The Biker's Rules

Date = 5 SeptemberPlace = San Francisco (Uncle John’s house)POV - MelaenaIt’s times like this that I miss my mom the most — to have a female someone (other than Kiara) to give me advice. But she’s been dead for what feels like ages already.Eight years, seven months, 21 days, my brain calculates as if by itself.But no matter how much time passes … the night we found her murdered in our house is not a night I will easily forget for as long as I live.Neither will I forget the smell of her famous spaghetti bolognese — that’s another secret I keep from everyone … even Kiara. I’ve memorized her recipe and whenever I feel down, I cook myself a bowl of her bolognese. It always does the trick.It reminds me of the happy moment just as we opened the door, trying to slip in without her noticing ‘cause we were grounded. At that very moment, as I stepped through the door, I was ecstatic — she was making my favorite food and I was starving.It was a great moment and I wish I could stay right t

Date = 5 SeptemberPlace = San Francisco (Uncle John’s house)POV – MelaenaNot as they seem? Is he trying to claim innocence? How can his affairs, which are plastered over the news every week, by the way, be anything different? I look at his confronting emerald eyes and start throwing ideas through my mind. Did he just tell me not to judge his affairs? Does it look like I’m the judgy type?“I’m not accusing you, but your shenanigans with the female species make for a very convincing closing argument. You could object that I don’t have all the facts, and that’s true, but everybody can witness the evidence of so-called flings in the tabloids and social media. Your face is plastered at least weekly, all over the internet, each time with a different BRUNETTE smiling at your side.”I suddenly wonder what it is with him and dark-haired girls. It’s definitely his type. And I’m definitely not.He rubs his jaw as he studies me from under spiky black eyelashes. He has a hint of stubble like may

Date = 5 SeptemberPlace = San Francisco (Uncle John’s house)POV - DamionI glare at the message on her phone. Is this a prank? I dig deep to think of anyone — except me — whose name starts with a D. Fuck. And I’m going away for a few successional races soon, but if she has a stalker I need to do something.Knock. Knock.Someone’s at the door. Fuck. I don’t want to get up. Mel is sleeping peacefully on my chest, making the sweetest sexiest little snoring sound. Almost like a tiny kitten.KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.The person is getting impatient. Fiddling with the handle. I shift Mel gently to the side so I can get up.“Mel?” A voice sounds through the door. “Are you in there?” I cringe on my teeth. It’s the bastardly boyfriend. I unlock the door and swing it open.“What do you want?” I don’t even try to sound halfway friendly. His face contorts. He doesn’t seem to like me very much. Well, the feeling is mutual.“I’m looking for Mel.” He tries to push past me, but I fill the doorway pretty

Date = 31 OctoberPlace = San Francisco (paintball place)POV – MelaenaAnother birthday party. Damion’s birthday. 31 October.I wonder who will get hurt this time. At Logan’s party, all my brothers got sick from the STROH rum. But at least no one ended up in hospital.A message comes through just as I’m tying my hair into a braid.D Stalker: Mayday! Mayday! A little actor is dying!I’ve changed his caller ID on my phone so I know when it’s him. I put away my phone. I’m not going to let one crazy coward ruin my life. He’s been sending me messages non-stop since that first time at Logan’s party. Mostly I just ignore them, but it’s starting to creep me out a little. He knows stuff … as if he’s watching me all the time.However, this ‘mayday’ shit is something new. Usually, he just rants on about how I belong to him and that soon we’ll be together.What does he mean by dying … could someone be after Enrique? Would this D guy go as far as to try and kill my brother? He did say that he want

Date = 31 OctoberPlace = San Francisco (Reaper venue)POV - DamionI think I fucked up again.How is it that I could swirl on two wheels at over 220 miles an hour around a track, but I can’t scrape together enough courage to speak to the one person who means the most to me?“We’re very proud of you, son,” Dad says. Mom just smiles.“Thanks. I love you guys to bits.”“Right back at you, champ.” My father winks at me and leads his wife to their table. They’re sitting with Uncle John, Dean, and some other high-and-mighties that in one way or another, form part of our team.I throw back the cloak of my grim reaper suit, feeling the material scrape against my bruised back, and sit down at my assigned spot at our table, next to Ilkay, all dressed up in bloody scrubs as a mad doctor.“Hey, dude,” Axel, a werewolf, opposite me says, “Nice body paint.” I look down at my exposed torso, professionally painted along with my face, to look like a skeleton, up to where it disappears into some black