Page 3

CHAPTER TWO

HAP

“ My family .” His words repeat over and over in my mind as I lie in my room, not sleeping, just staring into nothing but darkness. I can still feel his body in my arms, and I can still feel the moment the life drained from his body.

A knock on my door snaps me out of my thoughts. “Yeah?” I call out. The door opens, and Queenie walks in. She switches on the lamp, and I blink a few times as my eyes adjust. She stands there, dressed all in black.

“The service starts in thirty minutes,” she states softly before she takes the bottle of whiskey from my hold.

I squint at her. “It’s the middle of the night,” I argue.

She walks over to the curtains and as she yanks them open, daylight floods my room.

I groan and cover my face. “Fuck.”

“It’s midday. Now enough is enough. You are now a fully patched in member of the Black Hearts MC. We don’t mope, and we don’t wallow in our own self-pity. We pick our asses up, and we push forward,” she chastises.

“The kid died in my fucking arms,” I say through gritted teeth.

Her face softens. “I know he did, and you will forever feel that pain, but shutting yourself in here with this bottle ain’t going to make it feel better. I’m not saying getting up and living will make it feel better, but it sure as shit is a better plan than what you are doing now.” She walks over to my draws and starts pulling out my clothes and dumping them on me. “Now get in that shower because you fucking stink,” she says, clicking her fingers at me.

“Anyone ever told you that you should go into counselling? Or maybe like positive speaking?” I grumble sarcastically.

“Don’t sass me. I’ve been dealing with bikers before you were in fucking diapers,” she states with her hand on her hips. I slowly get to my feet, and as I am standing in front of her, I grab her face in my hands and place a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“My apologies, Queenie,” I mutter before walking into the bathroom and close the door behind me.

Once I’ve showered and dressed, I walk down the hall to the main bar. Seeing the club all standing around talking, the mood feels subdued. It’s quiet; there is no laughter, no arguments. None of the normal rowdiness.

Star’s eyes catch mine, and she gives Ghost’s arm a squeeze before making her way over. I give her a curt nod, but Star ignores that and wraps her arms around me, resting her head on my chest and holding me tight to her. I instinctively hold my hands out and look at Ghost to show him I ain’t touching her. His lips twitch as he fights back a smile. He lifts his chin, giving me his approval.

I tentatively lower my hands and place them respectfully on the middle of Star’s back, giving her an awkward pat. She gives me another squeeze before she lifts her head, still keeping her arms wrapped around me as she looks up at me. Tears trickle down her cheeks, and her eyes are full of sadness. She lets out a sniff as she lets me go and wipes her tears away with a tissue.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.

She frowns, shaking her head. “Why would you say that?” she asks.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I should have made sure he wasn’t on his own. I should have made sure that he and Tiny weren’t left there alone.”

She places her hand on my arm and squeezes it firmly. “This is no one’s fault but Eugene’s, do you hear me? That anger, that bitterness you feel, you store it, and you put it to one side. When we find Eugene, you unleash fucking hell on him. You unleash all that pain.” She pauses as she swallows back her tears. “You unleash every single fucking bit of the pain you are feeling right now, and you make that son of a bitch suffer. You make him suffer for the pain he’s caused this family,” she rasps as fresh tears spill down her cheeks.

I clench my jaw tight, holding back the emotion. Ghost comes up behind her, as if sensing her pain. He places his hand on the back of her neck, and as his eyes land on mine, his usual ice-cold stare is clouded with sadness and guilt.

I slide my hands into my pockets as I look down at Star, seeing that her eyes are now bloodshot from crying. “He will pay, and he will suffer for all he has done. For Bambi,” I promise her. Star nods, as does Ghost.

“The priest is ready to start the service,” Dixie says softly from beside us. I hadn’t even noticed her approach.

“A priest?” I ask, raising my brow.

“I don’t know. I thought maybe we needed a little faith right now.” Star sniffs as she turns into Ghost, her head leaning on his chest as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. He leads her outside, and we all follow, every one of us in black wearing our cuts.

Chairs are arranged in lines outside in front of Bambi’s coffin, with a priest standing at the head of the coffin. I don’t know how they managed to convince a priest to come here, but that was a question I wasn’t going to ask. We take out seats, and each of the brothers has their ol’ ladies held close to them. Tiny takes a seat beside me, and the chair creaks under his weight. I know he’s struggling with his own guilt. I slap my hand on the back of his neck, patting it a few times before giving it a squeeze.

“Stay strong, brother,” I encourage.

He exhales a breath and shakes his head. “I’m not sure I can do this,” he mutters.

“It ain’t going to be easy, but you’ll get through it,” I assure him.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I can stay with the club,” he adds.

I look at him, raising my brow in question before I look down at the club tattoo on his arm. “You go, that’s it. There is no coming back,” I remind him.

“I know,” he answers solemnly.

“Today we remember, uh...” the priest states, pausing.

“Bambi,” Star informs him.

His brows furrow for a moment before he shrugs and sways a little on his feet before he continues. “We are here to remember Bambi. I can see from the attendance here today that he must have been loved. I’m sure he was an okay guy considering,” he adds with a wobbly smile.

Ghost stands, and the priest immediately stops talking. His face pales as Ghost glares at him to move out of his fucking way. Ghost didn’t give a shit if he was a priest or the fucking pope. In his eyes, we were all headed for hell, so why pretend? He stands there and places his hand on the coffin.

