Page 3 of Dylan’s Dad (Horsemen Of The Apocalypse MC #1)

Reaper

“ H ey, Reaper looks like you’ve got some mail.”

I spring to my feet and snatch the letter from the guard’s hand. “Thanks, man.” Days when I get letters from my Little Flower are always the highlight of my week. Ripping the envelope open I reverently remove her latest letter.

Reaper,

So, yeah. Wow! You’ve lived like this whole life and you are only what?

Like 38? That’s intense. When I was thinking of you being Dylan’s dad I was thinking like you were a lot older with gray hair and possibly a beard.

Anyways so you want to know more about me well I am 20 and me and Dylan met when I was like 17.

We’ve been living together for almost 2 years.

I had kinda a rough go of it after my parents died and Dylan helped me get my life back together.

My parents died in a car crash when I was 16 like I said but they were great parents.

They were both teachers and were always there for me for every school event.

They were high school sweethearts and were still very much in love until the end.

I always looked up to them and have dreamed of a love like theirs.

This is kinda hard for me to even write about them.

Maybe this could be something I tell you more about when you get out?

Or maybe I could come visit you? I’ve actually been thinking about visiting you a lot lately.

All my best,

Lola

Holy shit! She wants to come visit me? Here?

God, I’d love to see her but this is no place for her.

I’m nearly out, I will just remind her of that and ask her to wait.

I place her newest letter with her others and pull out the pictures of her Stallion brought.

She is absolutely stunning with her porcelain skin and curly onyx colored hair; she looks a little like a doll.

The pictures aren’t the best quality obviously since they were taken at a distance but she seems so vibrant and alive in a way I haven’t seen in a long time.

Reaching over I grab some pen and paper and start my next letter.

***

Lola

It has been months now of sneaking around trading letters with Reaper and it gets a little harder every time.

I need to come clean to Dylan before he finds out and things get worse.

Tonight, over dinner, I will come clean about all of it.

Pulling into the driveway, the breath immediately leaves my lungs at the sight of Dylan’s Dodge.

FUCK! Okay well, this is fine. Maybe I didn’t get a letter from Reaper today.

All those hopes vanish the second I walk in the front door.

The place is trashed and I can smell the stale stench of beer in the air. FUCK!

I rush through the house, searching for Dylan. Panic sets in as I find him slumped on the couch, empty bottles surrounding him. His eyes are bloodshot, and his face is flushed with anger.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I demand, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and frustration.

Dylan's gaze snaps up to me, his expression twisted with rage. "Don't you dare play innocent with me, Lola! I found your secret stash of letters hidden away."

My heart drops to my stomach. He knows. He knows about my correspondence with Reaper. The guilt that had been eating at me suddenly turns into a consuming fire, threatening to consume everything I hold dear.

"Dylan," I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can explain."

His laughter is bitter and filled with betrayal. "Explain? You've been lying to me this whole time! Sneaking around behind my back and now I find out you're cheating on me with my dad!"

Dylan's words slice through me like a knife. Cheating? No, it's not like that. But how do I explain it to him? "Dylan, please, just listen to me," I plead, my voice trembling with desperation. "It's not what you think."

He scoffs, his eyes filled with hurt and anger. "Oh, really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks pretty damn clear."

I step toward him in an attempt to calm him, I never even see his fist coming until it makes contact with my mouth.

The force of Dylan's blow sends me stumbling backward, pain radiating through my jaw.

A metallic taste floods my mouth and when I open my mouth blood spills out.

Shock and disbelief wash over me as I clutch onto the edge of the couch for support.

Tears well up in my eyes, a mixture of physical and emotional pain overwhelming me.

"Dylan," I gasp, my voice shaky with shock and hurt. "How could you?"

He doesn't respond, his face contorted with rage as he advances toward me again. Instinct kicks in, and I scramble back, desperately trying to put some distance between us. But he's faster, stronger. He grabs onto my arm, his grip tightening painfully.

"You thought you could betray me and get away with it? You thought I wouldn't find out?" His voice is a low growl as he towers over me, his hot breath thick with alcohol suffocates me.

Fear courses through my veins as I struggle against his grip, a primal instinct urging me to fight back.

Deep down, I know that resisting and fighting back won't be enough.

Dylan's anger has consumed him, transforming him into someone unrecognizable.

I can see the darkness in his eyes, and I know that I'm in danger.

