Chapter One

Ivy

Present day,

"This can't be right," I whispered, reaching into my back pocket for my phone. I stared conspicuously at the large brick building across the street. I mean, it looked like any brick building on a semi-busy street, with the various motorcycles lined up. A big mountain of a man guarded the front door as numerous tattooed men fucked off doing God knows what, like they were at a Sunday picnic.

Guess it was a typical Tuesday.

Thumbing through my emails, I found the one I was looking for and opened it. Skimming the contents for the address he sent me; I sighed when I realized I was in the right place.

Lowering my phone, I looked across the street and groaned.

Really, Mikie? A motorcycle club?

When I reached out to my long-time friend and asked for a fresh start with no drama, I didn't know what to expect. But it sure as hell wasn't a damn motorcycle club. Talk about drama up the ass. I'd seen how bikers could be. Been around a few a time or two. The fuckers didn't understand the meaning of drama-free.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I stepped off the curb, only to jump back when a car horn blared when it drove past.

Jesus, Ivy. Don't get yourself killed before you even see him.

Checking both ways, I saw a break in traffic and ran across the street. Bikes of all kinds lined up in front of the building as bikers milled lazily around, drinking without a fucking care in the world.

Yep... definitely a Tuesday.

With a tight grip on my backpack, I headed for the front door as a few of the bikers stopped what they were doing, giving me their undivided attention.

It was nothing new.

Everywhere I went, people gawked.

The big guy guarding the door, who stood close to six foot six with tattoos covering every inch of his muscular arms, sneered at me when I approached. He was the one standing between me and entering the club. And from the look on his face, he wasn't in the mood for idle chitchat.

"Bitches enter from the back."

Excuse me? I know this motherfucker didn't just call me a bitch.

"I'm here to see Michael Myers."

"No one here by that name."

"Please check for me. This is the address he gave me."

"Look, bitch. Said ain't no one here by that name."

Seeing that the men lazing around now fixed their gaze on me, I steeled myself. I didn't want any trouble, far from it, but I knew Mikie wouldn't give me this address unless he was here. I just needed to get this big ape to let me inside.

"This is 1369 Goldwater Drive, right?"

"Yes."

"Then I am at the right address," I said, standing my ground. I didn't hitchhike across the fucking country for some asshole to turn me away. If Mikie was in that damn building, I was getting in. "Look, I just want to speak with Mike. Can I go inside and look for him?"

"Like I said. Bitches enter from the back."

"Call me a bitch one more time and we're gonna have a fucking problem, you troglodyte."

"What the fuck did you just call me?" The big man stepped forward.

The door he was guarding opened and a man with spiked white hair and the clearest set of ice-cold blue eyes I'd ever seen smiled at me as he looked me up and down.

"Fresh meat?"

"Told this bitch she needed to go around back. Think she's hard of hearing."

"And I told you I'm not a bitch."

"Who are you looking for?" the man with the white spiked hair asked.

"Michael Myers. He gave me this address. Told me to be here by three. It's three and this asshole won't let me go inside to see if he's here."

"Myers?" the guy smirked, shaking his head. "Big, funny looking guy with curly red hair, looks like little orphan Annie?"

I smirked. "I always thought he looked more like Howdy Doody, but yeah, that's him."

"Hannibal, text Slash and tell him he has a guest," the guy ordered, then looked at me. "Follow me. I'm Logic."

"Makes sense," I muttered, doing as the guy said when he frowned at me. Gulping, I added, "Sorry. I meant nothing by it. It's just that you seem to be the only one around here that understands the meaning of logic, besides I'm almost positive that big oaf couldn't even spell the word."

Opening the door and letting me walk in first, he whispered, "Yeah, you're probably right."

I didn't know what I expected when I walked inside, but whatever it was, had nothing on what I was seeing. A long bar to my left took up the entire wall, with shelves of every kind of liquor I could imagine lining the walls. A big burly man stood behind the bar, eyes focused directly on me as I slowly stepped forward. To my right were several tables and booths that sat in front of the blacked-out windows, only allowing those on the inside to see out. The smell of smoke, booze, and sex rankled my nose. Women barely clothed with scraps of cloths either lounged around doing nothing or were propositioning men. One woman in particular was currently bent over a pool table in the far back corner as a man fucked her from behind. Music blasted from speakers attached to the walls, drowning out any semblance of conversation. In fact, I found it even hard to hear my own thoughts when the man named Logic said close to my ear, "Follow me."

