Maddox (Shadow Saints MC #2)

Chapter 1

Delaney

Over how many centuries have bells signaled the harbinger of doom? More than I can recite since history is not my favorite subject. This one will no doubt go down in infamy though.

With a silent sigh, I gather my things, a lump forming in my belly.

“See ya later, Delaney.”

“Later,” I say, summoning a smile which fades as soon as Lana exits the classroom.

I’m not going to the game. I probably should have told someone on the team, but Becky has been sniffing after me since her supposed boyfriend tried to get in my pants.

I have bigger issues than whether the douche with a constant boner wants what he can’t have while Becky takes it out on me. I mean, have some self-freaking-respect.

I know she’s gunning for me, but I just don’t have the energy to fight over stupid shit. Joey—my dad—drank away the rent again and under the circumstances, I need to make some money, not that any of them would understand.

Tonight is our last game and after that, I’m done with Cheer altogether. Unless I miraculously get into a college at the last minute with a team and a sport worth cheering for.

The odds of which are pretty much zero since I never applied and with the way things are going, I wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway.

Now, I’m more concerned about the deal I made with the devil. To say I’ve been dreading this would be an understatement but money talks and now I guess I have to walk the walk.

Still, I’ve avoided Draven Montgomery since the seventh grade when she cornered me in a bathroom and threatened to rip my heart out and eat it, while it was still beating, no less.

The semantics didn’t matter, she was dead serious. I still have no idea what inspired her rage and now I’m going to help her with her math—the irony.

Luckily, the library is next door, but it still takes me a few minutes to reach the back of the stacks where she directed me.

Students push past as I walk on lead feet. Maybe I should just suck it up and quit school altogether. It’s not like I have time to study and work.

Without the prospect of going to college, I wouldn’t be losing much, except a graduation certificate, I suppose.

However, despite running away in the middle of the night and refusing to come home, I still feel obligated to finish because I know my mom and Peter would be disappointed if I didn’t.

Setting aside the sting that settles in my chest at the thought of my parents, I focus on my task. Draven has only gotten tougher and wilder since our showdown, which means I am possibly the stupidest person on the planet.

Still, I picture my goal as I suck in a breath before pushing through the doors…catch up on the fucking bills the old man can’t seem to manage and save, save, save.

This is what sends me closer to Draven when nothing else could.

It’s laughable, really. Last year my biggest worry was whether my butt looks big in my cheer outfit, now I’m about to tutor the devil.

Images of Becky’s expression complete with a sneer dance over my vision as I approach.

Which would my so-called friend find more offensive? That I’m skipping a game to tutor the badass who broke her nose two years ago, or that I’m now poor and desperate enough to do it?

Since I don’t spend much time here, I pause just inside to admire the stained-glass window creating a brilliant mosaic of colors on the gleaming hardwood floor.

My pleasure fades though when I round the corner and see Draven, seated at a table by the window.

Her head of silky blonde hair, dyed a deep purple hue, is bent toward her phone. She’s tapping her foot, currently encased in black combat boots with different colored laces on each foot.

Her fingers, tapping away at the screen, glitter with rings and I stumble when she glances up taking in my cheer uniform with a curl of her lip.

Smoothing my features into what I hope is not the freaked-out expression I know would be there under normal circumstances, I drop my bag in the seat across from her and sit down beside it.

Her dark eyes, accentuated by thick purple makeup, search my face before she purses her matching lips.

Draven is effortlessly beautiful with long lashes, pretty eyes, and high cheekbones but the shit she piles on her face detracts from it, shrouding it in a montage of stuff you can’t see past.

“You’re late,” she says, dropping her feet to the floor.

Eyeing her red, fishnet stockings, I say, “It’s five after. I had to walk from class.”

Shrugging, she analyzes her talons, the deep crimson color a complement to the stockings. “I don’t care. You think I’m paying you extra? Bullshit.”

Leaning back, I silently sigh and say, “So deduct five minutes.”

Her eyes narrow and I widen mine. I have no intention of showing my fear even though I know she'd kick my ass for less.

Girls like her rest on their badassery. I suspect because she has nothing else to cling to.

Here, she’s just the daughter of a no-good thug and she’s been fighting her way through the judgement her whole life.

