I hear yelling and sit up, almost forgetting where I am.
The Sons of Death MC has been my sanctuary from the outside world for the past week. I still haven’t gotten used to it, all the sounds and partying. Hell, I want this to be my new normal, but I also feel out of place here. Despite it being somewhere I hoped so desperately to fit in.
The room around me lets in light through the thin cream curtains draped over the only window. Duct tape holds it together where the pane of glass is broken. I would say it’s been like that for many years.
There isn’t much to this room, which houses a man double my age and size. The old mattress I’ve been sleeping on reminds me that he’s lived here a long time. Trucker is exactly as his name suggests—a trucker for the club.
The room isn’t much for someone who has lived here for two decades. A wonky chest of drawers, the baby blue paint is scratched and peeling off in places, revealing a neon pink underneath. A green lamp and an ashtray with two thick gold rings inside that somehow don’t slide off the other end.
A stack of bike magazines is used as a bedside table where I have left my phone. I haven’t charged it or spoken to anyone since I walked out that hospital door. Mila hadn’t woken up; she was in a coma when I left, and I couldn’t bring myself to see her. I did that—my fucked-up life broke the one good thing I ever wanted.
I’d known that would happen. From the start, I told myself I couldn’t have her in my life. I couldn’t let the dark that tainted me consume her. But I let her in…just a little. Enough to destroy my heart as I held her broken body in my arms.
The Amarto family hasn’t contacted me…but I have to get to them before they find Mila and follow through with more of their threats. She was just a warning, and I heard it loud and clear.
I look at my phone. I really should let Hunter know I’m okay and find out about Mila. I don’t want to hear him blame me for what happened. The cops assumed I’d been hit by the same car as Mila. But Hunter knows better. He’s too smart and clued in that it had something to do with the assholes at the fight.
There were no witnesses to the accident; the woman who called for help didn’t see anything until she heard me screaming out for help. Mila and I were both covered in blood, and it made sense at the time to say I’d been hit by the car. There wasn’t another way to explain my injuries and Mila’s without drawing suspicion.
When she wakes up and tells everyone what happened, the cops will be after me. I already have a record—just petty shit like getting into fights—but enough that the cops will come sniffing around and that won’t bode well for me…or Mila. If the Amarto family thinks I’m talking to cops, who knows what they will do to either of us. Hell, they have cops on the pay. There is no way they would be able to run the way they do without having dirty cops on the books.
The yelling turns into a deep rumbling of men enjoying themselves. Not that I have much to complain about. I’ve never had a truly good night sleep in my life. I always have one ear and eye open. Waiting for shit to hit the fan. Because it always does.
“Yo, Roman,” the voice on the other side of the door calls out before banging twice.
The door protests as it’s pushed in. The clubhouse has thin walls and Trucker’s room is close to the bar. He’s fond of the club bunnies and doesn’t like walking far…but at least the guy is safe. His room is littered with empty condom boxes. And that’s why I changed the sheets on his bed when I was offered it for the week. Which is now up.
I look from my phone over to Alex. He’s wearing faded jeans, a blue tee, and his leather cut. There’s a sucker in his mouth, the stick poking out as he grins at me with his perfect white teeth. “How you sleep, Romeo?”
I groan at the name he has always called me. I grew up with him at the trailer park; his parents are deadbeat assholes. He’s only a couple of years older than me, but you can see how much that place aged him, like me. Nothing like junkie parents to take any childhood you could hope for. He dropped out his senior year and is a full member of The Sons of Death now. Here, though, he smiles more. Hell, he fits right in, and the MC always takes care of family.
It’s what I wanted when I came here, asking Zero for a chance, to be a prospect for the club. I want what Pinkie has. Well, maybe not the name, which makes me smile a little every time someone calls him that. He seems to have accepted it now, two years later. Note to self: don’t ever put reds in with your whites or you’ll end up with a nickname like Pinkie.
That’s why I want him to stop calling me Romeo. I don’t want that name to stick. But with a last name like Valentine, I’m fairly certain it’s destined to stick.
“I slept like shit, Pinkie.”
