Lady & The Biker (Royal Bastards MC) Read online

  Lady & The Biker

  Royal Bastards MC

  Glenna Maynard

  Lady & The Biker © 2019 Glenna Maynard

  This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, business, establishments, locals, or events is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations, or locals is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Cover design Simply Defined Art - Jay Aheer

  Dedication

  To undeniable love.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Blurb

  Royal Bastards MC Code

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Dear Reader,

  Royal Bastards MC Authors

  Acknowledgements

  About Glenna

  Available Now

  Lady & The Biker

  She’s an angel thrust into the chaos of the devil’s playground.

  I’m a Royal Bastard who doesn’t deserve her. She’s too young for me. Too pure and too good. I’m going to ruin her and break her heart. I know it and she knows it and yet neither of us can stay away. I watched Wylla Mae transform from a girl into a lady. She’s forbidden and tempting with her soft curves and big doe eyes. Everything I crave and all that I deny myself until a moment of weakness forces me to break.

  ROYAL BASTARDS CODE

  PROTECT: The club and your brothers come before anything else and must be protected at all costs. CLUB is FAMILY.

  RESPECT: Earn it & Give it. Respect club law. Respect the patch. Respect your brothers. Disrespect a member and there will be hell to pay.

  HONOR: Being patched in is an honor, not a right. Your colors are sacred, not to be left alone, and NEVER let them touch the ground.

  OL’ LADIES: Never disrespect a member’s or brother’s Ol’ Lady. PERIOD.

  CHURCH is MANDATORY.

  LOYALTY: Takes precedence overall, including well-being.

  HONESTY: Never LIE, CHEAT, or STEAL from another member or the club.

  TERRITORY: You are to respect your brother’s property and follow their Chapter’s club rules.

  TRUST: Years to earn it...seconds to lose it.

  NEVER RIDE OFF: Brothers do not abandon their family.

  Chapter 1

  Easton

  Rolling up behind Murder on my black and chrome Softail motorcycle outside of the rundown two-story home a bad sensation passes over me. The older man kills his dark cherry Road King and motions for me to do the same. Fuck. He said he had to make a quick stop. Walking up on the natural wood porch of the two-story with white outdated siding, this doesn’t seem fast to me. I scrub a hand over my face and make note of the worn boards nailed over the front window and the bag of garbage that the cats or a dog has scattered across the front lawn. Soda cans, water bottles, candy wrappers, and old toilet paper are strung amongst the overgrown grass.

  Prez knocks twice. The patter of footsteps sounds and the dingy white door creaks open. He pushes it wider and enters. I follow behind him, and he squats to speak to a little girl who is sitting cross legged on the floor in front of a Tv watching cartoons. She’s a tiny thing with hair so light it’s almost white. “What’d I tell you about opening the door without asking who it is first?”

  The kid sniffles and wipes her slender pale hand across her red tipped button nose. “Sorry,” her angelic voice rasps in a low tone.

  “Where’s your mom? I picked up your prescription.” Murder pats her on the head. He turns to me and hands me the white and blue bag from the pharmacy. “Give this to the kid,” he gruffly orders me and stomps up the stairs. His boots echo on the floor overhead.

  “You sick or something?” Her warm brown eyes widen as she takes me in. I don’t get a reply. Ripping the bag open I pull out a bottle of pink liquid. “What’s your name, Lil’ Lady?”

  “Wylla Mae,” she answers me with a sniffle then coughs.

  I measure out the dosage, following the direction printed on the label and hand the plastic cup to her. “Drink it all down.” I glance at the bottle again and it says the contents need refrigerated. The kid follows me to the kitchen. When I open the fridge door up and see that it’s bare inside, I go tense. I grind my teeth, biting back a smart assed remark about the lack of food. Not even a package of bologna is present. I slam the door shut. No way for a kid to be living. Shit like this burns me up. I may not be much but I’m not heartless. I look around the kitchen. The dishes are stacked by the sink and covered in wiggling maggots. My stomach coils at the sight. I throw a hand up over my mouth. The putrid smell of the rotten food overflowing from the garbage can and onto the floor hits my nose. Flies buzz around the forgotten room. Murder storms back down the stairs, boots thundering on the dark hardwood flooring with a hot pink backpack in tow. Clothes and a purple stuffed bear are hanging out as he attempts to zip it shut.

  “Put a jacket on her and take her to the clubhouse. I’ll be there when I can.”

  Christ on a cracker. I scrub a hand through my dark hair, and he holds the backpack out in my direction. “I’m no damn babysitter. I’ve got plans. It’s Friday night.”

  “Don’t give a fuck what you have planned. Make sure she gets her meds and get her something to eat. I’m counting on you.” He thrusts the backpack at my chest, and I grab hold of it to keep it from hitting the dirty floor.

  “Who is this kid?”

  “I’ll explain later. Just fucking do what you’re told, East.”

