Chapter 3

Two Weeks Later

I use the tiny umbrella in my drink to stir the sugary liquid around in slow circles, while I stifle back my tears. I cried the whole way here. I'm the blubbery mess in the corner even though the air in this club is happy. My mother would be appalled I'm even out in public looking like I just rolled out of bed. The night is alive in Savannah. It's only 9:30 p.m. and I needed to take a break from driving, plus I really had to pee. It was then I realized I'm in no hurry, I don't owe anything to anyone, and a drink after the two weeks I've had sure sounded good.

The rooftop patio at The Crystal Cave is bustling for a Thursday night—music plays, and twinkle lights mixed with greenery dance against the rustic wood pergolas overhead. Lanterns and flameless candles give the outdoor deck a moody ambience as they flicker throughout the space. It's dark and the beat of the song playing courses through my chest as I contemplate my next steps .

I still have a thirty-minute drive ahead of me to my hometown of Harmony, Georgia, the small-ish ,southern town I grew up in. Population 9,000, until today. After today it will be 9,001.

My parents vacant house is the only place on Earth I have left to go after I spent the last two weeks packing up my life and all my belongings that were in Evan's apartment in Atlanta. Almost everything was his. I was just an add on. Our life wasn't unpleasant, so I guess I stayed because it was expected… easy. I realize now that easy isn't always right, and that hit me when I hugged him goodbye and we promised to remain friends. I wasn't even sad, just a little angry that I didn't see it sooner.

I swallow down my pi?a colada. I wish I could have another but anymore and I'll be too tipsy to drive because, truthfully, I don't ever drink more than one.

I log into my banking app to view my dismal savings and severance, calculating how long that will last me. I'll need to get a job right away. And if design jobs aren't available, I could always pick up some shifts at the diner, if Mrs. Palmer still owns it—

"Jelly!?"

My childhood nickname is called from behind me. Yelled rather, with a squeal at a deafening level even over the thump of the music. I turn to meet the owner and my eyes instantly start to tear up. I stand, because she's coming toward me, fast.

"Oh my god, PB!" I don't even get the words out before I'm pulled into a crushing hug with my childhood best friend, Layla, the peanut butter to my jelly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks as I take in her appearance. Layla looks different than the last time I was in town two years ago, and vastly different from our senior year in high school, but she's stunning.

Layla and I were inseparable when we were young, best friends since we were eight. Now, she's ultra sexy, her long, naturally dark hair is almost fire engine red, and her entire arm is covered in tattoos. On top of her head is a makeshift sparkly wedding veil. She wears a sash across her chest that says Property of Ax and a massive pear-shaped diamond on her ring finger.

We look strikingly different, I imagine. Layla is small, only five-foot-two and tiny all around. I have a good four or five inches on her and my body is curvy—I could never fit my ass in her jeans. I'm not complaining, I'm proud of my curves and work hard to maintain them with daily yoga.

Where Layla is shiny and nightclub ready, I'm rocking my tights and my oversized Nirvana t shirt, no makeup, my long, dark hair in a big messy bun.

"I'm not sure why I'm here, prolonging going to an empty house maybe," I answer as three other women come to join us, chattering away.

They all look the same as Layla does, for the most part, and are all strikingly beautiful.

"I don't understand. You're going home?" she asks as I glance past her to the three ominous men behind Layla's shoulder. My stomach drops into my feet when I realize they're all together. It's impossible not to notice them. They're all leather-clad, tall, muscular, and they're gruff, with beards of various growth. One has a bandana covering his head and they all wear leather vests that tell me which motorcycle club they belong to— Hounds of Hell. They're a good fifteen feet away from me but I can smell their leather and smoke. As if on cue, one of them pulls a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth and lights it.

"Only you could be out in glorified pajamas and still look this beautiful," she observes, pulling me from my stare as she takes in my outfit .

I half listen to Layla as I eye the men behind her again and look back to her in question, why are they here?

She giggles. "Ignore them, they're harmless, just making sure we stay safe. This is my bachelorette party! My wedding is in nine days!" She smiles wide.

It's like a sucker punch to the gut to remember this after the couple weeks I've just had. I think of her wedding invite I turned down two months ago because Evan and I were supposed to be away with friends.

"Layla, what have you gotten yourself into?" I whisper with wide eyes so the other girls can't hear. They're talking to each other and have no concern for the dangerous men behind them either.

Layla can say whatever she wants but these men? Harmless? My ass.

"Brin, you know me, I wouldn't give my life to a man I didn't feel safe with, you're doing the thing the whole town does. Don't judge," she scolds me.

I shake my head, knowing exactly who the Hounds of Hell are. At least, I know everything I've always been told.

