Chapter 2
Skye
T he tallest of the four men, who appears to be the leader, is a giant of a man, at least six feet four of pure muscle. His shoulder-length dark hair is peppered with gray streaks, and he has a long, thick beard, he looks like a goddamn Viking. He radiates a completely different kind of power than the sort the people in this room have, a pure animalistic, violent power. Like two of the others, he’s wearing faded denim jeans and a tight t-shirt under his vest that clings to his rippling muscles.
One of the men has forgone a shirt altogether, revealing his bare chest under his vest. My eyes pop as I note that every inch of his skin is covered in colorful tattoos and under his impressive six-pack, I see that he’s got a gun tucked into his leather pants. He wears his light brown hair short and tousled, and a smattering of stubble highlights his strong jaw.
To his left, another giant of a man stands, he’s leaner than the rest and has long blond hair and a short beard. If it wasn’t for the tattoos and the dangerous energy that radiates from him, I’d say he almost looks like a surfer. But like the others, it’s easy to tell that it’s not waves he rides.
The fourth man is as dangerous and handsome as the rest, but unlike the others, he’s mixed-race. He has to be around six feet, though he’s not as tall. He has a shaved head and only the slightest amount of stubble, his tattoos snake across his huge biceps. He stands slightly back in a boxer's stance, his watchful eyes taking in the room. As his gaze wanders my way, I find myself ducking out of sight, though I don’t know why. These dudes look scary as hell and yet I don’t feel afraid. If anything I feel… turned on.
God, what is wrong with me? Four dudes with guns have just come barging into this event looking for trouble and all I can think about is how hot they are.
“Where is Bill Anderson?” the leader calls out, his voice commanding and calm yet there’s an undercurrent of threat in it.
If I was confused before I’m even more so now. What do these men want with my stepfather?
Silence.
Nobody speaks. Nobody moves. It’s as though everyone is holding their breath. Even the pianist stops playing, missing a note in an abrupt clang of the keys.
From across the room, I can see the color drain from Bill’s face in horror. My mom looks on in abject horror, confusion flits across Ethan’s face.
A devious thought crosses my mind. I could point out Bill to the bikers. If he thinks me wearing the wrong dress is bad, this is apocalyptically bad. Like, losing the election bad. I’m ashamed to say this gives me a slight smug feeling of satisfaction. Of course, though, I keep quiet. Bill might be an ass, but he doesn’t deserve whatever punishment these guys are coming here for, I can’t imagine it’s for a friendly chat.
Apparently, John Higgins doesn’t feel the same way as he bursts out, “He’s over there!” in a panicked strangled voice, pointing at Bill.
Bill’s gaze darts between the men, Mom and Ethan, and the door, as though the coward is considering saving his own skin and leaving his family behind. The men stride across the room toward him as people hurriedly jump out of the way, like Moses parting the Red Sea. We all stand by helplessly anticipating what will happen next.
“Bill, what’s going on?” my mom asks, her eyes wide and frightened.
“It’s okay, Rose, these gentlemen aren’t going to hurt me,” he says unconvincingly before looking at the men, “Are you?” he asks, his voice coming out in a squeak.
The men tower over Bill and he physically cowers. He’s a normally imposing man but Bill looks small next to these giants. Bill’s security team rushes forward ready to intervene, the men shoot them a look and they pause for a moment, uncertain of how best to act.
“No we won’t, we just want to talk,” the leader of the group replies coolly, unfazed by the security team.
The others stay silent but it’s clear from their expressions that they won’t hurt him in front of witnesses if he complies. Otherwise, no promises. Bill gulps, composing himself.
“Very well, let’s go somewhere more private, shall we?” he suggests.
“Dad…” Ethan pipes up, stepping forward.
“Leave it, son. Stay here with your mother,” Bill orders, and Ethan doesn’t argue.
The leader nods his approval, “Alright, let’s go outside,” he says gesturing for Bill to lead the way.
Bill sags with relief that whatever the bikers want with him isn’t going to be discussed in front of everyone here. The security team follows behind Bill and then the men do too. I’m surprised they let Bill’s security go with them, perhaps they really do just want to talk? Or they’re not remotely threatened by his armed guards.
The lean blond one grabs a flute of champagne and a canapé from a shocked-looking waiter. He eats the canapé in one bite before downing the champagne and plonking the glass back on the tray. “Thanks,” he says before turning to address the room. “Sorry for the disturbance folks, as you were, enjoy your party!” he says with a grin before stalking out of the room.
The shocked silence is broken by the excited chatter of people speculating about what the men wanted with Bill. I quickly make my way over to Mom, she’s sat down looking shell-shocked while Ethan furiously paces, feeling brave now the danger is over.
“I should have given those thugs a piece of my mind! Who do they think they’re messing with?” Ethan blusters.
I snort with derision. “Sure, I’m sure you could’ve taken those guys on, a big tough guy like you,” I say sarcastically.
Ethan shoots me daggers and I can tell he’s about to lay into me, but Mom holds up her hand, “Please you two, not now.”
“What do they want with Bill?” I ask her, sitting beside her.
“I don’t know…” she says, but she doesn’t meet my gaze, and I wonder if she’s hiding something. “Your father is a very important man, people are jealous of important men or think they owe them something…”
“He’s not my father,” I reply, unable to let the term pass. Ethan might happily call Mom his mother, but there’s no way I’m calling Bill ‘dad’.
Mom flinches. “No, he’s not. He’s better than your father. Your dad was one of those… those thugs!” she declares before quickly putting a hand over her mouth when she realizes what she’s said.
“Wait, those guys are from the same gang that Dad was in?” I ask, my curiosity peaked.
Mom looks as though she’s tempted to not answer, but she knows I won’t let this drop. I’m a journalism major, and once I’ve got hold of a story or got a bee in my bonnet about something, I’m like a dog with a bone. There’s no way I’m letting this go.
“Yes, though they prefer to call themselves a motorcycle club, not a gang,” she says, her tone implying she thinks they’re a gang no matter how they describe themselves. “They’re called the Angels of Havoc. Their clubhouse isn’t far from here,” she admits with a sigh.
“Wait, so my dad has been living close by this whole time?” I ask in disbelief. “How could you have not told me that?”
She’d always implied that Dad lived out of state, without a name or anything to go on, I’ve never been able to find my dad, but now I know what club he’s in, or at least was in, I have a lead to go on. Mom clearly knows what I’m thinking.
“Skye, don’t go looking for that man. Those men bring nothing but trouble and pain. You will stay away from the Angels of Havoc, do you hear me?” she says this with such uncharacteristic force that I realize I’m not going to get any more information from her.
“Yes, I hear you,” I reply.
But I don’t know if going to be able to leave this alone. I need to know what the Angels of Havoc want with Bill. Is it to do with my dad? But then why find Bill and not me or Mom?
If I’m being honest, it’s not just that I’m curious to find out more about my father and Bill’s connection with the Angels of Havoc, the four men have sparked my interest. There’s something about them that I feel drawn to, some inexplicable force that is pulling me toward them. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know more about them.