Page 24 of Mace
That shuts her mouth. She ain’t got a clever comeback for that, and I try to see past the bitchy walls she’s built over the last decade to the little girl who used to sit with me in Maggie’s garden, drinking lemonade, while Jack and Nathan played. It’s really fucking hard to see that girl in the woman standing in front of me.
“She’s not your family,” she repeats on a breathy whisper.
“No, she ain’t. She would never be in a fuckin’ place like this if she was.”
I walk away, ignoring the abuse she tosses after me, and as I step out into the sunshine, I unfurl my fingersfrom the fists I’d made, unsurprised to see half-moon imprints of my nails in my palm.
Fucking Julie.
My shoulders are tight as I climb on my bike. She ain’t ever going to stop me from visiting Maggie. I don’t care how fuckin’ angry she is at me, I’ll never give up this time with my foster mum.
As I make my way back to the clubhouse, the mid-afternoon traffic is busy, giving me time to both think and calm down.
I thought once the Pioneers were gone, some semblance of normality would return, but shit is just as messy as it was before.
Which is exactly why I shouldn’t be thinking about the girl with bubble gum-coloured hair.Fuck.In a sea of darkness, Maylie is the fucking light, and it ain’t often I see anything good in the world around me. Her working in that fucking dive place ain’t right, and it makes me curious to know why she is. In fact, I want to know everything about her.
As I ride through the gates of the clubhouse, lifting my chin at the prospect standing guard, my body is vibrating with a mix of emotions. Seeing Maggie always throws me off course, and dealing with Julie is enough to push me over the edge I constantly teeter on.
I pull my bike into an empty space between Nicky’s and Riot’s Harleys, glad they’re here. They are the only brothers I trust in this entire chapter, though that wasn’t always the case. I used to trust every brother wearing the Untamed Sons patch.
After I park up and step inside the clubhouse, I bracefor whatever shitstorm is no doubt brewing today. This was once my sanctuary, but it ain’t that anymore.
My gaze sweeps over the bar running along one wall and the tables scattered around, a few filled with members. The Sons insignia is painted in black and white on the wall directly across from the entrance, the Birmingham patch below it. It’s a symbol of our club and our loyalty to the brotherhood behind it.
As usual, Crank is sitting in a booth with Chloe in his lap, her legs parted, and his hand between her thighs, stroking back and forth. My teeth grind together.
Fucking cunt.
She’s half his age, which ain’t a problem, but she ain’t club tail, and the way he treats her like one pisses me off.
The club is full of whores.That’s the shit my mother had spouted at me all those years ago, and it hadn’t been the case then, but it sure as fuck is since Crank took over. Chloe isn’t the only woman in the room who is grinding on a brother.
She meets my gaze and gives me a tentative smile that I don’t return. She knows full fucking well I don’t approve of this—whatever the fuck it is—between her and Crank.
It turns my stomach to see him pawing all over her, but it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told her she deserves better than being our President’s plaything, the girl always comes back. She’s drawn to the club like the rest of us are, and I can’t blame her for that. The Sons is all she has, and Crank takes advantage of it… and her vulnerability.
I shake my head at her, and her smile fades. I hate doing that to her, but I won’t pretend I’m good with this.
Fucking hell, Chlo.
Spotting Nicky and Riot through the double glass doors that lead out to a patio area, I make my way towards them, pushing Chloe out of my mind. She’s her own worst fucking enemy, and there’s no helping someone who doesn’t want to be helped.
Before I reach them, a figure steps into my path. Fucking Blade.
His face is uncovered, his gnarly scar on full display, and his eyes are hard as they take me in.
I brace for whatever is about to happen.
“Don’t get in my business again,” he grinds out.
He’s talking about the shit at Temptation, where he cornered the two girls—one of which was my perfect little doe, Maylie. I grab the front of his kutte, tugging him so there are only inches separating us. “Don’t get in my fuckin’ face again.”
Shoving him away from me, I step around him. There was a time when I would never have considered touching a brother in anger, but I’d put a knife in his fucking gut in a heartbeat. I don’t fucking like or trust the fucker.
“You’re not as untouchable as you think you are, Mace,” he says after me.
That works both ways, fucker. I’m not sure if he knows his days wearing the patch are just as numbered as Crank’s. Ravage, our national and London president, and Howler, our Manchester president, will cleanse all the disease from the club when they make their move. I just hope it’s soon because I hate playing fucking nice.