"You could say congratulations," Layla adds, looking a little hurt. I instantly feel bad for judging her. The thing is, Layla is usually a good judge of character so I can't wrap my head around any of this. I realize maybe I don't really know her that well anymore. I was so wrapped up in my life with Evan, wanting forever with him, wanting the life I thought I should have. Through all that, Layla and I just drifted apart. Partly because I stopped coming home after my mom died. It's hard to stay in touch the same way when you live hours away. Even though time has passed, Layla still picks right back up with me the moment I come home. I make a silent promise to spend as much time with her as I can.

"Right. Congratulations, I'm sorry," I say. Her friends stop chattering so she turns to introduce me to them. There's a super fit Asian girl with blunt bangs, full lips, and as many tattoos as Layla, named Amber, a blonde bombshell, Chantel, who seems like every man's fantasy with cherry red, glossy full lips and a diamond stud nose ring. Another blonde with wild, curly hair, who seems a bit older is named Maria.

I make small talk with them but can't stop eyeing the men at the same time. The sight of them this close to us makes me extremely uneasy. The men of the Hounds of Hell were a staple in town everyone avoided.

We've always been told they're extremely bad news, especially by our parents and people in our church growing up. I remember Sunday sermons laced with prayers for our town, we even prayed for club members, their wives, and local businesses. Some of the church elders even had rallies with signs that said, " Keep the Harmony in Harmony " outside the businesses the club had their hands in. Their presence casted a shadow over our otherwise safe and friendly town.

What scares me the most is that I'm gathering by their presence that Layla is Ax's property and Ax must be their property. I've never even met him, but if I remember correctly, I think this wedding came fast, and Layla has always been a bit of a rebel. But she's never been up to anything dangerous like this before—this is the first. I know I need to get my friend alone and make sure she's okay, not involved in anything that could get her into real trouble.

"Come sit with us, let's catch up!" she says, pointing to an entire corner of the rooftop that's sectioned off, there are decorations and food laid out, a few other girls dancing. It's like a little VIP area.

I try hard not to be afraid but I'm definitely hesitant because of her crew and Layla can tell. She leans into me. She smells like the perfume she's always worn. It's comforting and makes me feel like she's still the same girl I always knew.

"Trust me, you're safe. The MC isn't cut and dry. It's not what we were told," she says low enough for only me to hear. Her brown eyes meet mine.

I nod. I might not know this new life she's got but I know Layla, and I at least know she would never put me in harm's way. "For a few minutes," I agree.

For no other reason than I feel like grasping onto something familiar and comforting, I blow out a breath and follow the intimidating Hounds of Hell bikers and these women into the VIP area.

This is not at all what I thought I'd be doing when I woke up this morning.

"Babe, honestly, that sucks, but you know I always say it like it is. You would've been like a Stepford wife, so I feel like you were saved. You deserve better than that. Did you know a man knows if he wants to marry you in six months? He was making you wait… stringing you along," Layla says matter-of-factly almost an hour after I've told her all about the day that feels like an eternity ago, not mere weeks. "So, what, you're coming back to Harmony to start fresh?" she asks, sipping her drink.

"Something like that, more like because I don't really have a choice," I say, nursing my water, my drink long gone, while swiping the tears from my cheeks.

"Sorry, I don't want to rain on your parade with how depressing this is on your special night," I say as the other girls return after dancing up a storm. They gave up on my downer of a story thirty minutes ago.

At least I know for certain now why these men are here. Layla's fiancé is a member in the MC and I wonder, as she tells me all about him, how she could fall in love with a man like that and not worry for her safety. As wonderful as he may be, she has to know he is involved with the wrong kind of people. She's willingly giving herself over to a life of crime and danger.

"Pfft. I'm just glad I could be here. Fate for the win." She blows out a raspberry, takes a big sip and then her eyes light up. "This is perfect!" She smiles.

"What is?" I ask cautiously.

"You need a distraction! You're home. You have to come now!" she says.

I look at her, not understanding.

"My wedding, the one you declined!" she says, her pretty mouth turning into a frown. "You're coming. We'll dance, we'll have some fun, it's on Tybee Island, it's beautiful. We have Lighthouse Landing all to ourselves."

My eyebrows perk up. Lighthouse Landing is one of the nicest resorts on Tybee Island, right on the ocean. For some reason, I pictured this wedding to be anything but traditional. Maybe in one of the club members' backyards while people smoked various kinds of drugs and got black out drunk, some women dancing in barely there clothing.

Come to think of it, that's pretty much what I picture when I think of them—seedy, dark, sexual, ruthless. I know enough to know if you don't look too long and keep your distance, they'll leave you alone. If I go to this wedding, not looking is just impossible.

