Page 7 of Wolf.e

I shake my head, knowing exactly who the Hounds of Hell are. At least, I know everything I’ve always been told.

“You could say congratulations,” Layla adds, looking a little hurt. I instantly feel bad for judging her. The thing is, Layla is usually a good judge of character so I can’t wrap my head around any of this. I realize maybe I don’t really know her that well anymore. I was so wrapped up in my life with Evan, wanting forever with him, wanting the life I thought I should have. Through all that, Layla and I just drifted apart. Partly because I stopped coming home after my mom died. It's hard to stay in touch the same way when you live hours away. Even though time has passed, Layla still picks right back up with me the moment I come home. I make a silent promise to spend as much time with her as I can.

“Right. Congratulations, I’m sorry,” I say. Her friends stop chattering so she turns to introduce me to them. There’s a super fit Asian girl with blunt bangs, full lips, and as many tattoos as Layla, named Amber, a blonde bombshell, Chantel, who seems like every man’s fantasy with cherry red, glossy full lips and a diamond stud nose ring. Another blonde with wild, curly hair, who seems a bit older is named Maria.

I make small talk with them but can’t stop eyeing the men at the same time. The sight of them this close to us makes me extremely uneasy. The men of the Hounds of Hell were a staple in town everyone avoided.

We’ve always been told they’re extremely bad news, especially by our parents and people in our church growing up. I remember Sunday sermons laced with prayers for our town, we even prayed for club members, their wives, and local businesses. Some of the church elders even had rallies with signs that said, “Keep the Harmony in Harmony” outside the businesses the club had their hands in. Their presence casted a shadow over our otherwise safe and friendly town.

What scares me the most is that I’m gathering by their presence that Layla is Ax’s property and Ax must be their property. I’ve never even met him, but if I remember correctly, I think this wedding came fast, and Layla has always been a bit of a rebel. But she’s never been up to anything dangerous like this before—this is the first. I know I need to get my friend alone and make sure she’s okay, not involved in anything that could get her into real trouble.

“Come sit with us, let's catch up!” she says, pointing to an entire corner of the rooftop that’s sectioned off, there are decorations and food laid out, a few other girls dancing. It’s like a little VIP area.

I try hard not to be afraid but I’m definitely hesitant because of her crew and Layla can tell. She leans into me. She smells like the perfume she’s always worn. It’s comforting and makes me feel like she’s still the same girl I always knew.

“Trust me, you’re safe. The MC isn’t cut and dry. It’s not what we were told,” she says low enough for only me to hear. Her brown eyes meet mine.

I nod. I might not know this new life she’s got but I know Layla, and I at least know she would never put me in harm's way. “For a few minutes,” I agree.

For no other reason than I feel like grasping onto something familiar and comforting, I blow out a breath and follow the intimidating Hounds of Hell bikers and these women into the VIP area.

This is not at all what I thought I’d be doing when I woke up this morning.

“Babe, honestly, that sucks, but you know I always say it like it is. You would’ve been like a Stepford wife, so I feel like you were saved. You deserve better than that. Did you know a man knows if he wants to marry you in six months? He was making you wait… stringing you along,” Layla says matter-of-factly almost an hour after I’ve told her all about the day that feels like an eternity ago, not mere weeks. “So, what, you’re coming back to Harmony to start fresh?” she asks, sipping her drink.

“Something like that, more like because I don’t really have a choice,” I say, nursing my water, my drink long gone, while swiping the tears from my cheeks.

“Sorry, I don’t want to rain on your parade with how depressing this is on your special night,” I say as the other girls return after dancing up a storm. They gave up on my downer of a story thirty minutes ago.

At least I know for certain now why these men are here. Layla’s fiancé is a member in the MC and I wonder, as she tells me all about him, how she could fall in love with a man like that and not worry for her safety. As wonderful as he may be, she has to know he is involved with the wrong kind of people. She’s willingly giving herself over to a life of crime and danger.

“Pfft. I’m just glad I could be here. Fate for the win.” She blows out a raspberry, takes a big sip and then her eyes light up. “This is perfect!” She smiles.

“What is?” I ask cautiously.

“You need a distraction! You’re home. You have to come now!” she says.

I look at her, not understanding.

“My wedding, the one you declined!” she says, her pretty mouth turning into a frown. “You’re coming. We’ll dance, we’ll have some fun, it’s on Tybee Island, it’s beautiful. We have Lighthouse Landing all to ourselves.”

My eyebrows perk up. Lighthouse Landing is one of the nicest resorts on Tybee Island, right on the ocean. For some reason, I pictured this wedding to be anything but traditional. Maybe in one of the club members' backyards while people smoked various kinds of drugs and got black out drunk, some women dancing in barely there clothing.

Come to think of it, that's pretty much what I picture when I think of them—seedy, dark, sexual, ruthless. I know enough to know if you don’t look too long and keep your distance, they’ll leave you alone. If I go to this wedding, not looking is just impossible.

“Do you ever worry about what will happen if they get… into trouble while you’re with them?” I ask, not understanding my own curiosity.

“Look, I'm not saying my soon-to-be husband and his crew are always innocent men. Some things are true. Like, if you get on their bad side, hiding wouldn’t help you.”

My stomach drops with the nonchalance she says these words

“But these things aren't so black and white, Brin. Our parents… they were assumptive and judgemental. They didn’t know the truth. Don’t you ever question them?” Layla asks, with a surety that makes me go over everything I think I know.

We all heard the rumors growing up. Dragging men who defy them behind their bikes down Main Street. Breaking limbs and branding body parts. I also think of what I witnessed. When I was eight, we stopped at the bakery for a cake for a dinner party and I remember seeing police and caution tape around the local diner across the street. When my mom got back in the car, she told my dad as quietly as she could that a fight had broken out and a club member threw someone through their front window and he almost bled to death. That's when my father said this town was being taken over by heathens. My parents used to talk about them like they were lowlifes, but I do have a few different memories. One in particular includes a giant, gray-haired man holding the door for me and Mom once when we went into the bank. My mom had never looked so scared ushering me by him, but I remember how he smiled down at me as we walked by. He seemed almost like a gentleman.

“So… your future husband, aside from this life”—I glance nervously to the men joking and talking behind her, paying me no mind—“what does he do?” I cross my legs at my ankles and place my palms on my knees. It’s hard to help but when I’m nervous I go full princess etiquette.

Layla looks at me like she knows I’m judging her and I hate that I am, that’s something Evan used to do that I always disliked.

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