Nodding, I walked right behind him when he headed for the bar, pointing to a stool.

I dropped my backpack and sat.

"Whatcha doing with the Barbie doll, Logic? She lost?"

"Where is Slash?"

"In a meeting with the boss."

Leaning against the bar, Logic looked at me and asked, "What is your name?"

"Ivy. Ivy Scott."

"Ivy, this is Mouth," Logic said, pointing to the man behind the bar. "Stay here, and I'll go get Slash."

Sitting at the bar, I noticed that every man with a leather cut on stared, not giving two fucks if it made me uncomfortable. Generally, having men look at me wouldn't bother me. It was something I was used to my entire life, but this was different.

These weren't just regular men.

There was something about the soulless depths in their eyes that told me these men didn't have a fucking care in the world.

"Yo, Mouth"—a woman wearing what looked like a Band-Aid covering her ass and tits walked over, slamming a tray on the bar—"I need six beers and a Slippery Nipple."

"What the fuck is that?" The bartender frowned, placing six bottles of beer on the tray.

"No fucking clue, but college-boy over there ordered one."

"It's a cocktail shot. Half Sambuca and half Baileys Irish Cream. I'd ask the guy if he's looking to get his ass beat, ‘cause only someone looking to start a fight would order that shit."

The bartender smirked. "That so?"

"Yep. Happens every time."

"You know how to make it?"

I nodded.

"Well, climb on back here, Barbie, ‘cause I ain't making that shit."

Sliding off my stool, I walked around behind the bar, impressed with the set-up. It was an honest-to-God fucking bar. Everything was neat, organized, and clean. Reaching for a clean shot glass, I placed it on the bar, turning to grab the Baileys and Sambuca. After pouring the ingredients, I placed the shot glass on the tray and said to the server, "Serve the beers first, then ask the guy who ordered this who the recipient is. When he tells you, get ready to run."

The young girl nodded and picked up the heavy tray.

Watching the waitress deliver the beers, she did exactly what I said, and when she placed the shot glass in front of a young man, the recipient jumped to his feet, tackling the jerk who'd ordered the drink.

Shaking my head, I muttered, "Every fucking time."

Mouth leaned against the bar and asked, "You done this shit before?"

"Yeah. It's easy when you learn the drinks. Mainly, guys prefer beer or whiskey. Girls are the only ones who ask for fancy shit. But it's jerks like those idiots that make shit interesting," I replied, watching the idiots roll around on the floor, no one moving to stop them.

"IVY!"

Looking up, I smiled, and ran around the bar into my best friend's arms. Hugging me tightly, he spun me around before placing me back on my feet. "You fucking made it, girl. About damn time. And damn, girl... you look fucking good."

"Not so bad yourself, Mikie."

Wrapping his meaty arm around my shoulder, Mikie walked me back over to the bar. "What do you think of my girl, Mouth?"

Mouth placed two shot glasses on the bar, reaching for a top shelf whiskey. Pouring the dark amber liquid to the brim, he slid the shot glasses across the bar and stated, "She's too fine a piece of ass for you. What'd you do, order her from a catalog or something?"

Mikie laughed, downing his shot, before slamming the glass back on the bar. "Fuck no. Ivy and I go way back. My girl may look all sugary sweet, but she has balls of steel, man. My girl can throw down with the best of them. Seen her take on a guy three times her size and didn't even break a fucking nail. Girl is scrappy, man, so watch yourself."

Mouth threw his head back and laughed. "I don't believe that crap one bit. A stiff wind will blow that girl over. Nice try though, brother."

Ignoring the laughing man, Mikie turned toward me and asked, "So, have you decided? Or is this a temporary visit?"

"I'm staying."

Mikie grinned his signature goofy grin and nodded. "Fucking-A!"

