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As I was being accused of murdering one of his men, the chatter all around seemed hollow and distant. I was far removed. Far away drowning in this man’s eyes. Fuck a bad girl’s dream. This biker president was my own personal nightmare. Once I got past the beard, I found I knew him.
Knew him all too well, his deep-set eyes and the fear and longing he’d so quickly conjured within me. This wasn’t just any biker thug. This was Hudson Banks, the high school heartthrob, my bully, who had once made my heart race in a completely different way.
Even as he pinned me, his gun cold against my forehead, a part of me couldn’t help but reel from the shock of how hot he looked, all grown up and dangerous. It was messed up, considering the circumstances, but fear has a funny way of dredging up the most unexpected memories.
Like that time behind the gym, his lips crashing against mine, the world narrowing down to the heat of his mouth and the feel of his hands inching up my skirt.
Bully or not, that Hudson was a far cry from the man who now seemed ready to end me over a misunderstanding. Yet, here we were, his familiarity wrapped in a layer of danger, his body a mix of the past and the present, colliding in a moment that was as terrifying as it was, inexplicably, exhilarating.
Fuck, I was hot.
This was Hudson, alright, but not the Hudson I remembered sneaking kisses within the dim hallways of our high school. No, this man was all hard edges and raw power, his presence demanding attention he wasn’t asking for.
Even with his gun to my head, part of me was caught up in the sheer intensity of him. It was like staring down a tsunami and finding it, in some twisted way, attractive. The memory of his lips on my neck flashed through my mind. The boy who once made my heart race was now hidden beneath the layers of a man who could easily break that neck.
I was torn between wanting to knee him in the dick and dragging him back for a do-over of our last goodbye. Panic clawed at my throat, words failing me as I stared into the eyes of a man I once knew, now hidden behind the mask of this killer.
His old name slipped out in a desperate whisper, a last-ditch plea for my life. “Hudson, please…”
The name hung between us, a lifeline thrown across the chasm of years and this misunderstanding. His grip faltered, the hatred in his eyes giving way to a flicker of confusion, then ultimate recognition.
The standoff seemed to last an eternity in those few seconds before Riptide released me, stepping back as if burned. His gun lowered, and I sucked in a breath, my knees nearly buckling under the weight of the fear and shock.
Rage was by my side in an instant, holding me up. Her fury a force to be reckoned with, she confronted Hudson and his crew. “Get the hell out of my club,” she spat, her voice a deadly calm that promised retribution if her command was ignored.
Hudson’s dark eyes lingered on me, a storm of emotions crossing his face before he nodded to his crew. Without another word, they turned and left, the tension they’d brought with them dissipating as the door swung shut behind them.
The room slowly came back to life, murmurs of confusion and concern filling the air as my sisters rallied around me. Razor’s hand was on my shoulder, her grip tight, while Pixie and Tank flanked me, their expressions everywhere at once.
Rage’s gaze met mine, a silent question passing between us. I shook my head slightly, not yet able to process what had just happened, let alone explain it.
Chapter 2
Brat
The night had turned on a dime, the threat against my life underlining the dangerous game we played with the Slayers the night before. Hudson, Riptide, whatever he wanted to call himself, had been a ghost from my past I thought I’d left behind. But it seemed our sins, old and new, were far from forgotten.
As my sisters and I regrouped, the solidarity of the Hell on Heelz MC was a comforting presence. Whatever was coming, we’d face it together, our bond unbreakable, our resolve hardened by the night’s events.
But in the quiet moments, as the adrenaline faded, I couldn’t forget the image of Hudson’s face, the recognition in his eyes, the sound of my own voice pleading for my life. I knew he’d be back. After all, they accused me of killing one of his men. I had done nothing of the sort. Nevertheless, the game had changed, and there was no turning back.
Eventually the chaos of the night ebbed away, leaving only the echo of raised voices and the ghostly imprint of a gun against my temple. The four of us settled back into our corner of the Roost. But the smoky air was thicker with unasked questions and curious glances from my sisters, their eyes probing for answers I wasn’t sure I wanted to give.
Razor, ever the blunt instrument, cut right to the chase. “So, Brat, how the hell do you know a hot piece of trouble like Riptide? And don’t skimp on the details.”
I let out a sigh, the memories of high school, of Hudson swirling like storm clouds. “He was… a bully,” I started, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “Back in the day, he made my life a living hell, always on my case, pushing my buttons.”
Pixie eyes grew wide with intrigue. “But there’s more to it, isn’t there? You looked like you saw a ghost when he had you in his grip.”
I nodded, a reluctant admission. “Yeah, there’s more. We had this… thing. It was complicated. Hudson found me when I was alone, vulnerable. He’d take what he wanted, leaving me even more isolated. He never acknowledged what happened between us in public. It was like I was his dirty little secret.”
Tank, her expression unreadable, finally spoke. “And now he’s here, stirring up all that shit again.” She banged her fist on the table. “He assaulted you?”
“No,” I said, making it clear. “It wasn’t like that either. I wanted him, too.” I couldn’t meet her gaze, the shame of those days still clinging to me like a second skin. “Once he graduated and left town, I thought I was free of him. I was relieved to be out of his shadow, to not be his secret anymore.”
The conversation drifted into safer waters after that, but the seed of unease had been planted. I excused myself early, claiming exhaustion, but the truth was, I needed to escape the memories, the questions, the pitying looks.
Back in my cabin, the solitude offered no comfort. The walls seemed to close in, each creak and whisper of the night a reminder of the day’s confrontation. As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind replayed every encounter with Hudson, the bully who had tormented me. The same bully who would turn around and touch me with a gentleness that belied his harsh exterior. Our connection was a total emotional rollercoaster that I fought to get off of.