  “Fine.” I accept the backpack and the job, taking the medicine back out of the fridge and shove it in the side pocket.

  Murder stares at Wylla Mae. His voice goes all soft losing its harsh grit. “Listen, Cupcake. My brother here is gonna take you for a ride on his motorcycle. His name is East. You be a good girl and I’ll bring you some ice cream later once I get your mom to see the doctor. Okay?” He pats her head and she nods as a tear trickles down her cheek.

  Shit. Double shit. I know nothing good will come of this. I don’t know who this kid is, but I can’t go against my Prez. He better not have me in some mess with a custody issue or some shit. Last thing I need is to be called in for kidnapping this little girl.

  Murder stomps back up the stairs. Halfway up he turns back to me. “Get her out of here now,” he growls.

  I shoot him a chin lift.

  “All right, Lil’ Lady. You got a jacket somewhere?”

  She goes to the closet by the front door and tugs out a winter coat. It’s black and has a gold princess crown em
broidered with her name across the back. She gets her coat on and shoves her feet into black boots trimmed with fur. Maybe her mom fell on hard times because her clothes are in good shape and name brand. I shouldn’t judge so harshly but the empty fridge and dirty dishes pisses me off.

  “You have anything else you need?”

  “No,” she whispers and coughs.

  “Zip that jacket up.”

  She struggles to get the ends of the zipper to meet, and I end up placing the backpack on the couch and dropping to my knees to see to it for her. The tip of her nose candy apple red and crusted with dried snot. She looks like Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. I want to wipe her face off, but I can hear Murder upstairs and know he’ll have my ass if I don’t get her out of here. “There. Let’s go.” I hand her the backpack and she loops her fingers around the straps dragging it behind her.

  Outside, I shove the straps of the backpack over her shoulders. Lifting her small frame up by the waist, I plop her down on the seat of my bike. “Listen, I’ll drive slow. You don’t need to be scared. My helmet is too big for you, so you’ll ride without one. Keep your feet on these pegs.” I tap her leg and point. She nods. “When I get on, put your arms around my waist, head on my back. Don’t lean or move. Don’t panic. I’ll keep you safe.” Gathering her long pale locks in my hand, I tuck them down inside her jacket, so the wispy strands doesn’t smack her in the face during the ride.

  I get on and she curls her fingers in the belt loops of my jeans holding on tight.

  I let out a breath and hope I won’t regret this.

  The sound of my Harley roars into the night as the little girl with soft brown eyes clutches tight against my form.

  The moment I roll up to the Devil’s Playground, our clubhouse, I know bringing the kid here is a bad idea. I take one look at the two-story brick building that once housed offices before it was converted to the clubhouse and know this is the last place a kid should be. A party is in full swing or about to be. I shut off my bike and once she lets go of my pants swing my leg over. I ruffle my fingers through her pale hair. “See nothing to it. You’re a natural.” I grip her waist and pluck her off the seat, planting her black boots on the ground. “Keep your head down and stick to my side. Don’t look at what’s happening inside just keep walking until I tell you it’s okay.”

  I trudge toward the entrance, the classic rock music growing louder. Fuck. This is no place for an angel. No place at all. Fucking Murder. What the hell was he thinking tasking me with brat duty? This is some shit one of his muffler bunnies should be handling. What the hell am I supposed to do with her? I know shit all about taking care of a kid.

  Here we fucking go. I push the heavy metal door open, the classic rock of Lynyrd Skynyrd filtering through and blasting me right in the damn face along with a cloud of smoke. I scan the room and the festivities haven’t started. My brothers are sitting around drinking and playing pool. A few hangarounds are on hand but nothing provocative is happening yet. I check my watch. The night is still young.

  “Hey handsome,” Mariah purrs, licking her lips and rubbing up on my right side, her fake tits spilling out of her neon green tube top. I’m in no mood for her and the bullshit she brings with her. Woman is nothing but pure drama. Catty and clingy as hell. Two things I don’t want or need.

  I push her off. “Not now.”

  “Shit.” She notices my shadow. “Didn’t know you had a kid, East.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Wait—you aren’t into some sick shit, are you?”

  My brow furrows and I ball my fist. “Fuck you for even saying some shit like that, you fuckin’ dumb cunt.” I shove past the bitch as she flips her stringy bleach blonde hair with dark roots and go to the bar. I stick Wylla Mae on a stool. “Get her a Sprite,” I yell over the noise to Slater.

  He gives me a chin lift, grabs a can from the cooler, and slides it down the bar. I pop the tab. “Don’t drink nothing or eat a damn thing unless I give it to you directly. No one here would hurt you but shit happens, and I’d rather be safe than sorry. Understood?”

  Her doe eyes gaze up at me. She doesn’t say anything but accepts the pop and chugs.

  “You hungry?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Come on. Let’s see what we can find in the kitchen.” She slides down the stool and curls into my side where I keep her pressed until we get there. It’s only a matter of time before shit starts to get wild around here. The kitchen door swings open and Pam stands on the other side.

