Burnt (9 page)

The Devil’s Spawn clubhouse, or compound, whatever you want to call it, sits on the outskirts of town tucked in the woodland between us, and Clearwater our closest neighbour. It’s a behemoth property consisting of the main clubhouse, courtyard that is easily the size of half a football field, scattered outbuildings, garage the guys use for onsite bike repairs and maintenance, and the dorms. The dorms are a newer addition. Dad and Uncle Pipe designed and oversaw the building after one of our more memorable lockdowns about eight-years ago. A few fists were thrown, a chick lost part of her weave, dad had to fire a warning shot out of his shotgun, and I ended up with a black eye. Good times all round I say.

Devil’s Spawn MC’s only real rival is Satan’s Sons’. They’re located not far outside Boulder, on the opposite side to us. Most of the time the two MC’s live in relative harmony. Maybe not exactly harmony, but more like you-don’t-piss-us-off-and-we-won’t-have-to-kill-you type of understanding. When shit between them does heat up we occasionally face the dreaded lockdown. I say dreaded because there is nothing worse than being stuck in close confines with a bunch of angry, frustrated testosterone laden men with no outlet, even fuckingg because let’s face it they did so much of that the place is now crawling with their kids, hence the frustration. A hoard of demon children that are bored out of their minds, hyped up on whatever sugar they’ve managed to pillage cause havoc wherever they go are not my idea of a good time. The lastly being faced with a group of cranky, PMS suffering women, that want nothing more than to drink six bottles of wine, swallow a whole handful of sleeping tablets, and don ear muffs to drown out the noise of their men and children bickering like infants, you have the perfect combination of circus and insane asylum.

Because the club has grown exponentially in the last twelve years, more guys have taken Ol ladies, and in turn have kiddies popping out everywhere, the clubhouse wasn’t big enough to accommodate everyone’s families during lockdown. Dad and uncle Pipe had it voted at Church, a biker super-secret-meeting-thingy, to add a large dormitory that would house the ever expanding families during a time of crisis. It ended up being a huge, spacious, one level building with central lounge/dining that’s open-plan, and contains enough couches, TV’s, recliners, and tables with long bench seats to house an Army. Sometimes I think that’s what dad and Uncle Pipe were building. An army.

The kitchen with its huge pass-through windows, sits directly off the dining space with a bar is attached on either side. Got to make it easy for the guys to get a beer whenever possible don’t you? The clubhouse has its own a fully-overstocked bar with a 24/7 bartender, and is size of a regular bar at any local watering hole, but you can never have enough beer attainment facilities according to the guys.

To one side of the open plan space is a hallway with doors off each side that house the sleeping quarters. Actually both sides have the identical set up. The only difference is, one side has a games room with more TV’s, and gaming systems set up for the brothers’ with Ol ladies and kids, and the opposite side is primarily for the patched members that don’t hold a position in the club, and are essentially single, or visitors lucky enough to be stuck here with us during lockdown. Dad thought it was a good idea, and I agree wholeheartedly, to separate the families and the single guys giving them a little extra privacy. No one needs to see the club whores coming in and out of the guys rooms after they finish “entertaining” them.

Because we’re only an hour away from Boulder, and two and a half hours away from Denver, Lou, mom, a couple of Ol ladies from the club, and I make the trek to Boulder once a month for a girls day out that includes shopping, and obtaining any supplies the guys need that aren’t readily available here. We also make the hour journey when lockdown takes effect. Can’t have the guys starving, and kiddies without candy. God forbid. Gathering that amount of supplies makes us look like we are the doomsday prep team from hell. It’s kind of funny the looks we get when we’re seen wheeling out ten or more carts full of food.

Back to my little house though. I knew the moment I saw it that it’d be the place I call home. With its cute little picket fence that leads into my front garden complete with flagstone pathway, and yellow shuttered windows dressed with planter boxes this place is my sanctuary.

