Page 4 of Bullet

I nodded as Matteo extended his hand, his eyes raking over me like a predator does its prey. Fear and excitement rushed through me as I placed my hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Alvarez.”

“The pleasure is all mine, hermosa.” He kissed the back of my hand, and heat rushed to my core. He oozed danger and confidence, and my sex clenched in appreciation.

Waving my boss away, Matteo sat down on the plush sofa and pulled me down on his lap. He twirled a lock of my hair around his finger as he smirked. “Let's get to know each other better.”

I didn't know it at the time, but Matteo was a dangerous man. He always got what he wanted, and when he didn't, he found a way to take it by any means necessary.

At first, I was intoxicated by the power and sex appeal Matteo exuded. Men wanted to be him, women wanted to be with him, and I was the one he wanted by his side. In the beginning, I reveled in his attention; he treated me like a princess, showering me with gifts, fucking me senseless, and making sure my bills were paid.

After a few months, things changed.

Matteo snorted a line of coke off the glass table in the VIP section of the club we were in that night. He gestured to me. “Go ahead, hermosa.”

I wasn't in the mood. Matteo had barely been paying attention to me, talking business all night with his men. I crossed my arms over my chest, pouting like a child in time-out. “No, thanks.”

He scoffed. “No, thanks?” Slamming his drink down on the table, he stormed the few feet over to me and grabbed me by the hair, pushing my face down onto the table, right in the lines of the white drug.

“You know how hard I work for this?” he seethed, his face inches from mine. My heart pounded in fear as I struggled against his ironclad grip. “You will snort it, and you will like it.”

He let go of my hair and looked at me expectantly. Everyone was watching us, but no one stepped in to help or defend me. I felt so small and insignificant, humiliated beyond belief.

“Now, hermosa,” Matteo warned, his voice low and deadly. “I won't ask again.”

I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat, my hands shaking as I snorted the line. My sinuses burned as I wiped the residual powder from my nose.

“Good,” Matteo praised, settling back in the leather chair he'd been sitting in. “Next time, I won't be so kind, so let this be a lesson to you.”

The stubborn side of me tested Matteo's “kindness” several more times after that, and each time, the consequences were more severe. A backhand to the face. His choking grip on my throat. Bruised ribs and black eyes.

Matteo made it clear who was in charge, and there was nothing I could do about it. He was the most powerful cartel drug lord in LA, and I had been foolish enough to get involved with him. I ignored the warning signs, intoxicated by his power and confidence.

Before I knew it, he was controlling and vindictive, using everything against me to get what he wanted. He'd even forced me to do some drops for him, and I felt dirty after each exchange. I'd left Laughlin to get away from that kind of lifestyle, and I ended up right back in it.

My grandfather's funeral was the perfect opportunity for me to escape. Matteo was in Mexico on some important business with some other cartel lords, so I was able to leave without his interference. I’d tried several times before to leave but was either stopped by his goons or beaten until I was physically unable to leave.

Gazing up at sky, I wrapped my arms around myself. Thank you for watching over me, Grandpa. I closed my eyes and sighed, overwhelmed by everything going on in my life. I miss you so much. I'm so sorry I didn't visit. I kinda fucked up my life, but I promise I'll make it up to you.

Tears trickled down my cheeks. I'd made a mess of my life, but I was going to get things back on track. I knew I should tell my dad, but I didn't want him to start a war with the cartel. My father and brothers were hotheaded, and I knew they would want revenge for the abuse Matteo subjected me to. Plus, I didn't want to tell them with all that was going on with my grandpa's death and their club responsibilities. They already had enough going on and didn't need my baggage on top of it.

I wiped my face and got back in my car, then drove back home to finish getting ready. I wore my nicest black dress, and my dad and brothers wore their road leathers and cuts to honor their president. With my grandpa's passing, that title now fell to my dad, who had been the VP.

I rode with my dad on his bike to the base of Spirit Mountain, where all the bikers were supposed to meet. Then, everyone who gathered would all ride up together to release my grandpa's ashes on the summit at sunset.

The Forsaken were the first club to arrive. I recognized most of the men, but there were a few faces I hadn't seen before. The guys made small talk as we waited for others to arrive.

After a few minutes, the rumble of motorcycles sounded in the distance. My dad told me that many clubs would be coming to pay their respects, even rivals, out of tradition, but the crowd I'd pictured in my mind didn't even come close to the number of bikers who showed up.

Hundreds of bikers spanned the desert before us, and my jaw dropped at the sheer number of them. “Oh, my God.” I gasped, craning my neck to get a better look.

My dad sat up straighter, no doubt swelling with pride. My eyes burned with tears as I fought back the emotion of seeing so many men take the time to pay their respects to my grandfather.

My dad led the massive group of bikers up Spirit Mountain to where my grandpa's final resting place would be. As we rode, memories of my grandfather taking my brothers and me camping on Spirit Mountain flashed in my head. He would tell us stories about the petroglyphs drawn on the canyon's rock walls and about how our ancestors considered Spirit Mountain to be where creation began.

Those were the days; back before my brothers and I were corrupted by life.

When the road ended, we parked the bikes and walked the rest of the way to the summit. The whole experience was surreal; hiking up Spirit Mountain with hundreds of bikers to release my grandfather's ashes where our people were believed to be created.

Carrying my grandpa's urn, I cradled it against my chest. When we finally reached where we'd decided to lay him to rest, my father stopped and turned around. My brothers and I took places on either side of him as he addressed the gathering of fellow bikers who spread before us. “First off, I want to thank you all for coming. Some of us have our differences, but the respect for one of our own's passing is far greater than that.”

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