"Do you ever worry about what will happen if they get… into trouble while you're with them?" I ask, not understanding my own curiosity .

"Look, I'm not saying my soon-to-be husband and his crew are always innocent men. Some things are true. Like, if you get on their bad side, hiding wouldn't help you."

My stomach drops with the nonchalance she says these words

"But these things aren't so black and white, Brin. Our parents… they were assumptive and judgemental. They didn't know the truth. Don't you ever question them? " Layla asks, with a surety that makes me go over everything I think I know.

We all heard the rumors growing up. Dragging men who defy them behind their bikes down Main Street. Breaking limbs and branding body parts. I also think of what I witnessed. When I was eight, we stopped at the bakery for a cake for a dinner party and I remember seeing police and caution tape around the local diner across the street. When my mom got back in the car, she told my dad as quietly as she could that a fight had broken out and a club member threw someone through their front window and he almost bled to death. That's when my father said this town was being taken over by heathens. My parents used to talk about them like they were lowlifes, but I do have a few different memories. One in particular includes a giant, gray-haired man holding the door for me and Mom once when we went into the bank. My mom had never looked so scared ushering me by him, but I remember how he smiled down at me as we walked by. He seemed almost like a gentleman.

"So… your future husband, aside from this life"—I glance nervously to the men joking and talking behind her, paying me no mind—"what does he do?" I cross my legs at my ankles and place my palms on my knees. It's hard to help but when I'm nervous I go full princess etiquette.

Layla looks at me like she knows I'm judging her and I hate that I am, that's something Evan used to do that I always disliked.

"He's in the… importing and exporting business. It pays well." Layla shrugs, taking a shot. "His interests are spread all over Georgia."

She says it like he's any local businessman. I'm sure he is a man of business, but something tells me it isn't of the legal kind. She puts her hand over mine.

"Look, I've missed you, Brin. It hasn't been the same since you left. God, six years is a long time. Come on, you need a weekend to not think about your own problems. We'll have so much fun and maybe you'll see. They may be a little scary but they're not who you think. Say yes," she chides, her long fiery hair falling over her shoulders. She's still one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen.

"I should work on opening up the house. God knows what's waiting for me. Since Mom died and my aunt left a year ago, no one's been checking in on it."

I'm definitely grasping for excuses. Layla knows it.

"Brin." She gives me the look I know well from my youth. "Stop being so fucking responsible and proper for once and come have some fun. The rehearsal dinner is next Friday night at the club and then we're all heading to Tybee Island on Saturday morning."

I look up. "At the club? The Hounds of Hell clubhouse ?" I repeat, eyeing one of the men behind her smacking another in the back of the head playfully. It's obvious to anyone they are essentially the bodyguards of these girls because no one has come to speak to us. A ripple of fear snakes up my spine. Even though I know it's wrong, something about the idea of seeing their world from the inside piques my interest a little more than it should.

"And your excuses are bullshit. You have all week to work on the house and make connections for a job; plus, even if you don't get it done, all that work will be there for you after the wedding."

Layla hugs me again happily.

"Please say you'll come?" she squeals. "This is so exciting. We are going to be able to hang out all the time now that you're home."

I look to the men behind her. The idea of actually being sucked into this world of hers? That's what scares me.

She pulls back, and I force a smile. I've done the right thing for twenty-four years and where has that gotten me? Alone, jobless, and questioning everything. For the first time in a long time, I find myself feeling free and spontaneous.

"Okay. I'll come." I nod, which only makes her smile grow and she lets out another little squeal.

A rush of excitement runs through my blood.

"Yay! Can you believe I'm getting married?" Layla chirps. "And let's have lunch during the week." She turns her head. "Chris?" she calls to one of the men behind her. He's leaning on the small private bar in the VIP area, he has a patch labeled prospect. I recall that means he's not a member yet, just hopes to be. He comes over to her with few short strides. "Call the Lighthouse Landing and book my bestie here a room—one with an ocean view." She winks.

"Oh, I can't afford… fancy. I'll just do a basic—" I start to say.

"Nonsense, we're paying for our guests and that includes you." Layla looks back to the guy she called Chris. "Like I said, please," she says sweetly to him.

He nods and pulls his phone out of his pocket, making me wonder again just what kind of life my friend is living having these men at her disposal.

Visions of Beyond The Law or The Gauntlet , those old biker movies my dad used to watch fill my head. But this isn't the movies, it's real life.

Hopefully, my friend telling me I'll be safe is true because unless I come up with a really good excuse, it looks like I'll be spending next weekend with Harmony's most notorious outlaws.