Page 31 of My Darling Mayhem

The Stone Riders was the club Simon Stone had left behind. While I wouldn’t be against allying with them, we had a long way to go before any declarations were made, especially with the new crew that had been assembled from various clubs that shouldn’t even be in the same room, much less the same club. It made them dangerous.

I knew it was something I needed to bring my club in on and make a plan. Perhaps even try and take advantage of the fact that the Stone Riders would be weak right now, as would Sons of Speed with the loss of their president. But I just couldn’t seem to think past all the shit that was currently clouding my mind.

Now, heading home, my entire club was on high alert.

The ruthless edge I’d ridden my whole life dared me to do it. To send my men out and hit them under the guise of peace. Take their shit, build my own…but then I’d remembered the way one of the Stone Riders, Wes Ryan, had glared at me, and I’d think back to when we’d nearly killed one another a few years back.

All because of the patches we’d been loyal to.

Wes Ryan was just trying to protect his girlfriend or at least someone who had once been his girlfriend, and I was just trying to fulfill a deal made with her father. It was one of the few times in my life I felt remorse…only because it was senseless and stupid. We’d nearly shot him for interfering…he’d almost shot me for following her.

Now, years later, Callie Stone’s dad was dead. She’d become Wes’s wife, a mother, and all because, for one second, I chose peace instead of war.

That decision was a defining moment in my life, making me reflect on my place in the club and what we stood for. That was why I continued to ride back to New York instead of turning toward Virginia, where these other clubs were currently set up.

I hated that there was a tiny voice in the back of my mind that said it wasn’t just Wes Ryan or Simon Stone as to why I was choosing to get back home. I’d never admit it out loud, but it was also her that was driving me back.

Maybe I shouldn’t have helped Wren after she’d been so fucking blunt…maybe I should have just accepted the fuck off vibe she was giving me, and not pushed. Either way, it seemed we’d end up right back here, where we were both avoiding each other. Maybe in the week that I’d been gone, she had started fucking that Brian guy again. Maybe her name really was Wren, and there was no mystery to that tattoo on her arm.

She probably didn’t want me in the neighborhood at all. Fuck, I knew she didn’t.

Thistle’s engine revved in a way that had him creeping up next to me. He gestured with his head for us to pull into a local gas station that doubled as a chicken shack. Maybe we’d been riding longer than I thought, and the men were starving.

We pulled off the road and into the dirt lot, parking our bikes in rows. Most of the men took off toward the restaurant, while a few stopped in to get gas. I remained on my bike and tugged my cell phone free right as my vice president approached.

“The guys want to know if you’re going to head back to Atlas or come back to the city with us.”

The sky was overcast, and the trees were already yellow and orange, filling in the scene around us like a photograph. The gas station was older, with few cars, just dirt—the cracked asphalt in the parking lot and the dirt in the lot next to it. My boot found a clump of it to kick at while I scanned the area, my answer already on the tip of my tongue.

I wanted to get back.

Thistle’s beard twitched as he watched, then beat me to the punch.

“The club needs to see you outside of a run and attending a funeral. We’re all on edge.”

But heading all the way back to the city and then back to Atlas would be too much of a trip, especially after the ride we’d just done.

Thistle grabbed water from inside his saddle bag and took a long swig. The leather around his shoulders revealed just as many patches as mine did, save for a few.

He swiped at his mouth and then dropped his voice. “What if we do something small at your place? Let the men see where you live and be a part of your new life. You need them to be aware of where you live anyway for those who do safety sweeps of the area.”

Something small…a small gathering.

“How many?” I asked, ensuring I hadn’t missed any notifications from my lawyer, case worker, or Kane. He used his foster parents’ phone to contact me sometimes. Mostly just to ask what I was doing, but I wanted to be available if he needed me.

Thistle glanced at the bikes. We had about fifty with us, and the other fifty or so took a different route back.

“We can keep it low-key.”

I tossed the idea back and forth. It would have to be low-key; otherwise, I’d get in trouble with the HOA. But…the idea of getting under Wren’s skin wasn’t such a bad thought either. I could have something safe, small and still piss her off enough that it told her I was still upset over our last interaction. Maybe give her a reason to talk to me.

Suddenly, the idea held even more merit.

“Okay, yeah…let’s do it. But it stays small,” I warned my VP, pointing my finger at him before heading toward the restaurant. I wanted some chicken, and then I wanted to go home and hopefully see my new neighbor get all hot and bothered over my littlegang.

This was a terrible idea. Even with a happy buzz going, which made me feel nice and relaxed, I knew this wouldn’t end well.

Thistle had managed to get his motorcycle into the backyard and had set up a ramp. Just from that information alone, I knew this would be something I had to fix. There were members in the house, drinking, probably fucking, and a few had even started fighting. Last time I walked inside, a few bunk bunnies and sweetbutts had shown up, fuck if I knew from where, but I was focused on the mess outside because my neighbor’s yard was so close to where all the commotion was taking place.

---