Biker's Bride (Demons MC)

The warm air and noise hit me hard as I descended. People were shouting and I could tell something was getting out of hand. The warmth was tinged with body sweat and blood from earlier matches. I got to the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner.

The crowd was thick with tweakers, weirdos, and drunks. It was the bulk of the Irish gang, all the right people of Philadelphia. They were thieves and con men and muscle and boosters and drug dealers and gangsters. They were violent and unpredictable, but also loyal and honorable in their own way. The right people followed their code and took it seriously. Honesty was valued in a leader above all else, because honesty was in short supply everywhere else. The crowd was shouting at someone in the middle, and nobody had noticed me yet.

When I was left on my own, the right people became my family. The street was my home and they were my cousins and brothers and parents and uncles and aunts. Those people would be my saviors or they would string me up and gut me without a second thought. I took a deep breath and cracked my neck, mentally preparing myself for what was about to happen. It was pretty much a fifty-fifty guess at that point whether I’d survive the night or not.

I pressed ahead, and moved my way through the crowd toward the center. As I passed, people began to murmur my name, and soon the room was dead quiet. I pushed through and saw Michael was standing with another guy, some muscled, broken-nose looking monster of a dude. Obviously a fighter, from how he held himself. Michael locked eyes with me and gaped for half a breath. I savored the surprised look on his face; he was clearly shocked that I had the balls to confront him. Michael was always underestimating me, but he would think twice from then on.

“Look who it is, lads!” he called, and the crowd cheered. His two goons, Clutch and Spud, stepped up behind him. They were like quiet psycho twins, and the only thing they loved to do was fuck, fight, and snort coke. Clutch and Spud were everything I despised about the Irish gang, or at least what the gang had become. Under Michael’s leadership, they had gone from protectors of the little people, proponents of local businesses and local champions, to drug dealers and killers. I had no problem with drugs and killing for the right reasons, but the only reason Michael had was money.

“I’m here to fight, Michael,” I said loudly. The crowd cheered again, and Michael put his hands up patiently.

“I know you are lad, but there’s the matter of that last job,” he said calmly.

“Let him fight!” some random guy yelled out. Michael gave him a look, and the crowd quieted.

“What do you say for yourself, eh? Why have you been hiding?”

I steeled myself for what was coming next. That moment would decide my fate and, more importantly, Darcy’s fate. I told her they wouldn’t hurt her, and it was true. But it was true only so long as I wasn’t a traitor and still alive to protect her. I was afraid that if I weren’t successful, they’d hurt her before they finished me off. That wasn’t something I was prepared for. Darcy was only involved because she decided she wanted to spend some time with me, for whatever reason. I alternated cursing myself for dragging her into my world and thanking whatever god was watching over me for bringing her around. If I had a chance to go back to that first night where I beat down those two assholes, I’d do it all over again.

“I’ve been hiding because you set me up with that bullshit deal, Michael.”

There was dead silence around me. I looked back at the stunned faces defiantly. It wasn’t a small thing to call Michael a liar, but there it was.

“Are you accusing me of something?” he said quietly. His goons stepped up, ready to attack at his word.

“I’m accusing you of wanting to keep me around,” I said, speaking loudly. “Everyone in this room knows you’ve wanted me as your personal muscle from day one, and when I turned you down, things went to shit for me. I think you’re trying to fuck everything up as revenge.”

“You should watch yourself, son.” Michael looked pissed. I wanted him to be. I needed him to be off his game. I needed him shaken and confused, otherwise he’d order me killed and be done with it. It might be enough to keep me alive if I could expose a tiny chink in his armor.

“No, Michael, you should watch yourself. Look around you. Everyone here knows what I’m saying is the truth. You’ve been dealing with the Russians on the sly for years, and we all turned a blind eye to it because everyone was making money. But lately, things haven’t been going so well, have they?”