Mr Connell, the houses owner, has done heaps of work on the interior over the past few years. Not necessarily remodelling, but definitely updating. The kitchen is new, and complete with granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. French doors off the dining room lead out on to a newly decked seating area, perfect for me to watch Abel sniff around while having my morning caffeine allowance. The house has been repainted inside and out, and the bathroom to the master bedroom was remodelled to include a huge Victorian claw foot tub. That is by far my favourite room of the house. White and teal coloured tiles, brass fittings, a his and hers sink, my claw foot tub, and two person shower make it the perfect retreat when I need to soak my tired muscles after a long day hunched over wielding my tattoo gun.

My little cottage went up for sale five months ago. Unbeknown to me dad bought it, continuing to deposit my rent money into an account to pay off the mortgage when it came time to sign the deed over to me. The only reason I know about any of this is because I heard dad and uncle Pipe arguing about the fact uncle Pipe had wanted to buy it first. His granddaughter loves this house and he wanted to ensure she was always able to call this place her second home. I’ve never let on I know about the purchase. What’s the point? The men in my life tend to steamroll over me and do what they want anyway. The deed is done per se. Deep down I’m more than grateful, so what does it matter. It all worked out in the end.

Tucking Lexi into bed in her bedroom, I say it’s hers because I painted it purple and silver at her request, and there are more teddy bears and transformer figurines in here than Toys ‘R’ Us, I kiss her on the forehead as Dec rumbles out,

“Love you Angel Face. Dream big”.

Giving him what I hope is a soft smile I offer,

“Beer?”

Chuckling he follows me down the hall. His heavy footfalls signal his intent to join me even though he replies,

“Yeah Kendall. Been a long fucking day.”

I know Declan, dad, and uncle Pipe went on a run today. I never know where they’re going, or what they’re doing. It’s not my business, and as long as they come home safe and unharmed that’s all I need to know. What I am aware of is that they do partake in dangerous shit. If dad and Declan, well actually all the guys carry guns strapped to their backs and K-bars strapped to their belts, they certainly aren’t going to a church bake sale. It doesn’t take a genius to work out they aren’t bankers or even really mechanics.

Giving Abel a good rub down, Declan lets him out the back door, and I follow taking a seat on my comfy as hell, deep cushioned chair on the patio. Six inch thick aqua marine cushions, pad dark stained timber chairs with adjustable back and arm rests making them uber comfy. Placing Dec’s Bud and my Millers on the table between us, Dec drops down kitty corner to me. He lets out a ragged sigh along with a puff of smoke from the cigarette he just lit.

“Damn that feels good. My fucking back was aching after riding all day. Fuck. I’m getting old Kendall. I swear it.”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.

“You’re twenty-three Declan. Hardly an old man yet. You need to harden up if you’re going to chase Lexi and any other little ones you might have around.”

Just like that, both he and I realise what I said. The look that replaces the relief on his face from moments ago is nothing short of frightening.

“Not fucking happening Kendall. I wouldn’t plant another kid in Isabella if my fucking life depended on it.” He never calls Isabella his wife. Or, for that matter his Ol Lady. That part I understand. The former, not so much. They didn’t have a patch in ceremony for her, and she doesn’t have her own property patch either. It’s not my business, but the fact Declan never arranged either speaks volumes to me “You don’t want more kids Dec? You’re a great dad and Lexi would make an awesome big sister.” In truth I really don’t want the answer to that question. I shouldn’t have asked it in the first place.

As much as it pained me for Lexi to be born to Declan and Isabella, it would be an even bigger tragedy if Lexi were forever an only child. She’ll make the best big sister. She’s loyal, caring, funny, and affectionate.

“Sure I do Kenny. Just not with Isabella.” Turning to fully face me Dec adds, “Never thought I’d be here Kendall. Never thought I’d have a kid with a bitch that took more care of her fucking shoes than her own daughter, let alone bringing another kid into the joke I call a marriage.” I know this.

I know he views his marriage as more of a prison than a blessing. Regardless of his position on it I respect him a whole hell of a lot for following through on what he thought was right. Especially because any man that can stay with a woman like Isabella, and not either kill himself within a week, or run screaming is a hell of a man worthy of everyone’s respect.

