Craving the biker's widow

CHAPTER 1.

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MY WEDDING DAY.

~ASHLEY’S POINT OF VIEW~

Today is supposed to be my wedding day.

Instead, I’m crouched in a stranger's shed three blocks from my father's house, listening to the distant rumble of bikes and praying none of them are looking for me.

There is no wedding. No white dress. No wedding agreement to sign.

No vows to Andrew Warrick Harrington — president of the Sons of Chaos motorcycle club.

Some call him Demon, others call him Devil.

And some say words can't explain what he is.

However, I agree with them.

I’ve only been back here for six years, but I have heard a lot about him.

A marriage to Andrew Warrick Harrington is simply a death sentence, my stepsister, Daisy, told me the night before.

That was all it took for me to make up my mind and run away this morning.

Daisy doesn’t like me, she has shown me hostility time and time again, but she knows that the marriage will kill me. I am just twenty one years old, while Warrick is forty-six — old enough to be my father.

Yet he wants to marry me, and my father and stepmother agree without any opposition.

I step out of my hideout,narrowing my gaze down the lonely road to see if my sister is coming.

She helped me escape this morning.

I still don’t know why she’s helping me……

But I take it anyway.

What choices do I even have? Marry the biker president who will make my life a living hell, or take Daisy's advice and flee California?

She said Greece is good. Mykonos would fit me, or even Africa if I am too scared that he will come looking for me in Greece.

I don’t know where I am going. Only Daisy knows, and she has gone to get my airfare from Matt, her fiancé.

Sliding my phone out of my back pocket, I look at the time again. It’s been two hours. Daisy is supposed to be back by now. What is keeping her?

After taking another look, I race back to my hideout. It’s a biker territory, and any of them might see me. Actually, the whole neighborhood is full of bikers.

My name is Ashley Knowles, and I am also born into a staunch biker family.

My dad is the vice president of the Desert Riders motorcycle club.

Though I didn’t grow up with him, I moved here when I was twelve years old.

Living with him isn’t really that good, but it’s better than living with my mom.

She said she broke up with Dad because she didn’t want her child to be in the twisted life of a biker.

I get her, oh yes, I do. I’m older now, and being a biker is a full-time job.

The club comes before your own family. What woman would want that?

It's been eight years, and I have not heard from Mom.

Not that I really care. I just hope she is living her best life. I would’ve run to her, but she swore to never shelter me if I went to meet that loser, as she usually calls my dad.

So going there is also not an option. The last resort is Daisy's plan — running away from this place.

The sudden screeching sound of a Harley fills my ears, snapping me back to reality, and I walk out again to check if it’s Daisy.

But again, it isn’t her. It’s just another biker passing by.

I am getting tired of waiting and feeling very nervous.

The truth is, I don’t even trust Daisy. She is my stepsister, but we don’t have a very good relationship.

She hates me because her mom asks her to. She believes she has to share dad’s attention with me.

Well, sorry, that’s also a lie. Dad doesn’t give me any attention.

He just makes sure I have everything necessary that I need — nothing else. His favorite daughter is Daisy. Every biker in the Desert MC likes her.

Daisy is the daughter everyone adores—the club’s golden girl.

I am the reminder of the woman they hate. The woman who tried to isolate their brother from them.

*****************************

Seconds go on to minutes and then a few hours until I doze off in my hideout. The sudden sound of multiple screeching tires wakes me, and I snap up immediately.

I look outside, and it’s multiple Harleys speeding down the road leading to our home. They aren’t yelling or chanting their usual road songs, and that means only one thing.

It is a sad movement. This is beyond business. The last time I saw a load of bikers that were silent and moving with speed, it was the death of one of their brothers.

I sit back, thinking about what could have gone wrong — not just for the bikers but also for Daisy. It has been more than six hours, and there is no sight of her.

I stand up and glance back at my bag. Then I take a step forward, deciding to check back home. I will take the back route and stay away so no one recognizes me.

Swallowing hard, I move and take to my heels. In a matter of minutes, I am back home — just a few meters from it.

I hide in a group of parked bikes outside, bending my head low and peeking into our home to see what is happening.

There are a lot of people. A couple of them outside the compound are mainly bikers clustered in different circles.

My gaze darts around the place, searching for a familiar face.

And that is when I see him. Matthew, Daisy's fiancé and my longtime crush.

But he is on his knees near the porch, his leather jacket tossed carelessly behind him.

Even in distress Matt still looks deliciously Handsome.

Six foot three of battle hardened muscle that comes from years of riding, fighting and surviving in the Sons of Chaos MC.

His broad shoulder strains against the faded black tee clinging to his sweat damp skin. Ink covers every inch of exposed skin—full sleeves of snarling wolves and flaming skulls.

His hands are fisted in his hair while his shoulders shake violently as two bikers hold him up on either side.

His sharp jawline shadowed with stubble, high cheek bones and those piercing hazel eyes of his usually cocky and teasing—now red rimmed and raw from tears he can’t stop.

I've never seen him cry before, but watching him weep profusely, he looks completely destroyed.

One of the older members grips his shoulder, murmuring something into his ear, but Matt only lets out a broken sound that doesn’t even resemble a word.

My heart starts to race even faster as I wonder what could have gone wrong for such a huge biker to cry.

My feet move before my brain can catch up. I slip between the parked Harleys, keeping my head low, my pulse thundering in my ears. Nobody notices me. Or maybe they do and just don’t care.

The air feels heavy, thick with a tension that is suffocating.

I creep closer to the house, pressing myself against the side wall before sliding in through the back door. Inside seems worse, so I quietly step outside again.

I watch the men, all of whom have frowns on their faces. Some low hisses escape their lips.

"This is so fucked up, man," I hear one biker snarl. "She was such a sweet girl…"

My breathing turns shallow, and I lean in closer to him.

I grab the sleeve of the biker, and he turns sharply, his eyes hard. I doubt he recognizes me.

"What?" he snaps before I can say a word. I swallow, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

"W-what happened?"

There is a pause. A heavy one. The kind that stretches forever.

Then he looks back at me, face cold, voice flat.

"Daisy is dead."