tears her damn feet up,” Harley retorted.
“That was an arranged marriage. One that would benefit everyone but me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of being Bronson’s property,” I said.
Harley snorted. “Bronson?”
“Pretentious, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Almost as bad as Oakley. But my parents had me under lock and key until today, and I took my chance and ran,” I added.
Harley stiffened. “They kidnapped you?”
“Not quite. It’s complicated and very confusing at times. Let’s just say I didn’t go anywhere without a bodyguard. Everyone knew I didn’t want to wed Bronson, and they did everything possible to ensure I couldn’t escape. Now I’ve messed their plans up. If I can get through the next eighteen months, it won’t matter. Either that or I marry someone else,” I said with a bitter laugh.
“No contenders for that?” Harley asked.
“Zero. They chased my last boyfriend off the moment Reverend Jefferies decided it was time for me to wed his son,” I replied.
“This sounds like a soap opera,” Harley stated, and I began laughing.
“You’re not far wrong.” I broke off mid-giggle and yawned.
Harley got to his feet and collected all the rubbish. He dumped it into a bag and tapped on some containers.
“Lime key pie, strawberry cheesecake, chocolate cake, and apple pie. Take your pick.”
Just how good was this man? I chose lime key pie and apple pie and let Harley have the other two.
“Goodnight, Oakley. I noticed you don’t have a phone, but the room comes with one. I’ve left my number next to it. See you in the morning for breakfast. In the meantime, stay off your feet,” Harley ordered. He clicked the auto lock on the door and left me staring at him in amazement. A unicorn, a real, honest-to-God fucking unicorn.
Harley
“Yo,” I said as Dylan Hawthorne picked up his phone.
“What’s up?” Dylan asked.
“Need a background check. Woman called Oakley. She was due to marry a guy named Bronson, and his father is Reverend Jeffery. She fled a wedding in Galesburg, Illinois. Ain’t got much more than that.”
“That’s enough, Harley, for Leila to dig. What is your connection?” Dylan inquired.
“Believe it or not, runaway bride situation. I literally picked her up in the middle of the road in a wedding dress. Problem is, Oakley tore her feet up running from the wedding she didn’t want.”
“Damn. I’ll start digging. Safe journey back,” Dylan said and hung up.
I shook my head. Trust Hawthorne to know I wasn’t at home. We had eight days to Christmas, and I had an issue. I couldn’t leave Oakley alone. For one, she couldn’t walk. Secondly, although Oakley was making light of it, I believed her situation was much darker than she let on.
Oakley was making a show of being in good spirits, but she was scared and bone weary. She couldn’t hide that. And somehow, it mattered that Oakley was safe. No way could Oakley take care of herself for the foreseeable few days. She couldn’t walk on those feet of hers, that was for sure.
Which meant two things. I either stashed her in a hotel near home—or I took her home. And if I took Oakley home… Mom.
This could be a real mess!