“Well that sure does explain my educational trip to the grocery store with Lexi this evening then.” Raising a brow at me he prompts me to go on. Through my giggles I manage to choke out, “We were passing the personal care aisle when Lexi spots the row of condoms and asks me if I think we should get you some more. She then proceeds to tell me you’ve got a whole bunch in the drawer beside your bed, so you must like them because you have tons.”

Spluttering on his beer Dec looks at me with a mixture of surprise and amusement. More amusement than anything else though.

“Fucking hell. That girl. I swear nothing is sacred anymore. What’d you tell her?”

“I told her that we’ll leave buying them to you. Just in case you have a special type that are your favourite.” I can’t help but continue my giggles.

“Jesus fucking Christ. She’s going to kill me Kendall. I don’t know whether to laugh at the shit that kid comes out with, or fucking cry half the time.” I know the feeling.

“Laugh. Definitely laugh. Lexi cracks me up Declan. You’re so lucky she is like this. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better match for you.”

Shaking his head he concedes the point.

“No. Me neither.”

Finishing our beers in silence I hop up and pull out my phone to check the time. I’m usually never in bed before one-AM because of the hours I work, it means I more often than not get home late seeing as most of the guys that come in are night-owls, or preoccupied during the daylight hours. My shifts start at eleven-AM, and can run as late as eleven-PM, sometimes midnight. If it’s a busy day full of walk-ins, or I’m booked out with appointments midnight is more likely. In a town of only twelve thousand being booked out isn’t as uncommon as you’d think.

Seeing the clock flash eleven-thirty-PM I turn to address Declan,

“I’m going to have to hit the hay. If Princess Lexi is going to be waking me at some ungodly hour I have to get my beauty sleep.” Calling to Abel so he can be let in, and settle himself on his bed by the front door, I swear I hear Dec mutter ‘You don’t need to get any more beautiful’ under his breath. I don’t acknowledge it. I never do. I’ve heard him say things like this before. They’re barely loud enough to hear, but I hear them all the same. I know Declan is attracted to me. That’s never been up for debate. The look in his eyes every time he sees me. The hungry looks he thinks I don’t see when I bother to do myself up for a night a Rough Shod have alerted me to it. What I don’t know is if this is because I’m a woman and his marriage is a shit fight, or if it’s because I’m Kendall. The Kendall he’s known and grown up with all his life. Sometimes I wish I knew the answer. Most of the time I think it would only hurt me more if it isn’t the one I want to hear. So I push it aside and try to forget about it.

Standing, Declan makes his way into the kitchen depositing his empty beer bottle in the recycling bin on his way past, and heads for the front door. In passing he says,

“I’ll be back around eight in the morning if that’s okay to pick up Lexi. You sure you’re right to get her ready for nursery?”

“Of course Declan, she’ll be ready when you get here. Goodnight Dec.” Walking him to the door is bitter sweet. While there’s nothing I’d like more than to ask him to stay. For him to take me to bed. Make love to me. Even just hold me for a while. I know I can’t, and I wouldn’t anyway. There is however one positive about watching him leave. It means I can go to bed and take care of the ache between my legs. I can dream of a times things could have been different between us. Always look at the bright side when there’s nothing else but rain uncle Pipe says.

Opening the door and stepping out Declan turns to wish me goodnight.

“You too sweetheart. Sleep well yeah?” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

Not wanting to miss out on giving his usual goodbye Monty squawks out, “Bye fucker. Bye fucker.”

Laughing as he mounts his bike, throwing one long muscled leg over and riding away will always make me hot. It also makes me sad in equal measure. Declan’s gone again. As always. At least I know for sure this time he’ll be back.

It fucking hurts leavin Kendall. Always has, and I figure it always will. The last thing I want to be doing is going back to my place without her. It blew my mind tonight listening to her tell me about my daughters condom conversation with her at the store. Lexi never ceases to amaze me the things she figures out. Kendall either. The way she deals with everything that pops up The fact she doesn’t make Lexi feel stupid for asking questions, and she answers them so fucking well every time. I don’t know how Kendall always comes up with the right answers, but she does.

