Chapter 1
Chapter One
GHOST
I’d never been very fond of change, in fact, if you asked my top five things, change wasn’t on that list. Not even on the top ten. Fucking hated it. So ask me why, when the MC I was in got decimated and patched over, why did I stay?
Why didn’t I say fuck this, and move on? More than that, why didn’t I fight for our old crew, and help them take these fuckers down? I thought about it, but it was a brief, was it worth it, kinda thing.
It wasn’t. That’s the sad truth. The Rogue Riders were my home, but they weren’t good people.
We. We weren’t good people. They were as bad an apple as you’d find.
They were classless, destructive, disgusting human beings, but they were the only club in town.
I needed a crew to ride with, wanted to find a place to belong, where motorcycles, leathers, and partying were the order of the day, and night.
That’s what I found, but the things they did? Never sat right with me.
Was I complicit? Did I partake of these things? Some of them. Did I feel good about it? Hell, ask my therapist, you know, if I had one.
Now I was trying to fit into the ‘Phoenix ethos’, among a group of holier than thou assholes who thought they were better than everyone else.
How could they be? Sure, they didn’t abuse women, and that I was grateful for, but they still partied, still had a hand in the drug business, and still murdered people who got in the way.
How is that different? More to the point, why had I struggled with it?
“Hey, man. You coming to the pub?” I had been helping with the rebuild of our clubhouse site, because right after Phoenix destroyed the club, and wiped out the members they didn’t like, they demolished every building on the land the club owned, and were rebuilding.
This part I liked. The physical labour, and the idea that once it was done, we’d have better living quarters, and an actual bar, kitchen, and large party space. Yeah. This part I was happy with.
I set down the trowel I’d been using to cement bricks together for the exterior wall, and dragged the back of my arm across my forehead. For early April, it was fucking hot already.
“Pub?”
Micro, our new Club President, grinned at me.
“Yeah, first round’s on me. You in?”
I turned to look back at the wall I was working on. Stopping now would mean abandoning the brickwork mid-row, and I fucking hated that. My OCD wouldn’t allow it.
“I uh…”
“Brother, you’re working your ass off, and I appreciate the hell out of it, but you deserve downtime, and beer. Many beers, maybe. Prospect’s bringing a van.” That was biker language for we can get wasted, and still get home.
I hated leaving my ride here though, even with a prospect on watch.
It wasn’t valuable or fancy, but it was mine.
It was all I owned, apart from some savings, and the minimal furniture currently crammed into that weird ass housing the glamping guy had supplied.
I’d expected huts, like the one being used for the Pres’ office, but these were like camping sets, but fancier, with actual beds, and furniture. Not bad, but weird.
“I should finish this,” I jerked a thumb behind me, “before I waste the last of the cement.”
Micro leaned over to eye the small amount left in the wheelbarrow.
“Brother, I’ll take the hit on a little wasted cement. Come on, hang with us.”
Our old Pres, Crusher, would have shoved me face first into the cement, until I thought I’d drown or suffocate, then probably pissed on me.
Micro though? He was practically begging me to take a break, to enjoy some downtime, and my muscles were screaming for it.
My arms were heavy and aching, my shoulders throbbing, I’d definitely managed to get sunburn on the back of my neck, and I was thirsty as fuck.
“I need maybe ten minutes, is that okay?” I asked finally, and he grinned.
“I’ll tell Simon to wait for you. Good on you, brother. You’re really proving to be Phoenix material.”
He slapped my shoulder and headed off to his office, while my entire upper body throbbed in response to the blow. The guy was bigger than you’d like slapping your aching body like that, and even though there’d been no malice in the gesture, I knew it was the last straw. My body was done.
I rushed through placing the last few bricks, smoothing the cement, and tapping them down, checking the alignment was perfect, before I cleaned out the wheelbarrow, and tossed the tools down. The prospects were supposed to be cleaning up anyway, why the fuck was I putting my body through more hell?
I cleaned up as best I could, and met up with Simon by the gate. He was swinging the set of van keys around his forefinger, and singing ‘why are we waiting’, so I elbowed his gut on the way past.
“Fucker,” he muttered, rubbing his chest as he climbed in and started the engine, while I grabbed the empty passenger seat.
A quick glance into the main body of the van told me I was the only one he was taking along, which was odd, unless the others were all planning just one drink.
“Just me?”
Simon steered out of the gates, and flipped off Henley, who was manning them for the evening. Rude, but then they seemed to get on well, so that was probably just the norm for them.
“The others are meeting us there. It’s that pub where we had that scrap recently with the Double Ds, but they seem to like us there.”
I’d heard about that, but hadn’t made it because I’d been up to my eyes in foundations and building a home. A home for all of us, or just those they decided were measuring up?
