Chapter 1
Kenzee
“Go ahead, bitch. Swing at me,” I taunt the girl. I don’t care that she’s bigger than me. Never have. You know the old saying the bigger they are, the harder they fall? Well, this bitch is about to go down.
“Kenz, let her go,” My friend, April, tells me. I smirk at her, wipe the blood from my lip and swing again. This time, the bitch stumbles back and falls to her ass. I waste no time leaping on top of her and pounding her face in. That is, until I’m ripped off of her.
“Get the fuck off me,” I roar as I try to pull away from whoever has their hands on me.
“Enough!” I hear my uncle’s voice loud in my ear. I slowly relax in his grasp until he lets go of me. I adjust my now torn shirt and glance around at the crowd that’s gathered. “Get on the bike, Kenzee.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“You are now. Get your ass on the bike and let’s go.
I’m not bailin’ your ass out again,” he growls at me this time.
Yeah, this wouldn’t be the first time I went to jail and probably wouldn’t be the last. I smirk at the bitch as she struggles to get to her feet before I walk over and grab my helmet, pulling it on.
I climb on my bike and rev it up as my uncle climbs back on his.
He motions for me to go, and I take off heading back toward the clubhouse.
I can feel blood dripping down my lip, so I stick my tongue out and lick it off, keeping my eyes on the road.
It doesn’t take us long to make it back and for me to kill the engine and lose the helmet. My uncle pulls in right behind me, climbing off his bike and tossing his helmet to the ground.
“What the hell was that?”
“How did you know where I was?”
“What was that, Kenzee?”
“She started a fight. I finished it,” I tell him with a shrug.
“You know Mitch was gonna call the cops on you. You can’t keep goin’ to the bars and startin’ shit.”
“I didn’t start it! She did. And Mitch is a pussy if he was going to call the cops on a little girl fight.”
“Girl fight?” I hear Patch and glance over, smiling.
“Yeah. Just a little girl fight.”
“She was beatin’ the shit out of that girl,” Uncle Jenson says.
“She deserved it.”
“Did she?” Patch asks, raising an eyebrow.
“You think I would just go out and cause trouble for no reason?” In unison, Patch and my uncle both say yes. I laugh when my uncle throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side.
“You’ve always been a fighter, Kenz.”
“I was taught by the best,” I remind him. He taught me to fight. He taught me to shoot. He taught me all the things that my dad would have wanted me to know but wasn’t around to show me. That part still hurts. Knowing that he should have been the one to teach me these things.
“You never were the girly girl.”
“And I don’t plan on being one either. I like who I am,” I tell him truthfully.
“That’s always a good thing, but let’s tone down the drama at the local bars, yeah?”
“Fine. I’ll stay out of there for a while.”
“Mitch said permanently.”
“Again, Mitch is a pussy,” I tell him.
“She’s not wrong. Mitch is a little bitch,” Patch adds as I nod my head.
“I don’t need you helpin’ her, Patch.” Now they both laugh as my uncle leads me inside.
I know there’s a party tonight, and that’s kind of why I didn’t want to be here.
Since my dad was killed, I’ve not felt like partying.
There doesn’t seem to be anything to celebrate.
But one of the guys came home from prison today, so I suppose that’s a good reason to celebrate.
We step inside, and everyone is chatting and drinking. I walk away from my uncle and head straight to the bar, grabbing the first bottle set down in front of me, but at the same time, someone else grabs it. A large tattooed hand wraps around the neck as I try to pull the bottle from his grip.
“Ever heard of ladies first?” I snap at him without looking over. His dark chuckle sends a chill down my spine. Now I pull my gaze over to meet his, and fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. His eyes are green with what seems like little golden flecks in them, his lips curled into a menacing smile.
“Is that how it is?” he asks. I nod my head and wait for him to pull his hand away but he doesn’t. “You don’t remember me do you?”
“Should I?”
“I’m Storm.”
“And that means what to me?” I ask him, raising an eyebrow.
“So you don’t remember me. You were little when I went to prison.”
“Oh shit, that’s you? This party is for you?” I don’t remember much from when I was younger. The doctors told me I blocked it out because of the trauma, but you would think I would have remembered him.
“That’s right. You were just a little brat when I went to jail.”
“You weren’t much older than me, were you?” I ask, having heard the stories.
“I was sixteen. Charged as an adult. Spent two years in juvie before they moved me to the state pen.” I nod my head now, remembering hearing that.
“What was it like?”
“You ever been to jail?”
“Jail, yeah. Not prison.”
“It wasn’t easy. Let’s just leave it at that,” he says, pulling his hand away from the bottle. I pull it toward me and bring it to my lips, taking a long pull before he snatches it out of my hand and finishes it off.
“You really don’t remember me?”
“I’m sorry, did you do something memorable?” I ask sarcastically.
“I killed a man.”
“And? Half the club has killed a man. Or more for that matter. That doesn’t make you memorable,” I inform him. He stares at me, his eyes darkening as he continues and I can’t seem to pull my gaze from his.
“How old were you? When I was sent away?”
“I’d guess around seven or eight.”
“How old are you now?” he asks.
“What the fuck difference does it make to you?”
“Just askin’, darlin’.”
“Well, don’t. I’m none of your concern,” I tell him before spinning around and walking away from him. I can feel his gaze on me and I don’t care.
I head over and flop down on the couch, kicking my feet up on the side, and lying across it.
“You want something for that lip?” Debbie, one of the club girls, asks.
“Nah, I’ll live.” She smiles and shakes her head before walking away. I see my uncle pull up a chair and sit next to me.
“You wanna tell me what the fight was about?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“It was over a man and his cock, uncle. Is that what you wanted to hear?” I laugh as he reaches up and runs his hand over his face.
“Is there gonna be a day that you don’t give me hell?”
“Probably not. It was a good thought, though.”