AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Brat
The day following the confrontation seemed equally burdened with unexpressed inquiries and lingering concern. Rage, our president, summoned me to speak with her in her office, a space that felt like the epicenter of our world at the Roost.
With her dark, almost black hair tamed under a red bandana, she wore red fishnets and cutoff jean shorts complete with a red belly shirt. Red high-heeled boots came up to her knees. And she seriously pulled it off. You’d never know how old she was. When my mom got killed when I was a kid, she was here already, a grown woman. She sent me to live with my father in Arizona.
Like her name implied, she was the biggest badass I knew. Yet beneath that tough exterior, there was a heart that beat fiercely for her club. All that paired with her no-nonsense attitude, Rage was the embodiment of the Hell on Heelz’s spirit.
As I entered, she was standing behind her desk, the very picture of authority. “Brat,” she started, her voice all calm and collected, but I could sense the storm about to erupt. “We need to talk about Viper.”
I nodded, taking the seat across from her, feeling like I was about to walk a tightrope without a net. “I know,” I replied, twisting my hair.
Rage’s stern eyes searched mine. She could always see through me. “If you did anything… If you were involved in what happened to him, you know the Heelz have your back. But I need to hear it from you.”
The trust and understanding in her voice served as evidence of the deep bond between us as sisters. It was a bond that went beyond blood, a bond forged on the road and in battles fought side by side.
“Viper was a bad guy, Brat,” Rage continued, her tone hardening. “He hurt people, probably killed a few innocents along the way. Hell, probably more than a few. I wouldn’t blame you if you had taken him out.”
I tilted my head, feeling relieved to be finally laying it all out. “I didn’t kill Viper, Rage. But me and some of my sisters robbed him. It was just supposed to be a hustle. Leave him embarrassed, not dead.”
Rage’s expression softened slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “Leaving them with their pants down, huh?”
I couldn’t help but smile back, despite the gravity of our conversation. After all, that’s what we Heelz did. We stuck it to the man, not the government, but the patriarchy.
“Literally. We took him and his crew for all they had at some seedy motel. It started innocently enough. We were checking out the Serpent’s Tail like you told us. We didn’t wear our colors, of course. His crew came onto us, and we couldn’t help ourselves. We went back to their rooms and made off with their wallets, watches, the works. But that’s it. We didn’t kill anyone.”
Rage leaned back in her chair as she lifted her boots onto her desk. Her stare drifted off as she considered my words. “He was found dead after y’all left. Did any of your sisters stay behind?”
Without a doubt, I moved my head from side to side. “We all left together.”
After a moment, she looked back at me, her decision made. “Alright. I believe you, of course. But this mess with the Seville Slayers isn’t over. Riptide coming here, accusing you… It’s only the beginning.”
Her words reflecting my own worries, I nodded. The Seville Slayers wouldn’t let this go easily, and neither could we. But knowing I had the support of my club, of Rage, made all the difference. We were the Hell on Heelz MC, and we faced our battles head on, together.
“Thanks, Prez,” I said, standing up. “For believing in me.”
Rage’s response was a nod, the briefest of smiles touching her lips. “Always, Brat. We’re family. Now, let’s figure out how to clean up this mess.” As I was about to leave Rage’s office, her voice caught me off guard. “Hold up, Brat,” she called, pinning me with a look that meant we weren’t quite done. I paused, hand still on the doorknob, and turned back to face her.
“Why do you think he let you go?” Rage asked, her curiosity not just as a club president but as someone who’s seen too much and understands the complexities of human actions better than most.
Inhaling deeply, I went back to my seat. That scene had been playing in my head on repeat. “Hudson and I… we went to the same high school here in Florida. It was a… complicated relationship,” I confessed, the words tasting bitter.
Rage cocked her head, her interest evident. “Hudson, huh? That Riptide’s real name?” She snickered under her breath.
“Yeah,” I replied, nodding slowly. “He was some rich kid. He wasn’t exactly nice to me. Bullied me, in fact.” Studying my hands laid before me on her desk, I found myself fidgeting like I used to back then. “But when we were alone, things were different between us. He’d take advantage of those moments, and I… I let him because it felt like I was seen, even if it was just an illusion.”
Rage’s expression softened, a rare glimpse of the woman behind the president. “You’ve come a long way since those high school days,” she said, her voice gentle. She reached out to stop my wringing hands. I put them in my lap. “After you left your dad’s place in Arizona and came down here, lived with the Banshee’s family, I knew you were a bit lost. But it’s been years. You’ve come so far and made a new life for yourself now.”
Her reminder brought a small comfort, grounding me in the knowledge of how far I’d journeyed from those tumultuous days. “I guess I thought Hudson would just stay a part of my past. I never imagined he’d walk back into my life like this. I don’t know why he let me go, Rage. Maybe there’s still a fragment of that high school kid in him. Or maybe he’s got other plans. It’s hard to say.”
Rage still reached across the desk, offered a supportive squeeze of my hand. “Whatever his reasons, remember you’re not facing this alone. You’ve got us, the Hell on Heelz. We’re your family now.”
I grasped her hand, drawing strength from her support. “Thank you, Rage. It means more than you know.”
Then her tone took on a serious edge that gave me pause. “You need to understand who Riptide really is, what he stands for. Riptide, your Hudson, whatever he goes by, he’s not just some old high school bully. He’s become our main adversary,” Rage began, her words weighted with a gravity that demanded my full attention. “He’s turned the Seville Slayers MC into one of the most ruthless crews out there. And he’s got a particular vendetta against us.”
I leaned forward, absorbing every word. The memory of Hudson from high school aligned more closely with the image of Riptide that Rage was painting than I liked to admit.
“He thinks the Hell on Heelz is a joke,” she continued, her disdain for his opinion clear. “Thinks women have no place on motorcycles, let alone running their own MC. It’s not just talk, Brat. He’s acted on those beliefs.”
