Chapter 2
Two
Melissa
Embers snap toward the sky as I wrap my fingers tighter around my beer bottle, watching flames reflect off the glass while Phoebe sprawls on the sand beside me.
“Remember when we used to sneak down here in high school?” Phoebe nudges my shoulder. “You'd bring shitty Passion Pop wine you stole from your mum's stash.”
I wrinkle my nose. “We were desperate.”
Yana sits cross-legged on my other side as waves crash against the shore, a soundtrack to two decades of friendship between Phoebe and me.
“Twenty-three years.” Phoebe raises her bottle. “That's how long I've put up with your ass bringing books to every sleepover when we were kids.”
I gasp. “You loved those books. Don't pretend you didn't cry when I read you The Outsiders.”
“Stay gold, Ponyboy.” Phoebe snorts, then softens. "Ah, I love how quiet this town is at this time of night."
Westbeach. A small coastal town right on the Coromandel Peninsula in the Waikato region of New Zealand. Came running home right after I didn't graduate Medical School.
“Five years is also a long time to be friends!” Yana adds, eyes widening. “Even if I haven't seen you all since… hmmm… when was the last time the club was here?”
Yana is the international president's old lady. I've never met him personally, but he sounds scary as fuck. Figures.
She rolls onto her back, resting her hand on her stomach. “Ah, I've missed this. Missed us. We don't hang enough for the short distance away we are.”
"Four hours isn't that short." As if we all didn't keep in touch constantly on Snapchat.
“Happy birthday, bitch.” Phoebe pulls me into a sandy hug. “To new beginnings.”
I lean into her, appreciative of friends who know when to push, and know when to let silence be silent.
Phoebe's phone rings and I turn to Yana with a smile. “New beginnings for you?”
Yana sighs, drawing a pattern in the sand with her bottle. “Mmhmm. Maybe. I kind of like my life now though…”
“Jesus!” Phoebe claps, pulling us into the now. “Yana, answer the phone next time. Beast has been trying to call you. Moody bastard.”
“What now?” I deadpan, knowing it's going to have something to do with the club.
“Well, the leather assholes want us at the clubhouse.”
I roll my eyes. “Why this time? We were there last night. And the night before. And the weekend before that!”
Phoebe fluffs her long blonde hair into a high pony. “I know, but! Since the mother charter is in, maybe… some… birthday sex?”
I shrug, not needing a second. “I'm not breaking my no biker rule, but… I'll dabble.”
“Listen!” Yana clicks her fingers when she pushes up.
“Stick to the no biker rule, okay! Shit.
I'm still wondering when Beast is going to propose.
It's like any time it comes near, he just—” she waves her hands.
“Vanishes, as if time has stolen him and taken him back to some other place I don't know about.”
“I'm sorry, Yana…” I wince. Phoebe made me promise not to remind her that marriage and weddings aren't end game in the club.
Phoebe laughs, pulling us up from the sand as we start walking back to the parking lot where her Mitsubishi Evo is parked. Phoebe is still drag racing every asshole on the street. Crushing egos and all that.
The Evo's engine purrs as Phoebe takes the coastal road way too fast, music thumping through the speakers. Wind whips through the cracked windows, carrying salt spray scent of the ocean.
“You know,” I lean back in the passenger seat, “one of these days you're gonna wrap us around a telephone pole.”
“Please. I could drive this road blindfolded.” Phoebe downshifts, taking a corner that makes my stomach lurch. “Besides, what's life without a little danger?”
Yana grips the back of my seat. “I vote for less danger.”
“Seconded.” I watch familiar landmarks blur past—the lighthouse, the old pier, the bait shop. The closer we get to the clubhouse, the more bikes line the street. Chrome glints under streetlights, exhausts still ticking hot.
“Looks like a full house.” Phoebe pulls into the lot, music cutting as she kills the engine. “Northland is in town, the mother charter, mind you.”
My stomach dips. More bikers means more eyes, more attention. More men who think their cuts give them the right to whatever they want.
More for me to play with.
“Remember,” I say, pushing open my door, “I'm here for drinks and dancing. That's it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Phoebe grins. “No bikers. We know the rules.”
I slam the door closed, noticing the pile of bikes spread beneath the long carport that joins with the barn.
I swoop up a discarded beer can, pitching it in a nearby bin as we head toward the mayhem. “Gonna be hell for the old ladies to clean tomorrow.”
The usual eyes track us—comes with the territory when you roll with the charter princess. The club girls keep their distance, probably because there's only two old ladies here anyway.
