2. Aurora

"Mrghh," someone groans before coughing and then rolling over, resuming their chainsaw-level snoring. A second later, another man leaps up from where he was strewn out on the floor of the clubhouse, barely making it to the bathroom before hurling.

Thus begins another glorious morning here at the Serpents clubhouse.

I survey the damage done to the bar and common areas, sighing to myself when I see it was another wild night. Of course, it was. Every night is a wild night. Especially now that we have a new business partner; The cartel.

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. I wasn't supposed to know, but I overheard a conversation the other night right outside the farmhouse the Serpents converted into their clubhouse. Curiosity got the best of me, and I walked outside, thinking for some stupid reason I'd find a friend. It gets lonely being the little sister of the Vice President of an outlaw biker gang.

Instead of a new friend or even a passerby who got lost and was in need of some direction, I found my brother with a group of men who looked vicious and ready for a fight. That's saying something, considering I grew up with violent criminals who had brutal tempers and short fuses.

I only heard a snippet of the conversation before my brother grabbed me and dragged me back inside, but it was enough for me to know we were in deep with some bad people. Running drugs is nothing new for the Serpents, but welcoming the cartel into our town? Putting everyone here at risk? It was a shock, even though it really shouldn"t have been. My brother wasn"t always this way, but it"s been so long since I"ve seen a softer side of him, that I wonder if it exists at all anymore.

Stepping over another MC member passed out on the floor, I head to the bar and grab a bucket and wash rag. I fill up the bucket with soap and water, setting it on the bartop before gathering up a few garbage bags.

I spend the next hour picking up empty bottles and cans, along with food scraps, condom wrappers, and a myriad of other things I really don"t want to think about. I learned early on that it"s best to wear rubber gloves and a facemask when handling the aftermath of a Serpents party.

Once the garbage is mostly under control, I begin scrubbing tabletops and chairs, scrunching up my nose when I come across certain stains. I don't look too closely because again, I really, truly don't want to know.

This whole lifestyle sickens me. If I had any other choice or thought I"d survive longer than five minutes outside the Serpents compound, I"d have made a run for it years ago. As it is, I"m a prisoner. I cook, clean, and stay out of the way. Anything more, and I"m quickly reminded of my place in the hierarchy - the very bottom. Anything less, and my brother isn"t afraid to use a heavy hand to motivate me to get my chores done.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and let out the breath I was holding. Looking around the bar once more, I'm pleased to see it's mostly back to normal. I'll have to wait to sweep and mop until the men currently passed out on the floor sober up enough to stand, so that means I have a little free time.

After rinsing out the bucket and tossing the dirty rag in the laundry bin for me to wash later, I drag the three large garbage bags through the kitchen and out the back door leading to the dumpster. Hoisting one bag on my shoulder, I roll it up and over the rim of the dumpster, followed by the second bag.

My foot slips right as I'm heaving the third bag onto my shoulder, and I stumble slightly, tipping to the side. I try holding out my arms to help keep my balance, but the heavy garbage bag is too much for me to counteract. Inhaling sharply, I turn my head to the side and put my hands out in front of me as I fall onto the gravel, catching myself with my hands and knees.

"Frick," I curse under my breath. The trash bag that was on my back rolls off, hitting the ground next to me with a thud. Slowly, I lift my hands and readjust so I'm sitting on my butt with my legs out in front of me.

I hiss as I pick out the little pieces of gravel that embedded themselves into my palms and knees. The scrapes on my knees and hands are superficial, but I have a nasty cut on my left elbow from the sharp edge of the dumpster. Of course, I do. What else is new?

I allow myself a few more moments of being outside, even if it's only a trip to the dumpster that ended with me stumbling over my own two feet. That's about as much freedom as I'm afforded these days, aside from the occasional grocery or supply run.

Taking one last deep breath, I push myself up off the ground and hobble inside, heading straight to the first aid kit. I'm all too familiar with its location. If I'm not being "punished" for not doing a good enough job, I'm bumping into things, breaking glass, slicing my fingers, and as I just demonstrated, tripping over nothing. In short, I'm a clumsy trainwreck who needs constant access to bandages and peroxide.

I open the white box, digging through the materials until I come across a large gauze pad and medical tape. Cleaning out and fixing up a wound one-handed might sound challenging to some, but I have it down to a science. I dab some peroxide, gritting my teeth against the sting before placing the gauze pad. I secure one end of the medical tape to the counter to keep it taut, then cut the appropriate length and secure the tape to the top of the gauze pad. This helps keep the wound covered while cutting the rest of the tape.

I"m almost through my routine when Daniella walks into the kitchen, wearing nothing but the oversized Led Zeppelin 80s tour t-shirt of the club member she slept with last night. She"s one of a handful of women - club bunnies, they"re called - who always hang around in hopes of becoming someone"s old lady. Last week it was Tank, the week before it was Remi, and this week appears to be Zep. He got his nickname because he only ever listens to Led Zeppelin, and only at the highest volume.

"What did you do this time, honey?" Daniella asks in her fake sugary-sweet voice. I"m not one to judge women on their sex lives just because I don"t have any experience whatsoever. One thing I can"t stand though is when Daniella puts on her persona of a ditzy blonde girl with a baby voice.

"Nothing I can"t handle," I tell her in my cheeriest voice as I concentrate on securing the last strip of tape onto my bandage.

Daniella shakes her head at me, the familiar look of not again written all over her face.

"See? All better," I say, pushing past her so I can put the first aid kit away.

"What are we going to do with you?" she says, her tone partially joking and partially annoyed. I know it's a rhetorical question, but I want to answer, let me leave. If I'm such an inconvenience, and such a clutz, just let me leave.

Even as I think the words, I know they'll never be true. I can't leave. I know too much.

I shrug and walk out of the kitchen, not wanting to continue this conversation. When I run smack into Viper, however, I second-guess my decision to leave.

"What the fuck happened to you?" my brother growls, his gaze focused on my elbow.

"Nothing," I say, repeating the same answer I gave Daniella.

"It better be nothing," Viper spits out as he steps around me. "Big news tonight. I'll be calling church later, and I need you to handle food, drinks, and cleanup."

"Like every other night," I mutter to myself.

"You got something to say?" Viper snaps, his eyes latching onto mine. Dark, soulless orbs stare back at me, making my skin crawl. I'm not sure if his dead stare is from a mix of drugs he's coming off of or if he's completely gone, but this isn't my brother. Not anymore.

When did he become so cruel? So uncaring? The boy I knew growing up, my big brother, Chad, protected me from the worst of our parents' criminal activities. He held my hand and distracted me by playing card games and telling me stories. And then one day… he joined them. It was no longer me and my brother against the world. It was the world and my family against me. Chad became Viper and he never looked back.

"I'm talkin' to you, bitch," Viper growls, stepping into my personal space.

"No," I automatically answer. "Nothing. I'll be there tonight, Chad."

"What the fuck did you just call me?!" he growls, bending down so he's nearly eye-level with me.

"V-Viper," I correct myself, scrunching my shoulders up as I take a step back. "Sorry. I meant Viper."

A low snarl rises up from his throat, then he nods and straightens up. "That's right. I'm Viper. The fucking Vice President of the fucking Serpents. Don't you forget it."

I nod and watch my brother walk down the hall and out into the bar area. Only when I'm convinced he's gone do I let out the breath I was holding. It takes a few more moments before I stop trembling, but as soon as I do, I beeline to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face.

Looking at my red-rimmed, wide hazel eyes, I have to swallow back tears. How did I get here? And more importantly, how do I get out?