“My dad used to lock me inside my room every day,” I blurted out. I guessed my mind had decided that I was opening up to Phoebe that night.
Pain flashed in her eyes. “Why did he do that?”
“So he could play games with me. The first time he put his hands on me, I was four. It only got worse with age.” I attempted to swallow down the memories of being locked in his closet when I was a little girl before he began raping me.
“I’m so sorry, Meadow. No girl should ever have to cop that shit from her own father. A father is supposed to be your protector. It’s terrible that you endured that.” Phoebe’s head shook around the rim of her glass.
“It’s fine now. He’s dead. That’s all that matters,” I answered, attempting to calm myself down. I’d never opened up to anyone before, and it was hard for me to do, but I knew that there was no-one that loved me more than Phoebe.
“Tell me you killed him,” she replied dead serious.
I smiled. “I didn’t. I would’ve loved to, but someone beat me to it.”
She raised her eyebrows and turned the television down.
“Who?”
Taking a large gulp of my wine, I answered, “I don’t know his name. I just remember what he looked like. He moved into one of the empty rooms next to ours. He would’ve only been a few years older than I was, but he lived on his own…” I paused, taking a sip of my drink. “I was fourteen and I must’ve forgotten to shut the front door properly. Donald began one of his assaults on the living room sofa. I tried to do what I did every time it happened, shut myself off and let the tears rule over me. But this particular day, I was tired and my body was drained. I was tired of living and I had a pistol sitting under my bed waiting for the right time for me to pick it up to prove it. That day was the right time. I decided after he was done, I was going to blow my brains all over his bedroom walls.” I smiled through wiping the tears that were streaming down my face, and Phoebe clutched her shirt using it to wipe the flood of tears which were pouring out from her eyes.
I continued, “He was halfway through when he pulled out his pocket knife to slice one of my inner thighs. It was what he liked to do. He’d done it every time… one slice for each time he stole a piece of me. The scars are there for life, to match the ones embedded in my soul. He laid the knife against my skin and my chest began to heave….” Pausing again, I swallowed past the bile that was beginning to rise in my throat from the memories. “I knew what kind of pain was coming, but I rested in the fact that this would be the last time I’d have to endure it because I was done. I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting for that sting to come over my thigh and the blood to trickle down over my other one hundred and thirty six-scars, but it never came. Instead, I felt the weight of him being pulled off me. The shadow his body created over my shut lids now shone with light. When I heard the sound of a fist connecting with skin, I shot up off the sofa and widened my eyes. I stood and ran to the front door, slamming it shut. I looked to my savior to see his massive frame standing over Donald. He wore a dark hoodie and loose jeans. I told him to stop, which he did. I looked down to Donald, who was stock still on the ground. I walked to the man who saved me… who was so huge, Phoebe. He was massive, tall and built like a house, and he would’ve only been a couple years older than I was. He was like a human killing machine. He turned his head toward me, and I’ll never forget those eyes. They were empty, dead, and absolutely lethal. He said, ‘I’ve been watching you. I had an inkling that something was happening, but no proof.’ Or something along those lines. He walked to me, took hold of the throw blanket that was on the sofa and covered me up before he walked back to Donald. ‘Let me finish him,’ were the four little words he said to me, there was probably more that he said, but I can’t really remember. With a nod of my head, it was done. I don’t even know what he did with the body. He told me to gather all my shit and stay in his room. When he didn’t come back, I found out I had an aunt. She didn’t know about me until I showed up on her doorstep, and I never saw him again. I dreamt of him every night.” I blew out a deep breath, taking a large gulp of my drink and giving Phoebe a small smile. She hadn’t moved.
“Fuck, Meadow. I have no words. I’m feeling a churn of emotions right now and I’m not sure how I feel. I just want to turn back the clock and take you. My dad would have loved you.”
I smiled, placing my glass on the coffee table. “Me too. I don’t know why we’re given the lives we’re given, but I like to think there’s always a deeper reason.”
