Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Lacey
My thoughts are a jumbled mess. I’m confused. Groggy. I don’t even know my name or where I am.
What I do know is I am surrounded by big, scary men covered in tattoos who look like professional killers, but from the moment I woke up in their biker clubhouse, they’ve been nothing but kind to me.
The older guy named Combat gave me some antibiotics and painkillers. It’s strange. I can’t remember anything, but I know certain things. Like I don’t like grapefruit or any melons. Strawberries are good.
Water has a taste depending on the brand. I prefer something carbonated or flavored. I especially like regular Coke. And I really love French fries smothered in cheese, bacon, and white gravy.
I remember small things like that. The lyrics to Highway to Hell by ACDC but not my own name.
It doesn’t make sense. When I try to remember, I get a headache.
Kevlar, the guy who found me, says I should get some sleep, but when I close my eyes, I have all these racing thoughts.
Why was I wearing a wedding dress when he found me? Am I married? Why was I on the beach? Who was I with, or was I running from someone? Did someone hurt me, or did I trip and hit my head on a rock?
Where’s home? Do I have kids? Surely, I would recall something that important. And yet when I try to focus on my memories, all I get is fuzz and white noise. Like there’s something in my brain that’s blocking out the people I care about.
I don’t know if Lacey is my name or if it belongs to someone I know. I toss from one side to the other. I’m too restless to just sit in this room.
I tried to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Combat dude brought me, but I can’t eat. Not when there may be people worried about me. At least I hope they are.
“You trying to see how a rotisserie chicken feels turning on a spit?”
“What?”
Kevlar grins at me from where he still sits. “Want to get out of this room?”
“Please.” I look down at my bare feet as they hit the cool tile floor.
“Hold that thought.” He disappears and returns a few minutes later with a pair of brown leather flip-flops that are a little tight, but they’ll do.
I follow him down the stairs, noticing the stairwell is lined with mugshots. I spot Kevlar and wonder what he did to get arrested.
Downstairs opens into a bar that looks like maybe it was once the lobby of a motel.
The bar sits where I imagine the check-in counter once was.
Rock music filters in the background, playing through speakers.
There're some men seated at the bar while others are shooting a game of pool or throwing darts. Besides being tattooed and muscled, they all have one thing in common. All of them are wearing black leather vests with the same club logo on the back. A skull and two shamrocks. Saint’s Outlaws MC: Deadman’s Beach, Alabama.
At least there’s another question answered. I’m in Gulf Shores.
“Want something to drink? Water? A pop?”
“Got Coke?”
“Prospect,” he calls out. “A Coke for the lady. And get me a beer.”
“What’s prospect mean?”
“He wants to join but has to prove himself.”
“I see.” I glance around the room as I feel the gazes of all the men on me, realizing I’m currently the only woman here and that if they wanted to have their way with me, there is really no one here to stop them.
“Let’s go out back. Fresh air,” he suggests as the younger guy behind the bar places our drinks on the end. I take the unopened can of Coke and relax a smidge.
The sun nearly blinds me as we step onto the back patio where there’s a decent sized swimming pool and hot tub. The rest of the building makes up an L- shape. I drop onto a lounger with an umbrella that does little to shield me from the sun.
“Do all the club members live here?”
“We can come and go. I’ve got a room here, but I’ve also got an apartment over my shop.”
“Your shop?”
“Outlaw Ink.”
“Tattoos?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Tats. Piercings. Body modification.”
“Are you an artist, or do you just own the place?” I shield my eyes with my hand.
“You ask a lot of questions.” He takes a hearty sip of his beer. I can’t help but watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows. He pulls a pair of sunglasses off his head and hands them to me.
“How else am I supposed to get to know you and figure anything out?” I slip the sunglasses on and pop the tab on the Coke can.
“No ring.”
“Hmm?”
“You were wearing a wedding gown, but there’s not a ring on your finger.”
I stare at my hands. He’s right. “Maybe I ran out before the ceremony?”
“Maybe you did or maybe you threw it in the ocean. Too many possibilities. Too many unknowns.”
“Everything about me is unknown.”