The only plus side about tonight is that DB isn’t home. I get to stretch out in my bed, on my own, and stroke one out thinking of Kendall. Her sweet voice. Sexy as fuck body, and what I want I’d do to it given half the chance. Ever heard anyone say riding with a hard on is fucking uncomfortable? Let me tell you, it fucking is. I swear by the time I make it the last block home I’ll have a goddamn permanent zipper impression on my cock.

Idling in my driveway, and cutting the engine to my bike, I notice there’s lights on inside. There’s only one reason they’d be on. Goddamn, motherfucking, sonofabitch! One night. I only want one night of peace and fucking quiet away from Isabella and her shit. It’s not much to ask. Or at least I don’t think it is.

Unlocking the door, I look around and notice she’s nowhere in sight. I take it the lazy bitch just forgot to turn the lights out again. If there’s one thing I can say that’s constant with Isabella, it’s her lack of regard for money. Actually that’s not the right way to put it. Isabella has a high regard for money, she just doesn’t like me having any of it left at the end of the month. It doesn’t matter how much I pull in, and I pull in some impressive cake from my normal cut of MC business, wage from the bike shop ‘Chasers’, plus extra cash from the runs I do. The bitch spends every dollar. Every time. I’ve taken to putting money aside in an account she knows nothing about to make sure my little girl has a college fund, and some extra for the shit Lexi needs that DB refuses to buy her. Fuck. Isabella won’t even buy Lexi an ice cream at the shop when she does take Lexi out with her on the rare occasion. She seems to begrudge spending a cent on Lexi, while she walks around buying five hundred dollar shoes she sure as shit doesn’t need. It’s not like we live on the bread line either, even though the bitch spends cash like water runs from a tap. We live well. We live more than comfortably. Not in the lap of luxury like Isabella seems to think she deserves, but better than a lot of people.

My head snaps up when I hear a pretty fucking distinctive moaning noise. Making my way down the hall after slippin my boots off to silence my steps I go to investigate. Oh Hell fucking no! I say to myself when I hear the moans again. I swear if this bitch is fucking around on me in my own fucking house I’ll gut her. Not because I fucking care who dips their cock in her snatch. I don’t. But because for years this bitch has made it her mission to ruin my life, including any happiness I could’ve had without her literal ball and chain.

Isabella’s demands that I be faithful, stay married to her, and keep my mouth shut about her threats have only been adhered to because of the very possibility she’d take Lexi from me. I won’t put anything past this bitch, and it’s a risk that I’m just not willing to take. If I lost Lexi it would kill me. Without a doubt, kill me. If she is fucking some dude in our bedroom, she better fucking believe this bullshit marriage is over. This will just give me the ammunition I need to make it happen sooner rather than later. I’m not stupid though. Hell no. I grab my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans with my camera app at the ready. Yes. I won’t put it past my cunt of a wife to deny her fucking around on me to anyone who’ll listen. Not that I honestly think many people will.

The door to our bedroom is almost shut, but not quite. Pushing it open just enough to lean against the door frame my eyes widen. Not in excitement, lust, or horny male appreciation. Fuck no. In pure and utter disgust. Isabella and John Falk’s, yeah I know the dudes name, he happens to be a councilman in Boulder, a fucking shady one at that, are right in the middle of the bed baring all for the world to see. John’s on the bottom with Isabella riding him like he’s a prize fucking bronco. Only thing that flashes through my mind is that it’ll sure as fuck make a great picture. You can clearly see John’s face seeing as the lamp on the bedside table is switched on, and there is no mistaking it’s Isabella with that god awful fairy tramp stamp on her lower back.

Just another reason to add the many why my wife’s a cunt. Isabella found out a few years ago that I used to call Kendall my tiny fairy when we were younger. Low and behold the very next day she comes home with some swirly tribal shit across her lower back and a purple fairy dead centre of it. Thank fuck she didn’t go to Skin Fusion, or ask Kendall to do it. I think if that’d happened Reaper would have spat nails aimed directly at Isabella’s head. I was pissed. Not because I care what the bitch marks her body with. No. Because she took something that was mine. Something that was mine and Kendall’s, and destroyed it just like she has everything else she’s come into contact with.

