Outlaw: A Motorcycle Club Romance Read online

  Outlaw

  An Outsiders MC Romance

  Daisy March

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Daisy March

  For all those who need looking after

  Prologue

  Cathy

  The moon was out when he came to kill my parents.

  I wonder sometimes how different my life would have been if the clouds hadn’t moved while he was striding across the lawn. Would he have seen me? Would I have died in there?

  I was locked in the shed. It was after midnight. He was walking toward the house.

  It was a cold night despite the cloud cover. That was what I remember the most. I was wearing the only dress I had. I’d been wearing it since the summer. It didn’t do much to keep me warm.

  I was looking at the ice on the window when the clouds shifted and then the light of moon lit up the overgrown lawn enough to spot the figure moving over there.

  Swirls of ice had been sweeping across the glass since it got dark. It was so cold I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. My feet were bare and they had gone through burning pain into totally numbed.

  My parents had told me they’d come get me before dark but the sun had set hours ago and there was no sign of them. I could hear them yelling at each other, even from this far away.

  The lights were on in the house. They’d been having a party and they’d forgotten about me. It happened a lot back then.

  The figure was halfway across the lawn when the moon lit him up. He stopped dead, turned, and looked right at me.

  I ducked out of sight but I moved too fast, crashing into the terracotta pots on the shelf by my knees. Too much noise. He’d be sure to hear.

  “No, no, no,” I muttered as a pot rolled toward the edge. I tried to catch it in time but it fell, followed by another, both of them landing on the concrete floor, shattering too loudly.

  Now I was really in trouble. They’d made it clear so many times. If I told anyone I was locked in the shed when I was bad or they wanted me out the way, I’d get punished even worse. Did I want to live to see my seventh birthday? Tell anyone the truth and I’d end up like Lucy. Was that what I wanted?

  I kept perfectly still, squatting down and shivering as the cold seeped deeper into my bones. I dared not look out the window. What if he was still out there? What if he was looking in? Who was he and what did he want?

  My parents had regular parties with a motorcycle club called the Throat Rippers. They sometimes went on all night. The first couple of parties, bikers with stinking breath and slurred speech came into my room and woke me up, tried to tell me to come downstairs and join the party. My mom saw one of them once and there was hell to pay. Since then I was put out in the shed whenever there was a party.

  No party tonight. Just me getting caught trying to steal food. This was my punishment. I should have known. They’d been angry all day, looking for any excuse to yell at me and each other. Something had happened but I didn’t know what. All I heard my father going on about was, “The Outsiders will want revenge.”

  He’d mentioned their name before but I didn’t know who they were. The Outsiders. Whoever they were, they were the only people who ever made him sound afraid.

  Was that an Outsider on the lawn? Was that what they were fighting about? Did they know he was coming?

  I stood up, pushing my face against the edge of the glass. He’d gone. Whoever he was, he’d disappeared.

  I was alone again. I could breathe at last.

  There was a rattling sound to my right. I leaped almost out of my skin. I knew that sound all too well. It was the door handle moving. Someone was trying to get in. The padlock was on the outside. Whoever it was didn’t have a key. They couldn’t get in. If only there was somewhere to hide.

  Jingling.

  Quiet, like fairy bells in the distance. Metal started sliding against metal.

  I shuffled backward, trying to hide. I didn’t want to end up like Lucy. I looked for somewhere to bury myself but there was nowhere. Just the mower, the shelves of pots, and the hulking machine parts covered in rust and cobwebs.

  The jingling stopped and then there was nothing for a long time. I held my breath.

  Please go away.

  The door swung outward. A blast of cold air swirled in and then an enormous black shadow burst in. He was darker than the night sky.

  Was it the boggart?

  I used to dream of the boggart. Mom said the boggart had taken Lucy. It would come for me too if I didn’t do what I was told. Stop being so naughty or the boggart will get you. Black as night with eyes of coal and claws sharper than steel. Jagged broken teeth to chomp you up.

  I held my hands out in front of me, silently begging the figure not to take me. I shook my head, scrambling backward as he came for me.

  The shadow had to duck so he could fit inside the shed. Turning, he swung the door shut, and then there was just the two of us alone in the dark.

  A click and then the flare of a lighter, the tiny orange glow illuminating the interior of the shed, lighting up his face as he moved the lighter toward me.

  It wasn’t the boggart. It was a giant of a man. He was wearing black gloves, black jacket, black pants, and black skullcap.

  He looked out the window and I caught a glimpse of the back of his jacket. A skull in flames and the words, “The Outsiders,” written underneath. It was similar to the Throat Ripper jackets. He must be a biker too, I remember thinking to myself.