In a desperate attempt to free myself, I use every ounce of strength to wrench my arm from his grasp. The pain shoots through me, but I push through it, scrambling away from him and towards the front door.

"Dylan, stop!" I cry out, tears streaming down my face. "Please, just listen to me!"

But he's not listening. He's lost in a haze of rage and betrayal, and I fear that there's no getting through to him. I need to get out, now! I scramble for the door that in reality is less than fifty feet away but feels like miles.

As I reach for the doorknob, Dylan lunges at me, his fingers gripping the back of my shirt. He pulls hard, throwing me to the floor before kicking me straight in the ribs. I curl in on myself twisting into the fetal position bracing for more.

The pain is searing, every blow from Dylan's rage-infused assault leaving me gasping for air.

I can hear the sound of my own sobs mixing with his angry shouts, the room spinning around me in a haze of fear and agony.

In this moment, I wonder if I'll even make it out alive.

Suddenly, there is a reprieve and I think maybe he is done.

Dylan grabs a fistful of my hair dragging me down the hall toward the bedroom.

"A whore like you needs to be reminded who she belongs to.

" I've never been more afraid in my life.

When he gets me to the door I grab onto the door frame and feel the intense fiery pain lancing across my scalp.

Nothing I do is going to stop this, stop him.

He slams my face into the doorframe and everything goes black.

***

Waking up, I can barely open my left eye and everything hurts.

Turning slowly I can see Dylan passed out on his side facing away from me.

His short black hair is ruffled and the sheet is sticking to his sweat coated skin.

I gingerly climb out of the bed, careful not to wake Dylan, and quietly grab my bag and some clothes trying to ignore the pain between my legs.

Quietly creeping from the bedroom, I notice blood smeared on the doorframe and my stomach clenches, my anxiety spiking.

The short distance from the bedroom to the door feels like an eternity and by the time I finally make it outside my anxiety is so high my chest feels tight and breathing feels impossible.

I roll out of the driveway in neutral before turning the engine on and then gun it to the same semi-secluded spot I regularly drive to when I read Reaper’s letters.

Popping open the glovebox I fish out the deck of tarot cards that Reaper had dropped off for me and I pull out a random card which just so happens to be the Death card and slip it under my wiper blade before heading back on the road.

I need the prospect to see the card so I’m going to have to drive around in public places to get his attention and then hopefully Stallion will come find me.

I never thought Dylan was capable of this.

We have been together for years now and never once has he ever shown an ounce of violence.

His anger has always been a bit of a problem, we argue a lot but he has never ever been violent toward me or anyone in the last few years since I’ve known him.

The moment I hear the roar of the motorcycle I know they’ve got my message.

I pull over into the nearest parking lot, shut off my car and rest my forehead against the steering wheel as I begin sobbing uncontrollably.

Less than 5 minutes later I hear the roar of a whole lot of motorcycles.

A very large, muscular man with long blonde locks I would kill for approaches my window.

Rolling down my window, the blonde’s sky blue eyes go wide, “Jesus Christ, Darlin.” His hand moves toward me as if to cup my cheek and I flinch back.

“Whoa, Darlin.” His hand retreats, “I’m Stallion, you called for me.

Who did this to you? Reaper is gonna lose his shit.

” The tears return with a vengeance. “Shit, Sweetheart. Alright let’s get you out of here, we will take you back to the clubhouse and you can talk when you are ready.

How does that sound?” Numbly I find myself nodding.

“Alright, Darlin, you don’t look like you should be driving right now.

Do you mind if I drive?” I start to shake my head and Stallion opens my door.

I move to get out but when I go to stand, the pain is unbearable and I whimper and fall back into my seat.

“Shit. Is it ok if I lift you and move you ‘round to the passenger side?”

I nod again feeling like a damn bobble head.

Where are my words? Why can’t I just speak?

“Okay, Darlin, I’m gonna pick you up as carefully as possible but since I don’t know how bad it is.

. . It might hurt.” He scoops me up like I weigh nothing and I can’t stop the scream of agony that rips from my throat.

“Sin, can you open the goddamn door for me! Monk, call the Doc and have him meet us at the clubhouse NOW! It’s okay Darlin, I got you.

You are safe with us, I promise.” He whispers against my hair before slowly settling me into my passenger seat.

It’s strange how he goes from growling and commanding when talking to the others but is soft and calming when speaking to me.