Raising my phone, I snap off a couple of photos and start clapping. The look of shock on John’s face as he almost launches Isabella off his cock, and the bed at the same time is priceless. Isabella looks almost sick. Don’t be fooled. It isn’t because she’s worried she may have hurt me. No, not at all. This bitch looks sick because she knows her meal ticket has just run out.

“Must say John, didn’t think you had it in you. Balls of steel man. Balls of steel. Fucking a bikers’ wife and all.”

Stammering and spluttering Isabella quickly jumps up wrapping herself in the tangled bed sheets.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Baby. It just happened. It doesn’t mean anything.”

How many bitches and men too have uttered those exact same words? Probably every last one of them. Barking out a harsh laugh I shake my head at her.

“Sure bitch. I believe you too. Pity no one else will. Anyone ever tell you a picture’s worth a thousand words?” Watching her jaw literally drop as I wave my phone in front of me I make my intentions very clear. I don’t want to have to repeat myself now do I? “Listen up this is how it’s going to go. I’m going to grab some shit for me and Lexi enough for say a week. You finish up here because I’m sure your new man still wants to blow his load. Blue balls and all. After, get your shit and get the fuck out of my house within the next five days, or I make you pay. I’ll have papers drawn up by end of business tomorrow signing your rights to Lexi away, and twenty grand cash waiting for you so you can fuck right the hell off.” Taking a step deeper into the room squaring my shoulders I continue “This is my final and only offer. I’ll be changing the locks, closing accounts, and throwing the shit you don’t take in the fucking trash after the five days are up. You touch my or Lexi’s shit, it comes out of your twenty grand. You destroy or break any-fucking-thing in this house, or the garage, it comes out your twenty grand. You do more damage than the twenty grand covers, I take it out of your man here. After you sign those papers, take your shit and your money, you NEVER,” I roar, “come near Lexi, Kendall, my family, or the club ever the fuck again. You do and you guessed it, I make you fucking pay. This is your only deal bitch so think and think smart on how you want this to play out.”

I can see the wheels in her head turning. I know she’s trying to figure out a way to manipulate, or turn this in her favour. I think I’m being pretty fair though. Giving her the chance to leave without laying her out, and giving her money and safe passage to crawl the fuck away is mighty generous if I don’t say so myself. If dad was here and saw this shit he wouldn’t be so forgiving.

“Answer bitch. No scheming. No manipulating. You know, that shit you’re so good at, forget it because it’s not going to happen. Tell me you’ll do as you’re told for once and fuck right the hell off.” Giving her a chance to answer, but not long though I roar again, “Answer me cunt.”

Shaking and crying now, Isabella chokes out her agreement.

“O-o-okay Declan. Please, please don’t do this. I love y-you baby.”

Laughing because seriously, that shit is funny. She loves me? I thing fucking not. I can’t help but be disgusted with her as well.

“Fuck off. You don’t love me you never have. You love my money, you love the status you get being with me and you might love my cock, but you DO NOT fucking love me. You sure as fuck don’t love my daughter and that’s all I care about right now. Now get the fuck out of my way, let me get mine and my daughters shit, so you and your new doormat can get back to whatever the fuck you call what you were doing a minute ago.”

Grabbing my duffle off the floor of my walk-in robe I start stuffing in Henley’s, Tee’s, jeans and boxers. Snatching up my spare boots, a couple of belt buckles and my leather jacket, I zip and close it without hesitating for a second. I can practically taste my freedom, and I’m not wasting another minute trapped here with her if I don’t absolutely have to. I walk out of the bedroom slamming the door behind me. I can still hear the muffled cries of my soon to be ex-wife, and it might be sick, but I’m glad I can. After everything she’s put me through she deserves to feel a little bit of what I’ve been suffering for years. Heading into Lexi’s room I pick up the large Princess roller bag I keep for weekend sleepovers out of the bottom of the linen closet. Tapping out a quick text, I attach the photos I took of dumb and dumber in the other room, and send it to my dad. I need to be careful and watch my back where Isabella is concerned. She’s sneaky I’ll give her that. It doesn’t take long to pack up what Lexi needs for a few days. Dumping everything next to the front door I go to my safe.

