Second-Chance Property of Player

1. Player

Chapter one

Player

An arm slips around my waist, and a warm body presses against my bare back. Debbie, my ol’ lady. Happiness settles deep inside me, and for a moment, all is right with the world.

Until it all slips away, evaporating into dust.

The explosion jars me, and I sit straight up, a cold sweat covering my skin. I suck in air, gasping for breath, my lungs heaving, my heart pounding until my surroundings come into focus.

Early morning gray light filters through the blinds.

It’s the same damn nightmare I’ve had again and again—the clubhouse explodes in front of my eyes, burning pieces raining down from the sky.

I toss the sheet back and swing my legs over the side of the bed, waiting for my racing blood pressure to settle.

The bed shifts behind me, and I remember I brought Molly home with me. Last night is hazy. We were at the clubhouse, drinking at the bar. She’s a hang-around who often shows up after her shift dancing at the Crystal Palace. She isn’t their highest earner, but she’s good.

She’s set her sights on me, and I’ve let her.

She moves, and I half expect to feel her hands slide up my back, but she goes back to sleep.

That suits me fine. I need air, so I slip on a pair of sweatpants, grab my smokes off the nightstand, and pad out of the room. I move through the kitchen and onto the deck, closing the slider behind me.

The first light of dawn filters through the trees at the rear of the property. The place is a rental—one I found not long after Debbie died. I couldn’t stay in the place we shared; it was too painful. The guilt was hard enough without the constant reminders of her in every room.

My lease is up at the end of the month. The landlord is putting the place on the market, and I need to find new digs. That’s a problem for another day.

Shaking a cigarette from the pack, I dip my head and light up, dragging in a lungful of smoke and feeling the surge of nicotine hit my bloodstream. I drop the pack on the dew-covered glass table.

It’s quiet except for the distant sound of a long-haul trucker out on the interstate a couple of miles away.

I’ve lived in this town my entire life, and the sound of the interstate is ingrained in my memories.

The road calls to me, enticing me to climb on my bike and go for a ride. Just me and the open road, tearing up the miles on my motorcycle. It’s where I find peace.

But I don’t want to leave Molly here. Not in my place. I never leave chicks alone with my stuff. They come and they go. End of story.

I gave Molly a ride on my bike last night, so I’ll have to give her a ride back to the clubhouse to get her car. It was a stupid mistake. I wish I’d made her follow me. It makes the goodbyes in the morning easier.

Molly is okay and she keeps me from getting lonely at night. She fills the emptiness I carry like a dead weight around my neck.

It’s not that I don’t like her. We have fun together.

She’s got a pretty smile, a good body, and gives good head, but I know it’ll never be more than sex with her.

These days, that’s all I want from a woman.

A few laughs, sex, and then to get gone.

My life is too fucking dangerous, and I swore to myself I’d never put another woman in harm's way. Losing Debbie changed me. It’s hardened me.

My heart is cold and dead, and I don’t think I’ll ever let another woman get close to me again.

Maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be.

The only problem is I know I’m not the kind of man who does well without a woman.

Finishing my smoke, I grind it out in the ashtray that stays here on the table. Glancing at my bike parked in the driveway in front of the garage, I feel the itch to ride. How I’d love to climb on it right now.

Instead, I yawn and return to bed.

Slipping under the covers, I put an arm around Molly and haul her against my chest, breathing in her scent.

I close my eyes and pray the nightmares leave me alone for a few hours.

When I wake again, it’s to the sound of Harleys rolling up the drive.

I crack an eye open and find the sun is high, slanting through the blinds at a sharp angle.

Molly moves, and I roll over to check the time on my phone.

Noon.

“Who’s here?” she groans, putting a pillow over her head.

“The club, obviously. Sounds like three of ‘em.” I lean against the headboard and yawn, checking my phone for missed calls. I’ve got three texts.

The front door opens, and I hear boots tromping inside.

“Yo, Player. Get your ass up.”

I recognize the voice as my little brother, Beck. Younger by two years.

I don’t bother reading the texts; they’re all from him, anyway.

“Rise and shine, VP. We got somewhere to be.”

That’s Cruz, our Road Captain.

Pulling on my jeans, I walk into the kitchen to find my youngest brother, Pony, with his head in my fridge.

“Hell, man. Where’s the beer?”

I push him to the side and grab the carton of OJ. “I don’t have any. Get the fuck out of my fridge, Pony.” Lifting the carton, I drink straight from it, finishing what’s left, and tossing it in the trash. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask the men slumping in the chairs around my kitchen table.

“Dad called. He wants us to meet him,” Beck replies.

“For what?” I scratch my chest and lean against the counter.

“Does it matter, VP?” Cruz replies. “When Prez calls, we go.”

My father is president of the Kings of Anarchy Delaware Chapter, and I don’t need our Road Captain to remind me of the fact.

“The drop’s not until eight tonight,” I reply, yawning.

“Well, he said he has news. Gave me an address to meet him. Him and Drae,” Beck replies.

“Where at?”

“Slaughter Beach.”

“Slaughter Beach?” I lift a brow. “What the fuck’s in Slaughter Beach?”

He shrugs. “No clue.”

The shower kicks on, and the boys all glance toward the hall.

“You got somebody here?” Cruz asks with a sly grin.

“Molly.”

“That bitch is trouble,” he mutters under his breath, his grin falling.

I fold my arms. “Why is that?”

“Because she’s after you, and I know you, VP. You and her? No way.”

“He’s just killin’ time with her, just like with all the rest,” Beck puts in. “My big brother is done with women. Haven’t you heard?”

Beck likes to rib me. Some things never change.

I let it slide.

“Well, you better get dressed, VP. It’s not wise to keep the ol’ man waiting,” Pony says.

“Just don’t keep us out here with our thumbs up our ass while you bang your fuck-toy in the shower,” Cruz grumbles.

I grin and push off the counter, heading to the hall. “Maybe I will.”

“It’s fucking freezing outside, bro. You’re gonna need your chaps,” Pony calls after me.