Pheobe stood from her spot on the sofa and walked to me, plopping down and pulling me into a warm embrace. “I’m so sorry, Meadow. My heart aches for you.”
I pull back, wiping my eyes and smile. “Thank you.”
“I wonder who the boy was?” she asked, sitting on the sofa.
“I tried looking for him. He gave me the key to his room, told me to wait there for him and that he’d be back after he had tidied up and gotten rid of the body. I waited for two weeks and searched for clues around his room trying to find out who this mystery man was, but there was nothing. I owe this man my life. He has no idea how close I came to ending myself that day.”
“I hope you find him one day.”
“Me too.”
We walked into the kitchen and placed our emptied glasses into the dishwasher. We’d made plans to go out tomorrow night, so I made my way upstairs to the bedroom I was staying in. After slipping into my pajamas, I crawled beneath the soft sheets and closed my eyes, praying that me talking about my past wouldn’t bring on any nightmares.
Two-Years-Later
PRESENT DAY
My first time in Westbeach, California was eventful. I met the whole band of Twisted Transistor and got on really well with their drummer, Tommy. I got a reference from him to call into a place called New Home. It’s like foster care, only these ladies started it free, because they genuinely care about these kids and I was grateful for them to take me on. I decided to start full time and hang back on my design work for now. Money isn’t tight because of my aunt’s estate, so I don’t need to work for money, I’d rather spend my time at the home helping the kids. They age from six months old to fourteen, and we currently have twelve in residence at the moment. And although some are troubled, they’re all special in different ways and will always hold a special place in my heart.
I’ve been staying in Westbeach since I took on the job. I love it here and have a cute little apartment by the beach. After that incident with Phoebe almost running the Oakley brother off the road, she had a hot affair with the other brother, Ryder. But it had ended there until she found out that not only was she touring around the world with Alyx Munroe, pop princess, to organize her closet, but also with Twisted Transistor. She’s due home this week after a string of events. We’ve all been keeping an eye on her through the E! Channel and it’s safe to say that at the moment, Ryder Oakley is one very hated man.
I’m walking down the street to meet Melissa at her little boutique bakery she opened in town. It’s called Eat Me. Yeah, somehow, knowing that this is Melissa, that name has a double meaning. Melissa and I have become close since I moved to Westbeach. Also with Phoebe out and about, we’ve leaned on each other a lot.
Pushing open the big silver doors I walk in, the little bell sounding off above my head.
“Hey, girl, how have you been?” she yells from behind her counter.
“I’ve been good. I thought I’d check in and see how you are today. I promised I’d pick up some cream donuts for the kids, too. You know how much they love them.”
She waves her hand. “Of course!” As she busies herself with putting the cream donuts into a box.
“Have you heard from Phoebe?” Melissa asks, peeking up at me in between dusted sugar donuts.
“No. Not since I called her last week to spill the beans about what’s going on back here. She said that the Sinful Souls don’t have a chapter in Las Vegas.” I take a cookie out of one of the jars she has sittin
g on the counter beside the cash machine and bite into the chewy, warm goodness. I close my eyes slowly, a moan slipping my lips as I wipe my finger across my bottom lip. “That’s seriously so good. How are you still single?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because I haven’t found my one. Anyway, I might give her a call.”
I nod my head, taking another bite when the television in the background catches my attention.
“Phoebe Rendon has been seen leaving a hotel in New York City in tears. Oh no, trouble in paradise? Or has Ryder Oakley finally woken up to realize he needed to take the trash out early.”
I drop my cookie, rubbing my hands together to dust off the crumbs. “Bitch,” I scoff under my breath.
Melissa’s shocked face meets mine. “Did you just cuss?”
“I always cuss!”
She shakes her head. “No, you don’t. Shit. We need to call her.” She removes her apron from around her waist and places it on the counter before dialing her number. Lifting her phone to her ear but dropping it after a few seconds of no-one answering. “Fuck!”