  I should have been terrified but I wasn’t. I still don’t know why I wasn’t scared when I saw him all those years ago. All I knew was that his smile was kind when he leaned down and examined me in the glow of his lighter.

  “Hey kid,” he said, kneeling in front of me. His voice was deep, rumbling like the trucks that rolled by every hour heading for the freeway from the lumber yard in the sticks. “What’s your name?” His eyes were dark, unseeable in the dark. “Cat got your tongue? What’s your name, kid?”

  I pointed to my mouth, shaking my head, then to my throat, doing the same.

  “Can’t talk, huh? That’s okay.” He put a hand out and I flinched away. He might look friendly but he was a “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m Jake, okay? Jake Beck.”

  I nodded, my teeth chattering, unable to stop shivering. I tried to speak but nothing came out.

  “Here,” he said, taking off his jacket. Without the jacket I saw he wasn’t as old as I thought. He was in his late teens, early twenties maybe. “Put it on. You’re freezing.” The jacket smelled of him. Sweat, leather, oil, something else like a forest.

  He wrapped it around me and then zipped it up. “There, all w
arm. Suits you too. You’ll make a good Outsider someday.”

  I looked up at him, saying nothing.

  “Never even knew they had kids,” he said more to himself than me. He frowned. “Was it Barry and Lucille? Did they put you in here?” He looked closer at my face. I couldn’t hide the bruises from the glow of his lighter. “Did they do that to you?”

  I shook my head too fast, feeling dizzy. I couldn’t tell him the truth. They’d set the boggart on me if I did. I had to lie.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. You can tell me. Did they lock you in here?”

  I shook my head again.

  “I promise I won’t let anyone else hurt you ever again.”

  I wanted to believe him. I really did. But I knew they were just words. Words didn’t mean anything. Mom said she’d never hurt me, when she was really out of it. Never stopped her when she was sober. “Did they lock you in here?”

  I shook my head but then I saw his eyes and the shake turned into a tiny nod.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He stood up, taking a deep breath before getting hold of himself. “Bet you’re hungry, right?”

  I nodded again, pointing at my stomach.

  “Here,” he said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a silver box with an engraved skull on the top. He passed me the box. “You like candy, right?”

  I frowned. I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “You’ll like it. Help yourself, I’ll be right back.”

  As he turned to go, I reached out for his sleeve, grabbing hold, stopping him.

  He looked down at me, taking my hand in his and squeezing it. “I promise I’ll be back. You just stay here for a couple more minutes, okay? You can be brave, can’t you?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled. “Good girl. I’ll be right back.”

  He shut the door behind him and I was left in the dark with his silver box. I lifted the lid and my stomach growled at the sweet scent coming from within.

  Was that candy?.

  I took a piece and licked it. White squares that tasted of mint. Crunching on a segment, I crossed back to the window and looked out. He was already by the back door of the house, crouching down by the lock. A minute later the door swung open and then he vanished inside.

  I swallowed the candy, my stomach not used to getting something so sweet inside. I closed the lid of the box and clutched the thing tight, willing for him to come back soon. I felt safe when he was around but he should be afraid of my parents. Everyone was afraid of them. They did bad things.

  The shed door was unlocked. I could leave. I could just walk out and run away.

  I didn’t. Where would I go? I had no one.

  I finished the candy. My fear had been overridden by my hunger. I hadn’t eaten since the single bite of the pancake I’d been able to snatch and I was still paying for that.

  Through the gap in the door a cold wind blew. It brought noise with it, noise from the house. Shouting. My dad’s voice, then mom. Then another voice, louder than both of them. Was that him? It sounded like a rockfall crashing down a mountain.

  There was another sound in the distance. Sirens. Getting louder. The police were coming. They used to come a lot but recently not so much.

  The police were bad people. I’d been told that. I was never to speak to them, never to have anything to do with them. If I did the boggart would find out and come get me from my cell and eat me up like it did Lucy.

  Lights began to flash out there. Squad cars were pulling up at the side of the house. People were running. Lights went on inside and then there was more shouting. Lots of shouting.

  Don’t let the boggart get me. Don’t take me away like Lucy. I’ll be good, I promise.

  The door to the shed opened and a police officer was looking in at me. “Hi there,” he said, reaching a hand out toward me. “Name’s Eddie. Need you to come out here little girl. That ain’t no place for a child.”

  I shook my head. He leaned closer. “That’s a nice jacket. Someone give you that?”

  I clung onto the jacket as he led me out of the shed.

  “You should be happy,” another officer yelled my way. “We got the son of a bitch that just killed your parents.”