He grins even wider at my use of his club name. “Zero wants to talk to you.”
I sit up and shove my feet into my boots that are right beside the bed, ready to go if I need to be fast. I know what this is about. I wish I could just stay here and block out the world, but there isn’t room for me here right now. Besides, at my age, I will be classed as a runaway, and they don’t need that shit coming around here.
“It will be all good, Roman. Don’t stress, man.” Pinkie pops the cherry sucker out of his mouth and nods for me to follow him.
Easy for him to say. He has a room here; he isn’t sixteen and hiding away from the world in a motorcycle clubhouse. Fuck. I’m not ready to go back to my trailer, my father, and everything else that’s out there waiting for me.
“Roman, my boy,” Zero greets me.
He’s in his sixties, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. His beard is long and a rich auburn. He has long hair like mine, that’s slightly darker than his beard. Not a gray hair in sight, and it makes him look younger than he is. Plus, his old lady is Rina. She’s twenty-five and stunning. If Zero wasn’t such a chill guy, he would have killed everyone in this club just from staring at her ass. I would have been dead when I walked in here last week. But I think he enjoys the rest of us fools looking at what only he can touch.
“Hey, Zero,” I reply. I haven’t told him much of what went down. I don’t want the club involved in this shit. I got myself into it by having the last name of Valentine. The club doesn’t need this on their doorstep.
“Look, boy, I’m not kicking you out. You know I don’t wanna send you home to your old man, but he’s been asking around for you. And you know it won’t be long till he’s here, knocking down my door. Maybe bringing the pigs here to get you back.”
Zero takes a deep breath as he rubs the back of his neck. The look in his eyes isn’t exactly pity, but it’s enough to make me feel it.
“I know he uses you to pay for his junk, and I fucking hate the scumbag. If there was another way around this, I would keep you here with me, but we have a lot of heat on us after the shit that went down with Dirty Dan and Itchy over the weekend.
“Kidnapping a minor isn’t what I wanna go down for this week. And killing your old man is gonna come back to bite me in the ass, I just know it. But I’m gonna go rough him up and keep him in line.”
I nod. I get it. They don’t dabble in completely legal ventures here. I knew this when I signed up to prospect. So, I get where they’re coming from sending me back. Hell, I would too.
“Look, kid, I’m not kicking you out the club or nothing. You’re welcome here any day and time, but I need you to be careful, and if there’s any trouble from your old man, you call us. But there is something I want from you.”
I nod. Of course. This club is family. Shit, he’s gonna ask me to go on a run with Pinkie and the guys. That’ll be a step up here. I want that, even though my heart says otherwise.
I haven’t been able to prove my worth to the club; they need to know I’m not some liability with a junkie father. Maybe then I will feel like I belong here.
“You seem all healed up after that car accident. I want you to get ready for school. You can take the white Nissan shit-box out back to get you there. Keep it until your bike is back in service. Nutcase is working on it; there’s a lot of damage.”
I let out a deep sigh. Sometime after dumping me at the cemetery and hitting Mila, the Amarto fuckers took my bike and fucked it something bad.
“All I want is to see a good report card and I’ll give it back to you like brand new.” He pats me on the back, and I just blink at him. School?
“What?” I stutter out. He wants me to go to school. Right now?
“I’ve seen you play football, kid. You have what it takes to go all the way. College and shit. I want that for you. No one else had that kind of opportunity here, and I don’t want your life wasted here when you can be out there, living it.”
I shake my head, and he clamps his hand on my shoulder and nods as he comes in closer. “College,” he repeats again, and I just blink at him. He’s serious.
“Look, the way I see it. You go to college, get a free ride on a football scholarship, and you play ball and study something boring like business. Fuck, you want to be some arts major, go and paint shit. That’s not gonna change a thing here. You’ll have a place waiting for you here.”
He taps my chest with his index finger and nods again. “You have an opportunity that most people in your situation don’t ever get. Take it. Don’t waste it, Roman. Make something of yourself. Don’t settle for anything less than what you deserve.”
I don’t deserve anything.