Since my dad is no better, I’d feel sorry for her, but she’s never shown a bit of empathy to anyone, so it’s lost on me.

“Whatever,” she snarls.

Ignoring her petulant attitude, I splay my hands over the table. “What do you need help with?”

She huffs and looks away, her scowl returning when Cheryl Ross smiles from a nearby table.

These two have hated each other forever and Cheryl’s glittering stare portends nothing good. She’s cataloging us together as we speak, all in a bid to get under Draven’s skin.

That’s the problem with living in a smaller town, your sins, or I guess those of your father follow you everywhere.

My silence has protected me so far.

Still, I don’t understand why Draven continues to let Cheryl rattle her. As far as I can see, Draven takes shit from no one.

“Not here,” Draven says, grabbing her bag.

“I’m sorry. What?” I mumble.

“Not here. Let’s go.”

Her impatient tone flies right over my head as I frown and say, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

When her mouth curls, I grip the table because I hate that fucking smirk. Besides, cruel amusement does not bode well for me.

“You want the cash, right?” She raises her brow, and I drop my gaze.

I do want the money. With every dollar earned, I get closer and closer. I can practically taste it…freedom.

All of which sours when I meet her triumphant gaze and grab my bag, saying, “Where?”

“My house. Let’s go.”

She doesn’t wait around for me to follow, and I roll my eyes to the ceiling before trailing after her.

I can’t contain a tingle of curiosity at the mention of her home though. As far as I know, she’s never invited anyone over, rumors of which abound as to the reason why. The worst being she hides dead bodies there.

I’m quite sure it’s because her dad is in a motorcycle gang and those types tend to stick together.

Ignoring the strange looks as we get in her car, a sweet Camaro with tinted windows, I glance around the interior. The sight of us leaving together must surely be blowing their minds. I know mine is.

The music blasts from the speakers as soon as she starts the car and silently, I stare out the window while she blows from the lot.

Her fingers tap the wheel, and she mouths to the music, but I feel the tension vibrating beneath her skin.

It can’t be me. So, what is it?

The town limits recede in the distance, and I glance in the mirror, hoping I’m not making a big mistake. Shit. Maybe she does hide bodies in her backyard.

Once we enter the highway, I glance at her sideways. I heard her dad’s clubhouse is on the outskirts of town. She’s not really taking me there. Right?

Hm. So far, Joey hasn’t said much when it comes to my coming and going but in this, I think he might pull his head out of the bottle long enough to berate me.

It's too late now. I guess I’ll take the licks if it means finally getting what I want. Waiting around for him to do it would be useless. He doesn’t care.

Finally, she slows and pulls down a dirt road. At the end is a one-story home with black shutters, a series of red planters adorning the porch and a huge black dog.

He raises his head and thumps his tail once before dropping back to the wood.

Draven cuts the engine and exits before I can comment which is just as well because the only thing, I’ve got going is shock.

Somehow this sweet little house is not what I imagined.

Inside, the home is no less put together, and I eye the couch facing a fireplace, above which a painting of a woman who looks remarkably like Draven hangs.

The kitchen contains gleaming stainless-steel appliances and glossy dark cabinets.

Down the hall we go, passing two closed doors before she opens the second to last and stomps through.

Here is where I find the look of Draven with black walls, a slate gray comforter and every available surface from walls to furniture plastered in artwork featuring death in one form or another.

After dropping my bag, I stop on a piece and peruse the lifelike detail of the grim reaper, standing over a girl with her head raised in defiance.

“Did you draw these?” I ask, awed by the details.

When she grunts, I eye her and murmur, “They’re really good.”

Avoiding my gaze, she plops to the floor. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a date with a big dick later.”

I’m not sure what to say, and instead, I sit across from her and fold my hands in my lap.

“What?” she mutters.

“What do you need help with?”

“Algebra. Mr. Matthews said he’d fail my ass if I don’t pass the next test.”

Truthfully, I’m not sure why she cares because from what I’ve seen, she blows off most school related activities in favor of getting high and partying.

What’s caused the change? It’s not my business though.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Okay, algebra. Um, let’s start with what you know.”

When she stares at me blankly, I sigh. “Where are you at in the notes?”

After grabbing her tablet, we walk through some of the problems and my stomach sinks.