Before Lexi was born, just after we moved in here I installed a gun safe. There was no way in fuck I would let my baby girl crawl around with unsecure firearms lying about the place. Holstering my Glock, and tucking my .357 into the back of my jeans I head out bags in tow to my SUV. Fucking cages. I hate driving the fuckers, but they’re safer for Lexi so I put up with it when I absolutely have to. While I do take Lexi on short rides, to dad’s seven blocks away, or to Kendall’s three blocks away, I won’t take her further than that. Not just yet anyway. I’ll wait till she’s about nine. The same time I started riding with my dad before I take her further afield.

Tapping Arrow’s number into my phone I don’t bother to let him speak,

“Brother. Get Dagger and load up in the truck yeah? I need someone to come get my bike from my joint and drive it back to the clubhouse.”

“Yeah brother. You good?” Fucker sounds half-drunk, half-asleep. He’s solid though so I know he’ll be on it.

“Better than ever man. Lexi and I are giving DB some time to get her shit and get the fuck out of Blackwater. Fill you in later.” Hanging up on him is nothing new. He’s used to it by now. We all are. Most of our conversations end the same way. We say what needs to be said and get the fuck off the line. We’re bikers not ladies having tea and shit. My text alert sounds and what I look down and see has me laughing to myself. Fuck my old man is a riot. “THANK FUCK” all capitals and only the words thank fuck. Nothing more is needed to get his point across either.

Loading the bags in the back of the SUV it takes everything fucking in me not to drive straight to Kendall’s, pull her into my arms, and kiss the fuck out of her. Maybe life is looking up. In a few short months, because trust me I’ll be paying a lawyer through the ass if I have to, to speed this fucking divorce through, I can make Kendall mine. Finally.

The drive to the clubhouse is short. Only taking me about five minutes on a good run, and tonight is a GOOD run. I see the gravel covered front parking lot is littered with Choppers, Dyna’s, and Super Glides. Thank fuck my other lady will be here soon in its rightful place. Parked second row from the front, third bike in. I hate that I had to leave my bike at home with that unpredictable bitch. I can guarantee you that if there’s one scratch on it, Isabella can kiss her twenty grand goodbye in a second.

Bike parking at the clubhouse is done by position held and then seniority. It doesn’t matter if you’ve only held office two days, or twenty years. If you hold a seat at the table, you get a front row spot. It’s not just because we can be lazy fucks either. It’s about the ability to get to your bike, and ride out ASAP if the situation demands it. Dad’s bike is always parked second bike in from the front door. Priest’s holds pride of place in first position. It’s not here tonight though which means Priest is home with Brenna where he should be. The man works too hard as it is. It nice to see he’s taking some time back. Prospects end up parking somewhere over near the fence line. Their parking isn’t ordered. More like first in best dressed. Shame that on party nights when shit tends to get wild and messy they don’t have a choice where to park because I can’t tell you how many bikes we’ve had to pick up off the ground after a hard night on the drink and too many joints.

Another guy that’s always around the club house these days is dad. Oh fuck it. Let’s be honest, he’s always hung around here more than home. Having a club whore birth you, and be paid to fuck off doesn’t sound far from the situation I currently find myself in. Maybe the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree after all.

Jerimiah ‘Pipe’ Marks is a fucking handsome guy for an old dude. He has never, and still doesn’t have a problem pulling in as much pussy as a brother twenty years his junior. He’s only just started getting some greys come through his long as fuck black hair, and his goatee’s still only about half-half. The man looks at you like he can see into your soul when he pins you with those creepy fucking grey eyes. Sad part is I actually inherited the fucking things from him, so fuck knows if people say the same about me. Kendall always, well up until about five years ago, told me she loves my eyes. The grey is calming, or some shit like that. If she likes them that’s all that matters to me.