AllFreeNovel
Share Us
During high school, Hudson was really good at getting under my skin. I was just Star back then, trying to navigate the maze of teenage life. He’d tease me in front of everyone, his words sharp, his laughter booming down the halls. He’d sometimes knock my books from my hands, papers flying, creating a scene that never failed to gather an audience.
But when the crowds faded, and the halls emptied, he’d find me hidden in the tranquil shadow behind the gym. There, away from prying eyes, the brash, confident Hudson would disappear, replaced by a boy with a hint of regret in his gaze.
“I didn’t mean to, Star,” he’d murmur, his voice low, filled with a sincerity that the daylight Hudson never showed. He’d reach out, gently brushing away the tears from my face, his fingers light and careful, as if he was afraid of causing more hurt.
In those secluded moments, I caught glimpses of another Hudson, one that seemed at odds with the bully who tormented me by day. Behind the gym, in our secret world, he’d show a tenderness that confused and intrigued me.
After wiping my tears, he’d come in closer, and before I could think, his lips would meet mine in a soft, hesitant kiss, from a different planet than his earlier harshness. Ours was a complicated dance of hurt and comfort, leaving me tangled in a web of emotions that I couldn’t quite understand back then.
Those stolen moments behind the gym, filled with whispered apologies and gentle kisses, painted my high school days in complex hues, blending the lines between my disdain for Hudson and a budding, secret affection. And that was only the beginning. His bullying only got worse and his kisses turned into actions much more thrilling.
Sleep, when it finally claimed me, was restless, filled with dreams of Hudson. The popular boy, my once tormentor, now a fierce and commanding biker president, chased me on my Harley. When he caught me, he put down his weapon and pulled out his cock. In the twilight of my subconscious, he was both the villain and the hero, the source of my pain and an object of an inexplicable desire. It was a maddening cycle, one I had thought I had broken free from, only to find myself ensnared once more by the past’s unyielding grip.
Dawn crept through the cracks of my cabin, and I awoke with a start, the echo of my dream fading into the morning chill. The reality of Hudson’s presence, his sudden intrusion into my carefully constructed world, was a wake-up call. No matter how much I tried to outrun the past, it seemed determined to catch up, demanding a reckoning I wasn’t sure I was ready for. Hudson wasn’t the only part of my past I longed to escape.
The day ahead loomed large, fraught with the promise of confrontation and the possibility of closure. But as I rose to face it, I wondered if some secrets were better left buried, or if the truth, however painful, was the only way to truly move forward.
Chapter 3
Riptide
Under the cloak of night, I led my pack of Seville Slayers through the winding roads, an evil grin growing on my face. The idea of invading the turf of an all-female biker club, the Hell on Heelz MC, would’ve been laughable if the stakes weren’t so damn high. Women on bikes, playing at being outlaws. It was a fucking farce. Yet, here we were, riding out to confront them over a serious accusation. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Biker Brat, they called her, the supposed tough-as-nails chick responsible for Viper, one of my brothers going down. The name itself was a joke. Women riding, let alone leading in the biker world, was an absurdity in my book. Riding was about strength, loyalty, and the ability to hold your own. It was a man’s world, and these chicks were deluding themselves if they thought they were our equals.
The roar of our engines broke the night’s silence, a declaration of our impending arrival. My brothers were a solid wall of muscle and metal at my back, a testament to the true nature of biking brotherhood. The Hell on Heelz MC, with their quaint notion of an all-female club, was about to get a rude awakening.
As the neon sign of the Roost came into view, a pit formed in my stomach. Not from fear, but from the ridiculousness of the situation. Confronting a bunch of female riders over a matter of honor was not how I envisioned spending my night. I’d expected to be up to my eyeballs in liquor and pussy.
But duty called, and when one of our own was taken out, retribution wasn’t just expected, it was demanded, regardless of who the enemy was. These bitches had gone and put me in a position I didn’t want to be in. I had no desire to have to kill a woman tonight, but I’d do what I had to do.
Killing the engine, I surveyed the lineup of bikes outside the Roost. Not only were they women bikers, their hogs, some all decked out in pink and purple frills and shit, didn’t even try to fit in. It was like stepping into an alternate reality. One where women thought they could stand toe-to-toe with men like us. The very idea was downright embarrassing.
My shit kickers hit the ground, the thud echoing in the still night air as my brothers and I approached the entrance. We were a force of nature, a typhoon ready to break over whatever poor souls stood in our way. The idea that those souls belonged to a bunch of women riding Harleys for kicks and Instagram likes was almost too much to bear.
When I pushed open the door, the noise inside tapered to a stunned silence. Every painted eye in the joint fixated on us. I scanned the room, my gaze landing on her, the Biker Brat. They’d said I’d know her by her clown red hair. Even from across the room, I could see the defiance in her stance, the challenge in her eyes. In all black leather and chains, the lady might have the heart of a lioness, but in the end, she was still playing in a world not meant for her kind.
I strode up to Rage, the so-called president of this mockery of a club. “I’m here for some bitch called Brat,” I announced, my voice booming over the murmurs of the crowd. The gasps, the disbelief at our audacity, rang out heavily around us.
Rage met my gaze, her eyes flashing with a fire that would’ve been admirable in another life, one where she wasn’t standing on the wrong side of a line drawn by blood.
“You think you can just storm in here and make demands, Riptide?” she shot back, her high-pitched voice steady but lacking the depth of true authority.
I couldn’t resist chuckling, the sound dark and devoid of any real humor. “When it comes to avenging one of my brothers, I don’t just think it. I know it.”
The room shifted uncomfortably at the seriousness of my words.
“Avenging?” I’d gotten Rage’s attention.
Beckoned by her president, Brat stepped forward, her fiery hair a beacon in the dim light. There was something about her, a strength that seemed out of place in the farce of her surroundings.
Without a second thought, I reached out, my hand wrapping easily around her tiny throat, the other drawing my gun and pressing it to her temple. The room froze, the tension crackling like a live wire.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t pull this trigger, Brat,” I demanded, my voice low, a lethal calm in the storm of my rage.
Pinning her there, my gun pressed against her fine head, I took a good, hard look at her. Those green eyes of hers weren’t just scared. They were intense, digging deep into me, like they were grabbing my soul and giving it a damn shake. Damn, she was something else. In another life, I’d be all over her, choking her for very different reasons.
Then, softly, breaking through the standoff, her plump lips parted. She whispered a name I hadn’t heard in years. “Hudson, please…”