“You seem quiet, man, what’s up?”
I dragged a hand through my hair, which was sweatier than I liked, but I hadn’t had time to wash up back in my weird tent thing.
“Just thinking.”
“Yeah, you always struck me as a big thinker,” he murmured, smirking at me when I shot him a glare. I ended up grinning myself.
“You know, you’re a bit of a prick, Simon.”
He grinned, steering down the lane toward the pub.
“That’s what they tell me. Still, I think I’m close to being patched in, so then I’ll be an even bigger prick. Gotta get my payback on those damn prospects left behind.”
“You’d think you’d feel kinder toward them, what with you being one of them for so long.”
He shrugged, pulling into the car park, and finding a space large enough for the van. I flinched as he manouvered, getting dangerously close to a fucking beemer parked beside us. The last thing we needed was some suited fucker calling us out for being thugs or something.
“Henley’s getting patched in before me, brother. I’m feeling a bit sore about that. Throw some money at the club, and things seem to go your way. I can’t manage that.”
Huh. “I’m sure that’s not why. He’s been on prospect duty for months too.”
“Boo fucking hoo. We all have to do it, but somehow he’s getting fast tracked. He has to be greasing someone up.”
From what I’d seen and heard of Henley, because admittedly we weren’t close and probably only chatted once or twice in passing, he seemed like a decent kinda person, so Simon was probably just talking out of his ass.
“We going in or what?”
I groaned, sliding out of the van and following him to the pub, brushing dust off my jeans and cut as I walked. Let’s hope this wasn’t a monumental waste of my time.
ELIZABETH
I’d been back in town for three weeks, and I’d done a great job of staying away from anything or anyone motorcycle related, short of passing them on the roads. Flashbacks and nightmares were still tormenting me, but it’d been a year since it happened, so I’d told myself I was ready to come back.
I was sitting in the pub with two of my friends from the support group, and having a giggle over a glass of wine, my back to the door, and that’s when I felt a chill on the back of my neck.
Something was setting my nerves tingling, and not in a good way.
Melody and Kyla leaned around me, their eyes widening, and I suddenly froze.
I’d heard a sound without even absorbing what I was hearing.
A low rumbling sound outside, that grew louder.
A sound so familiar that it sent a rush of fear through my body, making my hands tremble as I set my glass down.
I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t look, but the girls were eyeing the newcomers avidly as they passed our table.
I caught one glimpse of leathers and patches, and felt bile rising in my throat. No. Not… not them.
I lurched up out of my seat, my mind screaming at me to escape. To run. Get as far away as possible. The chair teetered, but didn’t fall, merely scraping and banging against the wooden floor, something I feared would draw attention to me.
“Lizzie? Girl, what’s up? Take a deep breath.” Melody reached for my hand, which trembled severely, and felt ice cold, because her skin seemed burning hot.
“She’s panicking. Something triggered her,” Kyla said, stepping around the table to move to my side.
“Let’s get you out of here.”
We turned as a unit, with them grabbing our things, and headed for the door. I knew people were watching us, but my lungs were struggling for air, and I knew getting outside, away from these monsters, was my only salvation.
Except when we stepped into the doorway, the doors were wrenched open, and we were faced with another two bikers, one of them terrifyingly familiar. I screamed, falling backward as his gaze fell on mine, and I saw recognition blooming there.
He reached out with one arm, catching my sleeve, as my companions blocked me from falling.
“Let go!”
He released me at once. “E… Elizabeth? Is that you?”
The trembling devolved into frantic shuddering, and Melody stepped between us.
“Move please, we’re leaving.”
He stepped aside, but kept his eyes on me as we passed, and I couldn’t look away, trapped in his gaze like a frightened animal. A deer caught in headlights.
“Elizabeth,” he groaned softly as I was dragged away from him, finally feeling air fill my lungs as we stepped outside. Why was it him? Why him of all of them?
I staggered away from the door until we reached Melody’s car, beside a big black van, and she helped me into the back seat.
I was still gasping for more air, my fingers twisted together in a knot.
It was impossible. How could he be the one I ran into, out of all of them, all the monsters.
How was he walking into the one pub in the entire county that I’d been in?
I choked on my next breath. Oh god. Was he following me?
Stalking me? He wasn’t done with me, was he?
“Lizzie, breathe. I’m worried about her, she’s just gasping.”
“Call the doctor, we’ll head there now.”
I wanted to tell them not to worry, but speaking was too much effort right now, so I just rested my head back against the headrest while I tried to regulate my breathing, closing my eyes.
All I could see though was a blue eyed man, with red-blonde hair, and a savage grin.
He’d been the best and worst thing that ever happened to me. And now he knew I was back in town.