"Mikie, we need to talk first. Is there somewhere quiet we can go?"

He frowned but nodded as he slid from the stool.

Doing the same, I bent over and picked up my backpack, only for him to take it from me. Grabbing my hand, he led me past the main room, down a corridor that led to a set of stairs. Heading up them, he said nothing when he turned right at the top, down a long hallway. This place was a fucking maze. Thank God Mikie knew where he was going, because I would have surely gotten lost.

Stopping before a door, he reached for his keys before unlocking it. Seeing a door at the end of the hall, I noticed, unlike the rest of the doors in the hallway, that the door was made of solid metal.

"Whose door is that?" I asked, wondering what—or who—lived behind that door.

"That door belongs to the Devil himself."

"What?"

"Sorry, it's a running joke in the club. It's the president's room. In fact, all these doors you see on this side of the building belong to the officers. Anyone trying to get to that door has to go through us first."

"I don't understand. Can he not defend himself?"

Mikie doubled over, holding his stomach as he laughed. "Oh, fuck me, that was funny. The Prez is the most dangerous, deadly motherfucker in the club. Nobody fucks with him, ever. His word is law. He gives an order, you jump. No questions asked."

Stepping to the side, Mikie let me pass.

When I was inside, he closed and locked his bedroom door.

Curious, I quirked my head.

"Sorry, babe, you don't want to leave doors unlocked around here. When you are in a room, any room, make sure to lock the door. It's safer that way."

Gathering up clothes off his bed, he threw them on the floor behind him. "Sit. You want something to drink?"

Shaking my head, I looked around his room and sighed. He hadn't changed a bit. My best friend was still a slob and in desperate need of a maid.

Dragging a wooden chair towards me, he flipped it around before straddling it. "So, what did you need to discuss that couldn't be said downstairs?"

Reaching behind me, I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket and opened my picture gallery. Tapping on a saved picture, I handed Mikie my phone and said, "I found her."

"Who?"

"My birth mother."

Mikie's head snapped to me and frowned. "Ivy, why the fuck have you been looking for her? I thought you were over that shit?"

"I was. Until I remembered something. I couldn't get it out of my head. Then it became a compulsion. You know I only remember bits and pieces, but this memory was crystal clear, Mike. I couldn't ignore it. And look at her. We look the same."

"So where is she?"

"She's dead. According to what I found out, she died when I was four."

"Then how can you be sure this is her?"

"Because when I ordered her autopsy report, it stated she bore the same mark as me."

"The one on your shoulder?"

I nodded.

Mike sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before handing me back my phone. "I don't know, Ivy. It's still not definitive. Besides, you're in a good place now. I thought you wanted to start over and leave that shit behind?"

"I do, but I can't ignore this, Mike."

"The last time you went down this road, I had to institutionalize you. Do you remember that? Because I do, and I won't do that to you again."

"I know," I snarked. "It was a bad time."

"Bad time?" Mikie clipped. "Jesus fucking Christ, Ivy. They sedated you for two weeks. Bastards wouldn't even allow me to visit you, and when I could, you were so doped up on whatever they gave you, you didn't even recognize me."

I got it. He was worried. I was too, but he didn't understand my need to remember. There were so many gaps in my head, my memory looked like a slice of Swiss cheese.

Nothing made sense.

"Are you still taking your meds?"

"Yeah. I have them in my bag."

"Good. Look, Ivy, I know you want answers, but sometimes it's best to just move on and forget about the past."

"I know."

"Look, I've already talked with Frost and Saint. They said you can have one of the club apartments. It's completely furnished. I sent one of the club bitches over yesterday to stock the place with all your favorite foods. Since you are good behind a bar, Saint said he would give you two weeks to feel the clubhouse out. But I gotta warn ya, babe, you are gonna need to keep a tight lid on that temper of yours, if you know what I mean. Flying off the handle and going nuclear won't fly around this bunch. They will kick you out on your ass, fast."

"I can control it."

"Just keep taking your meds, Ivy. It looks like the doc's finally found you the right cocktail. You look good. Healthy."

I smirked at that.

If he only knew how close to the edge I really was.