“Let me try,” I answer, pulling my phone out and dialing her number.
“I’m burning rubber. Leave me a message.” Her voice vibrates through my ears causing a smile to slip onto my lips. I miss this girl entirely too much.
I shake my head. “Nope, not picking up.”
“Shit.” She picks up her phone again. “Wait. Blake and I… even though we’ve known each other for a long time, he doesn’t like me. You call him, I can’t be bothered dealing with him right now and he seems nice enough to you.”
Rolling my eyes, I pick up my phone and ask her for his number.
“Who’s this?” Blake growls down the phone.
“Blake?” I squeak out nervously before clearing my voice. The man gives me the heebie-jeebies. “It’s Meadow.” There, that’s a little firmer.
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“Look, have you seen the news?”
“Yeah, why?”
“No, the… you know… the useless news. The Hollywood News.”
“Should I?”
“Yes. Yes, I think you should.”
“All right. Thanks, I’ll turn it on now.”
“Okay…”
“Meadow?” He pipes in. “Keep your phone on you. I might need to call you and Melissa in at some point.”
“Call us in to where?”
“Into the clubhouse if we go into lock down. Shouldn’t… but just in case. Phoebe gave me strict orders.”
“Right. Okay. Thanks, Blake.”
“Yeah, no worries.”
Hanging up my phone, I toss it back into my handbag and blow out a breath of air.
“See, I told you he tolerates you. I don’t know what I’ve ever done to him.”
Gee, I don’t know. Maybe just being Melissa would be enough to tick him off.
I love her, though.
Present Day
Seven years. It’s been seven years since we freed Jada, and my father was stolen from me by the same people that stole my first years. I want my revenge, and I will get it. I’m filling up at the local gas station on the outskirts of Route 66 when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I switch hands and pull it out, holding it to my ear.
“What is it?” I answer, keeping my eyes locked on the surrounds around me. Over the years, The Army had only come for us once—that was after I freed Jada. It was me, my old man, Hella and Shifter. We needed to keep to low numbers. After sneaking into the joint full stealth mode, we freed her and managed to get back to a hotel. It was all celebrations and cheers for the following two weeks until we found my father with a single bullet through his brain with a note shoved into his mouth, simply reading, ‘Don’t get comfortable, Beast. You are ours. We will come for you when we’re ready, and there will be no stopping that.’
That day shattered my inner self. Over the years leading up to then, my father and I had formed a close bond.
After Hella and I cleaned up the body of the young girl’s dad, I rode back to the clubhouse and patched in. Hella had already gotten his patch. My dad admired his loyalty toward me and could see the depths of how far that loyalty ran. I think he knew all along that I would be taking over from him as President when his fate came. It’s why he put Hella as Sergeant of Arms and me as Vice President—much to Sugar’s disgust. He got over it, after I one-outed him in the ring. Now we have a pretty solid friendship, as I do with all the boys. They’re my family now, and I will protect them and guide them to the end of my time.
“Beast, how’s your crew?” a familiar voice growls down the phone. I smile instantly knowing this fucking voice.
I lean up against my bike, placing my other hand into my jean’s pocket. “In line, how’s yours, brother?” I answer through a smile, running my hand over my still shaven head, not shaven to the skin, just a military style shave.
Zane and I have maintained a solid friendship. The Devil’s are down for the Sinful Souls, as much as they are down for the Devil’s Own. Running the Las Vegas chapter is painful, but I also stand for all chapters that are scattered all over the US—making me International President of The Devil’s Own MC. My father and his best friend Ringer were the founding brothers. Ringer is still here, and still with Bethy. He’s still patched, but he leaves everything to us young-ins. It’s a big responsibility maintaining the peace between us and other MC’s while still keeping our business flowing without any hassles. We have a relationship with the IRA (Irish Republican Army) that supply us with weapons, in return for reliable passage through every town where there’s a Devil chapter located. Which is all over the state with one chapter in Ireland and another in Australia.
