Page 1 of Blue

Chapter One

Blue

Two things drew a crowd to the Heller Raiders MC—weddings and funerals. Not that you could tell a difference between the two. Patches were always getting drunk, getting laid, or getting high.

Outside, bikes rumbled. Inside, girls danced in the center of the chapel, the main gathering room of the club. The clubhouse was a converted church. Fitting, since the MC was the closest I’d ever come to finding salvation. I’d never be saved, but, at least, with two wheels down, I wasn’t dying.

Music blared through the room, and the party bled out into the parking lot where fire crackled in the oil drum. The oil drum wasn’t my scene. I’d heard enough of the old timers talking about riding when outlaw riders could outrun the law.

Rogue, VP of the Heller Raiders, lifted his beer for a toast. Here we go.

“According to wedding tradition,” he said, “the best man’s speech should last as long as the groom can in bed. But we all know Bullet, and no one wants to listen to me talk all night. So, here’s to women and Harleys…and the Hellers who ride them.”

The toast felt like a punch to the gut. They called me Blue because it’d been a while since I’d gotten my dickwet. I’d slit my wrists, eat my gun, or jump from a fucking building before I let anyone discover the truth.

My problem wasn’t getting girls. My issues were deeper and darker. I swallowed hard and ignored the burn of memories I’d choke on before I’d fucking dredge up the cesspool of emotions festering in my gut.

Kodiak hollered. “May your wives and lovers never cross paths.” Then he laughed and wrapped his arms around Bristol who was sitting on his lap.

“Formerlovers,” Lacey clarified.

“Stormy, you’re a brave woman.” Vega tossed back a shot. “Bullet, I don’t know fuck about love. But honor her by gettingon herand stayingon her.”

Vega, Kodiak, and Steele were the newest patches in the club. Former Night Crawlers. They’d protected Bullet while he killed the Crawler MC from the inside.

Murph lifted his glass. “May your wedding night be like fried chicken, a bit of breast, a little thigh, and finger-licking good.”

“You all are assholes, and these are terrible toasts,” Bristol said. “Stormy is my best friend.”

Bristol and Lacey were both Bullet’s former whores, otherwise known as his kittens—his way of claiming their pussies as his property. Although Bullet declared his pimping days were behind him. The guy was a legend. I wanted to be just like him. Ride, fight, and fuck like a beast.

I was one for three. I rode a black and powder-coated Nightster, but I didn’t fight for recreation. Some of the guys enjoyed going to the basement of the MC just to beat the shit out of each other. Nah, I held grudges. If you tried to get a sneak on me, I’d fucking pound your head into the curb, and kick the shit out of you. I might not be strong enough to go fist to fist, but I fought dirty.

Another cheer went around the room. Another toast. Another round of drinks. Another fucking reason to get out of here. This was the shit that pissed me off. The Heller Raiders were celebrating, as if my life hadn’t been fucked over again.

I wasn’t pissed that Bullet married his lay. I guess even a pimp could get sick of professional pussy, not that I would know. I didn’t sample the product. Bullet traded in skin. The girls worked, and I’d made sure no one damaged the merchandise.

Protecting the girls was therapy. Being around pussy was better than seeing a shrink. My head was fucked, and it had nothing to do with the concussion I’d gotten six weeks ago when Stormy’s ex beat the fuck out of me.

I didn’t blame her. I did blame Bullet. He should’ve told me to watch my back, that some mafia hitman and Stormy’s ex were looking for her. Bullet owed me that much. I never would have let Kiss stay at Indulgence, Bullet’s massage spa. I wouldn’t have promised her she’d be safe with me. I wouldn’t have spent three weeks in bed while Kiss crawled back to the streets. I wouldn’t have this knot of rage burning in my gut.

“Blue, why so blue?” Levi maneuvered into the chair next to me, not an easy task with her belly the size of a beachball.

I had to admit, I loved the girl. Everyone loved her. She was like an alpha-hole whisperer when it came to Hellers. When she was around, we all seemed to find our manners. Everyone except Romeo, treasurer and pretty boy of the MC. Not that he was an asshole to her. The opposite was true. According to the girls, Romeo did her dirty. And she loved it. He couldn’t keep his hands off her or, apparently, his dick out of her.

I had an unhealthy preoccupation with sex. Maybe because I had a fucked up history with it.

Jazzy smirked and sat across from me.

“Don’t say shit,” I said to her. Although I was grateful for the distraction. Anything to keep my focus off fucking. Jazzy was a boner killer for me. Good thing because she was Rogue’s old lady, the only patched female in the MC, and she could kick my ass.

“I think your concussion affected your personality,” she said. “You’re no fun anymore.”

Jazzy and I had a tumultuous relationship. I’d say she was like a sister, but I’d never say the shit I said to Jazzy to my sister. Although I didn’t say anything to my sister. Not anymore. We hadn’t spoken in six years, and I was good with that. She could fuck off along with the rest of my family. I was better off without them.

Hana and Jazzy were like a professional tag team when it came to ball busting. Only Hana was dynamite. She came in a small package, wore a property of Blade cut, and she was brutally honest.

“Look at them,” Hana said as she watched the dance floor. “It’s the ballet version of beauty and the beast.”

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