  “What are you up to?” She raises her arms over her head, securing her dark curly hair in a ponytail, revealing the skull and roses tatted on her left hip.

  “This is Wylla Mae, my charge for the evening. Whatchu’ got good, fast, and hot?”

  “I’d tell you but it’s not appropriate for small ears.” Her laughter rings out.

  I shake my head. I walked straight into that one.

  “Stick this in the fridge will ya.” I dig the medicine out and toss the bottle her way.

  “Aw, sweetie, are you sick?”

  Wylla Mae sniffles and wipes at her nose reminding me that I need to wash that face. While Pam gets the medicine in the fridge and questions the kid about what she wants to eat I grab some paper towels and wet them.

  “C’mere, Lil’ Lady.” I grip the back of her head with one hand and use my other to clean her face. She scrunches her nose and squirms, twisting from side to side doing her best to avoid the wet end of the paper towel. “There. Good as new.” I turn toward Pam and toss the paper towels in the trash. “You busy tonight?”

  Her finger wags in my face. “Oh no, you aren’t putting your job off on me. It’s Friday night.”

  “Come on. You know I don’t know shit about taking care of a sick kid.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Feed her. Give her water and the pink stuff as directed.” She smirks.

  “I’ll owe you one.”

  “Hmm.” Her black painted nail taps against her chin. “You’d owe me more than one.”

  “I wanna stay with you, East,” Wylla Mae shouts and barrels into my side, surprising the fuck outta me.

  “You heard the lady.” Pam winks at her and slides a grilled cheese sandwich onto a paper plate. “See you later, daddy.” She cackles going out the door, leaving me on my own with Wylla Mae.

  Fucking great.

  I cup the back of my neck and look down at the little girl. “How old are you anyway, kid?”

  “Eight and a half.”

  “Christ. You look six.”

  “Do not,” she sasses then wheezes out a cough and rears her boot back kicking me in the shin.

  “Ow shit. What’d you attack me for?”

  “Momma says you shouldn’t say bad words. Now you owe me a quarter.” Her wrist flicks, palm turned upward.

  “I didn’t. Never mind. You don’t go around kicking people. Get your food,” I growl at her.

  Her bottom lip trembles but she doesn’t shed any tears. Those doe eyes hold me captive, and I realize I’m acting like a jerk. Wylla Mae is sick and stuck with strangers. Who knows what happened with her mom or when Murder will come to collect her? I can see it in her gaze. Fear. Sadness. But there is something else there. A glimmer of hope. My heart constricts in my chest.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you don’t kick me. You don’t kick adults.”

  “Okay.”

  “All right. I’m gonna take you upstairs to a room where you can watch Tv or whatever.”

  “Okay.” Her hand trembles as she grabs the paper plate.

  “Christ. Let me have it.” I take it from her before she drops it, and she grasps my free hand wrapping her clammy fingers around mine, squeezing tight. My heart squeezes tighter. What the hell am I doing?

  **

  Upstairs, I pace the small room. I crash here sometimes when I’ve had too much to drink or simply don’t want to make the ride home. It’s not much but serves me when I need to scratch an itch or pass out.
The space fits a full-sized bed, couch, small table, and a flat screen mounted on the wall over the dresser. Like I said it isn’t much.

  Wylla Mae is sprawled out on my bed hugging her purple teddy bear. I turn on some channel that exclusively shows classic cartoons. She seems content and hasn’t even bothered to ask about her mother once. Not that I would have an answer for her. Hell, I don’t even know who her mom is.

  “Hey.” I grab the remote control and press the button to turn the volume down on her show. “What’s your mom’s name?”

  “Alexa.”

  “You got a dad?” Her head moves side to side. “An aunt, uncle, cousin, grandma?” There’s gotta be someone else who can take her in until whatever is going on with her mom is settled.

  “Just my mom.”

  Great. Of course. “Okay.” I increase the volume on the Tv. I need a damn smoke. A tension headache throbs in my temples. Pulsing faster and harder with every passing second. My head is about split in two. I go over to the window and crack it then dig through the top drawer of the dresser for my emergency cigarettes stash. Bingo. At least one thing has gone my way tonight. Back at the window, I lean against the ledge. I light up my Marlboro and take a hard drag. Tobacco pulls through my lungs in a familiar burn that I’ve grown addicted to tasting.

  “You shouldn’t be smoking in here.” Wylla Mae glares at me up on her knees in the center of the bed, lips jutted out and a hand on her hip. She looks ready to pop off like a little firecracker in her white tee with a sunflower ironed on the center and matching yellow sweatpants with a sunflower embroidered on the pocket. Little sassy assed brat is what she is. She looks like an angel till she opens that mouth. Kid was shy at first but now she won’t shut the hell up. She’s a damn motormouth.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because it’s bad for you. You could get cancer and die or worse.”