“Not so inline. Between Abby and Ade, they’re both going to kill me. I need a favor.”
“Anything,” I answer with certainty because I am certain. I will do whatever I can to help out Zane where I can.
“At the moment, we’re good. But Ade just caused a shit-stir with the Russians so I might need some backup.” I inwardly cringe. The Russians are not someone you want in the enemy bed, but I agree, nonetheless.
“Yeah, for sure, just holla when you need us.”
“Thanks, brother, you’re all I have that’s close to Westbeach. I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if I need you in, that sound good?”
“Don’t mention it, or maybe I will. When I find a way you can repay me,” I chuckle down the phone.
“Anything,” he answers instantly without missing a beat.
“Just shout out when you need me,” I tell him before hanging up the phone.
If only all my relationships with other MC’s were this easy. Sadly—or not so sadly—it’s only like this with the Sinful Souls MC and the Blood Razor’s MC. Everyone else has an issue—they won’t voice it, though. Smart decision really because I have no issue starting a war to earn their respect, I think they know that.
After paying for the gas, I walk out to my bike and kick start her to life before making my way back to the compound. I own my own home now in Summerlin West. The clubhouse, which is situated on a large section of land with a built in ranch, bar, and big monster garage, is located on the north side of Las Vegas. My father and Ringer purchased it when they started the Devil’s Own. Smart decision, because we now have four separate houses which are built on the land spread out evenly and strategically too. Yes, we provide a home for those that may need it, but also to protect the clubhouse twenty-four seven. We have someone on the clock all around. It’s convenient and provides a good system. Pulling into the long dusty driveway that takes you to the clubhouse, my bike rumbles underneath me, vibrating the atmosphere with its presence. I still have the bike my dad handed to me, I also have the bike he rode that sits on a pedestal in the clubhouse—where it belongs.
Swinging my leg off my bike and removing my helmet, Frost walks out of the clubhouse with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his mousy blond hair slicked back with his long beard scratching over the collar
of his cut. He looks like he just rolled out of bed—or killed someone. I wouldn’t be able to tell you which.
Lifting my chin to him, I smirk. “You’re up bright and early, princess.”
He gives me a slow chuckle. “Yeah, Sandy kept me up all night. Good fucking gap she has,” he answers, shaking his head. Sandy is one of the few sweet butts we have that hang around the club.
Laughing, I walk up the worn wooden steps. “Put your dick away, we have work to do. Where’s Hella?”
He shrugs his beefy shoulders. “He left for town this morning, hasn’t been back since.”
Pushing my hand into my pocket, I pull out my phone and dial Hella’s number.
“Sup?”
“Where are you?”
“I needed to get supplies for H2, the roof is leaking.”
H2 means house number two, it’s one of the four houses we keep on the property.
“All right. I need to run some shit past you all when you get back. Make it quick.”
Pushing my phone back into my pocket, I bring my attention back to Frost. “Church in an hour. Let everyone know.” He salutes me before butting his cigarette out under his boot and walking inside with me following closely behind.
Our clubhouse is large, but it needs to be. Our crew is quite substantially bigger than your average MC with around fifteen men, including three prospects. Walking straight toward the bar, I nudge my head up to Old Ben and pull out a barstool. Old Ben is the old fella who works behind the bar for us. He’s seventy-three years old, but the pension pays him shit so I keep him on. With just his pension, he wouldn’t have enough money for food and rent, so he lives in H3 and works behind the bar. I pay him, and he doesn’t pay anything for rent. He’s a crazy motherfucker, you don’t want to be caught walking on our turf when he’s around with a pistol in his hand.
“How’s it going old man, you good?” I ask, putting a toothpick into my mouth and scanning around the room. To be honest, our clubhouse isn’t too bad. The massive barn is equipped with the bottom level bar area which has sofas and pool tables scattered everywhere. Behind the bar’s where we hold church, and where my father’s bike sits proudly behind my seat at the head of the table. It’s all been renovated, complete with flooring and insulation.