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 Walking up on the natural wood porch of the two-story with white outdated siding, this doesn’t seem fast to me.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.”