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“I’m sorry. She’s pregnant with my baby.” It’s my boyfriend’s voice. "...we never planned it," my sister whispered, her voice thick with fake tears. The victim act. She breathed it. Ice trickled down my spine. My boyfriend and my sister? I was going to give my vlrginity to my boyfriend as his birthday gift today. But when I came home with the new black lace lingerie I'd bought, I discovered his shocking betrayal. Dad's voice, tight with disbelief: "When?" "Christmas." My boyfriend's reply, casual, ripped the air. "Too much of your eggnog. Started talking in Maxine's room... things got heated. Ended up in her bed." Her bed. My bed. The world tilted. My hand flew to my mouth. "...got so lost," he continued, oblivious to the knife twisting in my gut just feet away, "...forgot the condom." Forgot. The. Condom. The image hit me like a physical blow: His hands on her. Her sighs. In my sheets. On Christmas. The day I'd worn the red sweater he loved. The bed I'd slept in that same night, blissfully ignorant, maybe still smelling of them… Their sweat. Their scent. Their… Bile surged, hot and acidic, scorching my throat. The expensive lace suddenly felt like a shroud. The arrow pointing down felt like a cruel joke. My gift. My bed. My sister. How. Could. They. "He gave me the best Christmas present ever." My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. "This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren." Mum said, sounding excited at the news. "What now?" My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. "We get married?' My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. "What about Maxine?" My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn't sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn't take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn't want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. "Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the bastard baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday's trash?" I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. "Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out." My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. "Fine with me." The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I stormed out. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny's couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. "You're late, night must have gone better than planned," Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. "Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?" He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn't cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn't say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Chapter 2 Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was three years older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She's a shameless hussy, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she'd move on. So, in a way, I didn't have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed' scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn't want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. With the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Today, I am moving into my new place —a flat above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn't hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, with everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and it's above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was quiet. No one would break into this shop; the local MC club owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. "We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya," Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. "That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?" Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her refusing nothing they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. "No, I'll ride over," I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. "That's the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away." They stayed because they didn't want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little flat was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me. And I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole group of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating bastard. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. "Hey, don't forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up," Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn't much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Chapter 3 The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. "I hear you've been invited to the club party tonight," Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. "Yep." I said popping the ‘p'. "You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today." It was close to one o'clock, near the time I would knock off. "Thanks, boss." I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn't want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn't like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn't like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. "Hey." I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. "Who invited you here?" The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. "Bruiser," I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. "Max?" He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. "Come in, the car behind your girls?" He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. "Yep," I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Chapter 4 Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don't care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn't care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. "Max, you came by bike. Sweet." He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. "Who did the paint job?" He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. "Me." I was proud of the results. "Does Mike know you can paint?" He sounded surprised. "He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it." "Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us." Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. "Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister." Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. "Ladies. Hands out." Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. "You are family, no need for a stamp." I couldn't stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. "Come inside and meet the ole ladies." I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. "What's so special about them?" One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. "Sticks." I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. "Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?" She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. "Doing better," I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn't surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. "What's her story?" Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. "Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand." Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. "She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don't need her sort in the club." Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. "The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak." Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don't approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom's are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don't touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don't have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don't touch or sit on someone's bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn't remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. "Want to look around?" Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. "Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are." Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. "Who's this Sticks?" A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Chapter 5 Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don't get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He's carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large d**k has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can't; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn't join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn't. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my d**k went down like a popped balloon. Workshop time. Tuning bikes before the party kicks off. Guys are less assholish when the women show later. Staring at a rebuild wreck I started last week. Stuck. Head-scratching territory. That's when her smell hit me. Soft perfume. Wrong for this greasy shed. Stick's voice. "This is Max." Looked up. Damn. Most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, standing in our sanctuary. Women don't belong here. "Mike's apprentice," Banjo said, already moving towards her like the rest. "Finished her papers. Harley specialist now." Felt like an idiot. Seen her before, sure. From a distance. Buried under a bike or truck, covered in crap. Coveralls hiding everything. Never saw her. Never forgot that face. Sticks did intros. My mind went places. Wouldn't mind... but can't. Needed her help, though. "Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next." I called her over on the bike I was working on. "Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work." Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. "Max, are you sure?" Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. "Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there," Max said with a smile and turned back to me. "What's the problem?" She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. Two hours. She worked magic. Guided me through the crap I couldn't figure. Guys gathered around, soaking it up like a free class. She didn't flirt. Just knew her shit. Bruiser filled the doorway. "Max! Invited you to drink, not wrench!" Prez walked in, Stick on his arm. "Party over?" Max asked. Sounded hopeful. "Hardly, babes," Prez grinned. He'd talked about Mike's mouthy mechanic for years. Thought he was full of it. Not anymore. Hooked. "Nearly done Spider's bike," I said. "Get Max here a few days, we ride this weekend." Stay. Prez rubbed his chin. "Mike's call. He runs the shop." "Max," Sparks cut in, "If Mike's cool... work with us a week? Get these wrecks running?" "Sure," she said, that sweet voice cutting clear. "If Mike doesn't need me. Got service bikes before the Ladies' Run." Nods all 'round. This chick wasn't for lying on bikes; she fixed 'em. Proved it. And yeah, she'd had me half-hard since she walked in. Word spread. Fast. How her man cheated. Bad. Gutted her. Rage lit up the place. Brothers who barely knew her, who'd maybe seen her boots under a chassis, wanted the bastard dead. His blood. Because this woman, laughing while explaining engine crap, fearless in our grime, deserved better. She wasn't chasing the life; she was in it. And someone wrecked her. Now they'd pay. ... Open the app and continue reading the rest of the story . 👉 (It will automatically jump to the book when you open the app)