  “Just ignore him,” Eddie said. “You just look at me, okay. Don’t look at the house.”

  My parents were dead? Was that true? I glanced at the open back door. Blood. So much blood. Jake was being brought out, his hands cuffed behind his back. “I didn’t do nothing,” he said. “I tried to stop him.”

  “Bullshit,” the officer leading him out said. “Outsider comes to the Throat Ripper’s fixer for a tea party, I’m guessing?”

  The car lights were flashing so bright, it made my eyes hurt.

  “You okay?” Jake shouted across to me.

  I gave him a thumb’s up as he was loaded into a squad car. “Take care of her, Eddie,” he shouted as the door slammed shut.

  I didn’t see him again for fifteen years.

  1

  Cathy

  My foster dad told me about the trial, laughed as he described it. “Throat Rippers got one of their prospects to testify. Imagine that. Him an Outsider and a Throat Ripper gets him put away. A man he trusted too. Pretended he was an Outsider prospect. Hung out at the club while they were planning it.

  “Bruce said he heard them plan the whole thing. Open and shut case anyway even with his bullshit defense.

  “Said your pop did it. Said he got in there to find them fighting over the knife with blood already spraying everywhere. Tried to attack Bruce while he was giving evidence. Just made him look all the more guilty.”

  He wiped the spit from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Course the jury didn’t believe his bull. Got life. He won’t get out of prison now except in a wooden box. Piece of shit got everything he deserved. Outsiders always get what they deserve.”

  He laughed some more but there was no warmth in his eyes. He looked at me as I looked at him. “You little freak,” he said. “You’re like a goddamned robot. Can’t you react to anything?”

  I shrugged.

  “Lucky for you we’re on the fostering list. You could have ended up anywhere but you got to stay in the same county thanks to us. You should be more grateful.” He opened another beer. “Go on, get out of my sight.”

  I went. Since being taken into care, I’d been placed with a foster family in Sherburn, over on the far side of the county. Sherburn was Throat Ripper territory. Redd’s Cove was Outsiders. That was where the problems had begun. My father did jobs for the Throat Rippers but lived in an Outsiders town.

  My foster parents fought almost as much as mom and dad used to but at they didn’t hit me. Not nearly as much anyway.

  I had to go to school. The other children picked on me for not talking to them but at least it got me out of the house for a few hours each day.

  In my room, I kept the jacket Jake had given me. The silver box was empty but he still smelled a tiny bit of the mint candy.

  I was sure he hadn’t killed my parents. No one with a warm smile like that could kill two people. He wasn’t a murderer. I just knew it. No matter what the jury thought.

  The Outsiders.

  That was what his jacket said. No, not a jacket. A cut. That was what my dad called jackets like that. Cuts. He had one too, crossed daggers on the back and Throat Rippers stamped underneath.

  A soap opera blasted out from the TV downstairs.

  A life sentence.

  I’d never see Jake again. I rummaged out his cut from the back of the wardrobe. The smell had faded but I swore I could still get a hint of it when I pressed the leather close to my nose.

  That was my life.

  When I was sixteen I started working at the Throat Rippers’ bar.

  It was a dingy place on the edge of town. Full of rough-looking bikers. No windows, long bar, beer-stained tables and a smell of stale sweat.

  My foster dad told
me it was time to start earning my keep. I’d had enough schooling. Got me the job in return for free drinks whenever he called in.

  That was it until I turned twenty. Working in the bar and taking the abuse of the bikers. My pay went to my foster parents. They said I owed it to them for rent.

  Six nights a week in the bar. It might have gone on forever if it wasn’t for the prison breakout.

  The breakout happened because the president of the Throat Rippers got himself arrested. It was the same night he proposed to me.

  I was behind the bar. He’d been gone a couple of nights so I hadn’t had to put up with his leering eyes and wandering hands.

  He reappeared that night and went to dump something in his safe room. It was like a bank vault or a panic room over in the corner of the bar. Big steel door with a keypad he punched a number into.

  He vanished inside with a bag, coming back out without it. He often did that. I caught a glimpse at a couple of the bags. Either drugs or guns. Papers too sometimes. I had no idea what was on them. Every now and then someone would appear and collect one of the bags.

  He sat at the bar and started working his way down a bottle, staring at me the whole time.

  “Gonna marry you, Cathy,” he slurred, reaching across the bar to grab me. “Gotta get out of this world before I end up wormfood. Nearly got caught this time.”

  I jumped back from him, nearly dropping the bottle from my hand in my haste.

  “Your dad was one of the best,” he continued. “Sure he’d approve of the prez taking his daughter’s hand.”