“Bambi, fuck, he was a pain in my ass.” He scoffs out a laugh, and we all release a chuckle. “But he was loyal; he proved himself to be a part of this family, and there is nothing he wouldn’t do for any of us,” Ghost states. He holds up a cut, a patched in cut with Bambi’s name on it. “He would have been patched in if he hadn’t been taken from us.” He lays it across the coffin, placing his palm over it. “Keep riding those roads to hell, brother. Until we meet again, until we fucking ride together again,” Ghost says, patting the patch on his chest, his voice hoarse and cracking with emotion.

“You can’t say that,” the priest stutters beside him. “I’m the priest, and I’m here to do the service for Thumper. No. Simba. Lord.” He sighs. “Bambi!” he shouts with a grin. “I remembered,” he beams. Brothers around me grumble, each of them wanting to slam their fist into this priest’s face. Ghost looks at him and glares as he takes one step towards him. Before he can speak, Star moves in front of him, placing a hand on Ghost’s chest.

“Easy. He’s a priest,” she states, trying to calm him down.

“I don’t care if he’s almighty God himself; he cannot and will not tell me what I can say in my own fucking club, and I will not have this dick disrespect Bambi like that,” Ghost growls.

Star nods, lightly patting his chest. “I know. I know,” she soothes.

“Pfft! May the Lord have mercy on your soul! Evil! You don’t need a funeral; you need an exorcism,” the priest snorts with laughter.

Star whirls around to face the priest this time, her face hard as stone as she points her index finger at him, her perfectly manicured long nail just inches from the end of his nose. “I suggest you shut your fucking mouth right now,” she seethes. The priest clutches his Bible in fear to his chest as he makes the cross motion with his free hand. Star leans in and sniffs. “Are you drunk?!” Star snaps.

The priest winces. “I may have had a little holy wine.”

“Are you even a priest?” Star’s eyes narrow on him.

He swallows anxiously. “I’m David Wenslow, an actor. You may recognise me from various shows on TV. I have just landed a role acting as a priest. I like to do a little bit of method acting before the cameras start rolling.” He grins like he’s proud of himself for fooling us. “I’m not drunk, either. Well, I’m not drunk drunk. Although I did have a few glasses of wine.”

Star’s chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, with her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Shit, this guy is going to end up meeting a fucking demon.

“Darlin, it ain’t worth it.” Ghost tries to pull Star back, but she just shrugs him off. He sighs and looks to the sky.

“Where do you think you are right now?” Star asks through gritted teeth.

“Well, I’m at some biker club. I’m guessing Flounder here had a bike accident and sadly lost his life. It’s a shame.” The guy exhales and tuts, shaking his head back and forth.

“You think this is some fun, friendly club that meets up once or twice a week?” Star asks, looking at him like he’s the biggest moron she’s ever met.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, that is what you are.”

Star smiles. “Can you read this?” she asks, pointing to her cut that all the ol’ladies are wearing today.

“It says, ‘property of Ghost, Black Hearts MC 1%’,” he reads out, shrugging.

“That means I’m his, and it also means that this club is an outlaw club. They are words you may understand a little better.” She whirls around and yanks Ghost’s blade free that he always keeps on him and holds it to the guy’s throat. She grips his shirt in her other hand to keep him close, and presses the cold metal against the flesh of his neck. He swallows nervously, his eyes going wide.

“You’re like real?” he whispers.

“Oh, we are very real. We have enemies, and do you know what we do to them? We kill them, and right now we are all feeling upset and emotional because one of us was killed, and you come in thinking what a great fucking idea it would be to improve your acting skills?!”

“I’m, I, er... I’m sorry,” he whimpers.

Star lets out a malicious chuckle. “No need to rush off. We can help you with more method acting. You ever met a god?” she asks him. He shakes his head no. “Rage, stand up and introduce him to your god,” Star yells over her shoulder. Rage reaches behind his back and pulls out a fucking machete.

“Here he is, Star,” Rage says, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

The guy goes pale.

“I’m guessing you’ve never been fucked by a god,” Star threatens. “Now be a good little bitch and bend over, I will show you,” Star threatens.

“Fuck, you’ve got me so fucking hard right now, darlin’,” Ghost growls. Star gives Ghost a flirtatious wink.

“Okay, okay!” Queenie gets to her feet. “Father or David, whatever your name is, I think it’s time you left. I would say thank you for your services, but let’s face it, they were pretty shit, and well you’ve managed to piss off everyone here,” Queenie interjects before she guides the shaken guy to his car. She opens the door for him.

“She, she is the devil!” he cries in a shaky voice.

Queenie nods. “You may be right, but she’s ours, and we love her,” Queenie states proudly with a fake smile. She gives the guy a shove into his car and slams the door shut before coming back to the service.

Ghost cradles Star in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” she mutters in apology. “I didn’t know he was a fucking actor. It’s just god, that guy was a douche!” Star sighs. Ghost strokes his hand up and down her back.

“Darlin’, if you hadn’t dealt with him, one of us would have,” Hawk assures her.

“Not me,” Rage argues. We all look at him in surprise. “I wouldn’t have talked to him. I would have gut him,” he adds as he casually twists his machete in his hand.

“I thought we discussed leaving weapons at home today,” Dixie sighs.

Rage looks at her before he leans down and takes hold of her chin. “A brother is lying in that casket. The guy is out there, and there is no way I will not be carrying a weapon or multiple weapons on me. I have to protect what is mine,” he states in a low growl. Dixie’s cheeks heat, and she gives him a small smile and a nod.

A few brothers let out a laugh, and I smile to myself. “Can’t even have a funeral without the drama,” Tiny mutters beside me.

I turn and look at him and see a smile playing at his lips. Slapping my hand on his shoulder, I give it a firm squeeze. “As far as dysfunctional families go, you ain’t going to get more dysfunctional than this,” I remind him.