“Hey!” Blake's whistle pierces the night. Phoebe flips off her brother, who's got some blonde perched on his lap. “What took you so fucking—” He shoves the girl aside like trash, sending her sprawling.
I watch her hit the ground with a dull thud. Same old shit, different night. These girls keep coming back for more, though God knows why.
“You!” He points at me and I swear everyone grows quiet, newcomers included. His frown dissolves into a wide smile as I slap his hand away from my face.
He jumps, catching me by the waist and whirling me around in the air. “Happy birthday, Wild Child!”
“Fuck!” I slap his back roughly. “Put me the fuck down, Blake!”
His laughter vibrates over my stomach, infectious enough to trigger mine as he runs me around the clubhouse like a maniac, before finally placing me back on my feet.
I blow my hair out of my face, a smile wide looking up at him. He catches my stray hair. “You wanna get some dick tonight?”
“Ew!” I shove him away. “Not yours.”
His face scrunches. “Ew. Girl…”
We both burst into laughter as Phoebe rams a beer against my ribs. "Both of you shut up and get—" she smacks her brother's knuckles. "—your filth away from my best friend. Okay? Thank you."
I press the bottle to my lips, still laughing as I drop onto the tree stump serving as a chair when someone's stare hooks me from across the fire. Four patched men stand shoulder to shoulder, each one built like a brick wall, wearing different colours than our crew.
The mother charter.
But it's one. His eyes, piercing blue, hold me from the other side of the bonfire, the curves of his features sharp and steady. The corner of his mouth shifts as he drags his attention away from me and to the man beside him.
“Beast—” Phoebe points to the bigger one of the bunch with dark eyes and a shaved head as Yana wriggles onto his lap. “Hella—” the sex god I kind of want to sit on. “Ripper,” she continues, but I'm back on the sex god.
Yana flies up from her chair, storming off into the club.
Beast's hard features are unflinching. Cold. Detached. As if he doesn't give a fuck that he just said something mean.
“Wait!” I rush after Phoebe as she follows her into the barn, kicking Blake's chair, which earns me a “Fuck you.”
We follow Yana through the barn doors, weaving past pool tables and scattered chairs. My heart pounds as she darts into the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough that the hinges rattle.
“Yana?” Phoebe jiggles the handle. “Open up.”
She tries to muffle her sobs with a cough, as if masking in front of two people she's talked to every day for the past four years will hide anything.
I press my palm against the wood, sharing a worried look with Phoebe. “Talk to us. What's wrong?”
“I don't know why he hates me.” The door cracks open, and both of us slip through before slamming it closed.
I cough. “Smells like ass in here, couldn't you find a better room to have a meltdown in?”
Yana rubs her mascara-stained eyes, a watery chuckle escaping before breaking out into full-blown laughter that bounces off the grimy bathroom walls. “I hate you, you absolute bitch.”
“I know, sweetie.” I bump into Phoebe's back as she takes Yana's trembling hand in hers.
We first met Yana through the club four years ago when she desperately needed a place to crash on her way to the mother charter in Tāwaha.
Her father, one of the original founding members of the Woodsmen MC, had been a legendary figure in the club's history.
What was meant to be an overnight stay turned into a week-long slumber party, the three of us clicking instantly over tequila shots and late-night confessions.
We endured twelve solid months of her waxing poetic about Beast's muscles, his leadership, his presence—everything about him really—before he finally gave in and took her to his bed. The whole thing left a bitter taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the bathroom's questionable hygiene.
I'm not a fan of how that situation played out. Never have been.
“Look, the upside?” I mutter, dropping to a crouch, staring straight into her watery mess of a face, trying not to gag at whatever the fuck is sticking to this bathroom floor. “Plenty of other dicks out there. Hot ones. Just begging for a grind.”
“Out,” a voice barks from behind us, and we both spin around to find Beast standing at the threshold, jaw clenched.
As if he hates even being here. I don't know why the fuck Yana bothers.
Sure, he's all hot and scary and all that.
But he's too serious. You couldn't crack a joke with this dude if it fractured that perfect fucking jaw.
“Ah…” I say, stepping forward. “Hell the fuck no! We're not leaving you here with our friend while you...” My hand flies up and down his large body, but the door opens from behind us and Yana stops me.
“It's fine, Melissa. You guys go.”
“You sure?” I ask, brow raised. “You had a bit to drink. Maybe you're...”
“Melissa.” Phoebe's voice comes through from the side.
She searches my eyes. “It's fine. Come on.”