Chapter 1 #2
We grinned at each other, both of us aware that we probably wouldn’t get to fuck at all because Wilder would no doubt crawl into bed between us at some point, but whatever. Even if my dick stopped working completely and I never got to fuck Cara Landry ever again, I’d still love the bones of her.
I rested my forehead on hers, reveling in her touch and the feel of her holding me close.
My wildcat, Cara, was my world. I’d almost lost her once.
A bad attitude and shitty decisions did not a healthy relationship make, but I’d stepped back and worked hard on being a better man for her.
Turning the spotlight inward and shining it on all my flaws was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, but my ol’ lady was worth digging up my trauma for.
Cara had taught me so much—a weird admission for a man who’d grown up believing he knew it all.
But over time and with a fuck ton of therapy sessions, I’d learned that falling in love with my woman was the easy part.
Learning how to stay in love and fighting the world by her side instead of fighting each other was the part we had to work on.
Still, we put the effort in and had never looked back.
My ol’ lady was the perfect mix of ‘fuck me,’ ‘she’s hot,’ and ‘Jesus, this bitch will be the death of me,’ and I lived for it.
But then, I always did love a challenge.
A loud booming voice exclaimed, “Motherfuckers!”
I twisted my head and laughed when I saw Atlas ‘Rambo’ Woods standing there, hands on his hips, surveying mine, Bowie’s, and Breaker’s coke cans hanging over the crotch of our jeans.
“I can’t fuckin’ believe you!” he cried.
Abe roared.
Dad choked out a laugh.
Everyone else in the vicinity busted a gut—including Atlas’s wife, Sophie.
Rambo shook his long, curly dark hair and shot me an accusing glare. “Thought you weren’t dressing up?”
I turned, tucking Cara under my arm, and gave my Coke can a shimmy. “I found the perfect costume, so I changed my mind. Prez’s prerogative.”
His eyes cut to Bowie’s fake, cropped hair, and then his stare sliced to Pop, who had gone the whole hog and actually shaved his head for his Atlas impression.
Instead of wearing Coke cans tied around their hips, Dad had stuffed his jeans with dish towels, so his crotch was a massive bulge that stuck out comically.
And Abe had put a giant fake rubber dick down his pants.
He said he wanted to pull it out later when the kids had gone to bed, and boink everyone over the heads with it while shouting the classic Atlas greeting of, ‘What’s shakin’, motherfuckers? ’
“You assholes are single-handedly lowering the tone of the party,” Atlas declared, giving me a withering look as he stomped toward Sophie and helped her up. He looked down dubiously at Abe’s giant, deformed groin. “Has that thing got a vein?”
Abe waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ll show ya later, gorgeous. You can see it up close and personal. In fact, Sophie asked if she could borrow it later so she can bend you over and give you a taste of your own medicine.”
A very drunk Sophie cried, “That would be awesome!”
Atlas winced, his face paling. “Now, Stitch,” he began. “You know I love your enthusiasm, babe, but that may be a step too—”
She waved a hand to shut him up and teased, “Oh, relax. I’ll go gentle. We’ve got lube here, right?”
Atlas scraped a hand down his face, and I heard him mutter, “Fuck me,” under his breath. “Trust me to fall for a lippy bitch.”
She popped a hip, her eyes hardening. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
Atlas made an eek face.
I’d known our SAA for many years. He was a good brother and a close friend; he was also married to my half-sister, so that made him blood family as well as club family. Because of all that, I knew there was not one thing on God’s Earth that Danny ‘Atlas’ Woods was scared of.
Except his wife.
Sophie may have been a tiny, slim, beautiful, educated, talented surgeon, but she was also a tough, ass-kicking ninja who took no shit, especially from her husband.
They were sparring once, and he got overly cocky, so she broke his nose with one punch.
I’d never laughed so much in all my life.
Luckily, Atlas was like me. He loved a challenge, and he also adored his wife. He may have ruled the club with his sergeant-at-arms, big, beefy, iron fist, but Sophie ruled him, and so did their two little girls, Belle and Lola.
My Cara was feisty too, and so was Kennedy, Breaker’s wife.
The other ol’ ladies, not so much. Dad’s Elise and Abe’s Iris were quieter, though not much got past them, including their men’s antics, though they seemed to put up with most things with good grace and humor.
Layla was sweet but had found her voice over the last couple of years and was becoming badass, especially after discovering a talent for shooting.
Every brother with an ol’ lady revered them, which was something we wholeheartedly encouraged. Family was everything, which was why we fought so hard in the past to preserve what we had.
We’d fought bloody wars with the worst of mankind to preserve our way of life.
A few years before, we worked with the FBI and our Virginia chapter to bring down a trafficking ring masterminded by the town’s mayor and Elise’s ex-husband, Robert Henderson.
He was working with a rival MC, the Burning Sinners, and their President, Bear Rawlins, to snatch local girls and kids and sell them.
We wiped them all out.
My dad—who was prez at the time—got his revenge on Henderson after he discovered the evil shit he’d done to keep Elise away from him, and I got mine on Bear, who had terrorized us and our women for years.
All that was left of the psychotic, evil bastard, Bear Rawlins, was the cut I’d nailed to the wall of Church the night I killed him. It served as a daily reminder of everything I vowed to ensure my club would never become.
Sometimes when I looked at it, a weird feeling sliced through me, though it was probably because of the way Bear went out.
I wasn’t an overtly violent man. I protected my family, my club, and my town, and I showed no mercy, but I never took pleasure in it.
Even after everything Bear did to hurt the people I loved, his death had stained me.
One morning, I walked into Church and found it half hanging off the wall, even though it had been nailed securely, and nobody had entered the room. Other times, I walked in and noticed it had turned at a weird angle, and once I swore it moved.
I thought of taking it down, but a lesson was no good if it was hidden away. One thing I’d learned in counselling was that a man had to face his ghosts head-on, or else they’d start to haunt him.
“Right then,” Abe called out, clapping his hands together. “It’s getting on for midnight. Time for the young’uns to get the fuck outta dodge. The grown-ups wanna play.”
Groans went up from a few feet away, where the teens sat together at a table. Breaker and Kennedy’s two teens, Kai and Kady, held court with DJ and Gabby, who were Atlas’s sister’s kids, and Sunny, Bowie and Layla’s eldest.”
“Chop fuckin’ chop,” Atlas, aka Rambo, called over. “You knew the condition of coming here tonight was that you were all out by twelve when the club girls are allowed in.”
“It’s alright, kids,” Pop assured them. “Grandpa John will come up and tell ya a scary ghost story.”
I heard one of them cough out, “Lame.”
Either Dad didn’t hear it, or he ignored it because he continued without a care. “We’ll take up some snacks, do a scary story, and then I’ll put a horror movie on for you.”
The kids shuffled off toward the corridor near the kitchen that led up to the rooms where they were staying.
They rolled their eyes and bitched quietly to each other as Dad followed them out.
As they went one way, the main doors flew open, and a group of club girls burst in, calling out their greetings, all dressed like slutty cowgirls.
A group of younger, single brothers who hung out by the pool tables let up a loud cheer, and the club girls made a beeline for them, blowing kisses as they went.
“Well,” Atlas declared, his eyes following the girls as they climbed up on the pool tables and started whipping off their tops. “Looks like the party’s really about to start now.”