“A mystery,” he mutters under his breath and downs his beer. “Fuck, it’s hot.” He pulls his T-shirt over his head, and my jaw nearly hits the patio.
Kevlar is ripped. Sweat glistens on his chest.
“Taking a dip.” He kicks his shoes off and lays his phone with his discarded shirt.
I watch him dive in, enjoying the way the muscles in his back flex with his movements.
The sight leaves me breathless and wanting to jump in after him.
“You should put this on. Don’t want to get burned.” The chick who helped get me out of that dress hands me a tube of sunblock.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Ashley.”
“You can call me Lacey.”
“You have your memory back?” She takes up the lunger on my other side.
“No. It’s just a name I picked out. Kevlar needed something to call me.”
“I see.”
“Do you know him well?”
A smile plays at her lips as she twists her blondish locks into a braid. “Well enough.”
“And you’re married to that guy. Blood?”
“Yeah.” She gets this dreamy expression on her face.
“No offense, but you look kind of young.”
“I am, but Blood is it for me.” She studies me for a minute and the scrutiny is unnerving. “You really don’t remember anything?”
“Not the things that are important. Like I know simple things. Like how to mix a margarita, but not how old I am or where I’m from.”
“I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”
“Hope so.” I stare out at the ocean, and though I’m surrounded by people and the sun is burning my skin, I’ve never felt more lost or alone.
“I’m serious about that sunblock. If you need anything, I’m your girl.”
“Babe,” a deep voice rumbles from behind us.
That Blood guy struts to the other side of his wife’s chair.
He’s intimidating and hella hot. Much like Kevlar, he’s got plenty of ink.
He towers over Ashley, leaning down to claim her mouth in a fiery kiss that feels inappropriate to watch.
A patch on his leather vest says he’s the president of this crew of outlaws.
Nothing about the people or the beach seems familiar.
Everything is new to me. Maybe that’s a good thing. I have this inkling that whatever brought me to this beach wasn’t anything good. Like maybe I was running from something or someone. I just wish I could recall who or what that is.
“I’ve got to take care of something. Stay here till I get back.”
I get the feeling he’s telling her to stick around and keep an eye on me. The stranger.
I can’t help but wonder what kind of situation––trouble I’ve landed myself in. I may not remember how I got here, but I know these men are dangerous.
They’re outlaw bikers, and they protect what’s theirs.
And to them, I’m an outsider.
An intruder.
Unwelcome.
He shoots me a look, not a friendly one. Icy. A stare that says he’d rather kill me than look at me.
“Be nice.”
“I’m not nice,” he growls back at her, giving me another menacing glare. I should probably get out of here, but I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go or the means to do it.
I’ve got no money. No identification.
I’ll take my chances with these bikers.
Blood stomps off, and Ashley watches him go.
I turn my attention back to Kevlar as he does laps in the pool.
“Don’t mind Blood. He’s just got a lot on his plate.”
“I get it. You don’t know me and have zero reason to trust me.”
“No, but you’re kind of stranded and it would be shit of us not to look out for you and help you figure things out.”
“Thank you. Truly.”
“There you are.” Some chick with black and purple hair saunters to the edge of the pool wearing chunky black boots that make my feet sweat just thinking about wearing them in this heat.
Kevlar wipes a hand over his face and leans against the edge of the pool. “What’s up?”
“No one opened the shop.”
“Fucking Kendyl. Did you try calling her?”
“No answer.”
“Give me a few and I’ll meet you there.”
“Sure thing, boss man.” She twists on her heels and I see her fully from the front.
She’s got a full face of dark makeup, reminding me of a goth-looking doll.
Monster High. A memory of playing dolls with my childhood best friend flashes in my mind.
It’s fuzzy, but I can almost see her face.
Her name hangs on the tip of my tongue. Chelsea or Charlotte.
I don’t know, but it starts with a C. That I’m certain of.
“Where’d you go just now?” Kevlar stands before me, water dripping and glistening from his fit body.
“Nowhere.”
He licks his lips. “I’ve gotta head to work. You want to come with me or stay here?”