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Chapter 20
Brat
At the lake’s edge, the fresh air and gentle lap of water against the shore were supposed to calm me down. I needed clarity, space to consider how I’d confront Riptide about my father’s marriage ultimatum. The idea of pressuring the biker into such a commitment felt wrong, against the very essence of our love. Lost in my contemplation, I stared at the water until the sound of approaching footsteps broke my reverie.
It seemed Riptide had come to find me. I allowed myself a moment to gather my strength, to prepare for the conversation that lay ahead. But the closeness of the presence behind me, the warmth of breath on my neck, felt off. I turned, expecting to see the familiar, comforting eyes of Riptide, but instead, I was met with the cold, calculating gaze of Marco.
Not only was his appearance startling, so was his transformation. Gone was the slick, business like attire I remembered. Instead, he donned a white jean cut-off vest emblazoned with the emblem of the Miami Mutherfukers MC, marking his new affiliation with the notorious biker gang. He seemed rougher, more in line with biker culture than the polished veneer of organized crime.
His once neatly combed hair now fell in unkempt waves, framing a face that had grown out a beard, giving him a rugged, almost wild look. The white of his vest stood out against the dark tattoos that snaked up his olive arms.
His eyes, however, retained their sharp, calculating gaze, a reminder of the wicked man he once was and, perhaps, still was at heart.
“Star, or should I say Brat now?” His voice came out smoothly with malice and a hint of triumph. “Ah, my dear, your lover returns,” he began theatrically.
“Marco, it’s been ages since I came to my senses. What’s this really about?” I asked, stepping away from the edge.
“You see, my dear, your departure was a bitter pill, a blow to the family pride, and an act I cannot simply forgive or forget.”
“I’ve forgotten you, completely,” I jabbed.
His steps were measured as he circled me like a predator. “Revenge, my sweet, is a dish best served cold, and oh, how I’ve chilled it to perfection,” Marco continued, the gleam in his eye sharp and calculating. “You abandoned me, aligning yourself with these… bikers, igniting a familial vendetta that now, deliciously, comes to fruition.”
Rotating to stay facing him, anger coursing through my veins, I braced myself. “Your vendetta is with me, Marco. Leave the clubs out of it,” I countered, readying my fists.
But Marco’s laugh escaped his lips, a sound that held no trace of real amusement. “Oh, but why stop at mere personal vengeance when there’s a whole empire to gain?” he boasted, his arms spreading wide to encompass an invisible kingdom. “I now helm the Miami Mutherfukers MC, and with them under my thumb, Florida’s biking world will bow to Marco.”
Creep talked about himself in the third person. That was enough for me to end him. Fuck, I felt my jeans, but I knew in my anger at dad, I’d ridden out here unarmed.
Marco’s eyes widened when he noticed at the very same instant that I was defenseless. Yet, he went on like a cartoon villain. “Your little clubs, my dear, are mere steppingstones to my grander conquests.”
“You won’t win, Marco. We’ll stop you,” I vowed.
He scoffed, a sinister smile playing on his lips before his expression hardened. In a sudden burst of movement, Marco lunged at me, closing the distance with a predator’s speed. His fist swung towards my face, a well-aimed strike intending to end the confrontation quickly.
I dodged to the side, feeling the rush of air as his punch missed its mark. Countering swiftly, I threw a punch aimed at his midsection, connecting with the solid thud of flesh on flesh. Pain flared in my knuckles, but it was overshadowed by the adrenaline surging through my veins.
Marco grunted, momentarily winded, but recovered quickly. His movements were precise, each attack calculated to exploit any weakness. I deflected and struck back, our fight a chaotic dance of aggression and defense. My training with the Heelz had prepared me for moments like this. Every hit I landed on Marco fueled by a blend of tactical knowledge and raw emotion.
The clash of our bodies and the sound of our grunts filled my ears. We traded blows, his strength formidable but met with my resilience and agility. I landed a solid punch to his jaw, snapping his head to the side, but he retaliated with a swift uppercut that I barely blocked.
In the heated exchange, a moment’s distraction proved costly. A thought of Riptide, a flicker of concern for the future, caused a split-second lapse in my focus. Marco, ever the opportunist, seized the opportunity. With a sudden surge of force, he pushed against my chest, throwing me off balance.
My feet scrambled for purchase, but the slippery bank offered no traction. The world seemed to spin as I lost my footing, and with a burst of shock and helplessness, I felt myself falling backward. I was equally shocked by the cold water as I hit the surface of the lake, the impact driving the air from my lungs.
Submerged and disoriented, I could see the distorted figure of Marco standing at the water’s edge, his form blurred by the rippling water. Submerged in the icy water, I had no time to think of anything but survival as I pushed the water under me. Gasping for air, I struggled to the water’s edge, my limbs numb and heavy from the cold and the shock of the sudden plunge. As I clawed at the slippery bank, trying to haul myself out, Marco was nowhere in sight. His ominous presence vanished.
Finally, my mind focused on Marco’s plan. It was bigger than I had imagined, a threat not just to me but to all the motorcycle clubs in Florida. I had to escape, to warn Riptide and the others. Marco’s ambition, heavy as the water that surrounded me, only solidified my resolve. I had to fight back, to protect my newfound family and our way of life.
Just as I managed to pull myself halfway up the bank, strong arms wrapped around me, hauling me out of the water with an urgency that momentarily disoriented me. Spluttering and shivering, I looked up to see Riptide’s face etched with concern.
“Star, what happened?” Riptide demanded, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of a threat.
Between chattering teeth, I recounted the encounter, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “It was Marco… he ambushed me. He wants revenge, Riptide. He’s taken over the Miami Mutherfukers MC and plans to use them to take control of all the major clubs in Florida.”
Riptide’s expression darkened as he processed the information. “That bastard,” he muttered, drawing me closer to share his warmth. “We need to get you warm and safe first. Then we’ll plan our next move.”
As he helped me to my feet, supporting my weight, we trudged back toward his Harley.
