Lucy

 

Violence.

 

I cringed at the sound of fist against flesh. It wasn’t new and it wouldn’t be the last time I ever heard that sound, but I was tired of it. And I was tired of knowing what it came from.

 

Initiation.

 

I was tired of knowing the guy on the receiving end would be several ugly shades of purple and yellow and black as his skin tried desperately to fix itself after the beating it took. And it was definitely taking a beating. No one in the Sin Reapers was there because they were accused of being gentle or because they went easy on someone new. And Max was no exception to that rule.

 

The thought of Max still did strange things to me. Things that were difficult to explain to anyone who wasn’t from this life and hadn’t seen what I’ve seen. Violence was a part of it and so was initiation, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

 

Desperately I hoped Max didn’t like it either.

 

I heard another punch, imagined it whistling through the air like a power hammer, one meant to both judge and maim, and it was finally enough to make me look, once again, at the beating the poor man on the ground was taking.

 

He wasn’t an attractive man to begin with and the beating hasn’t helped with that. He was big, but it was more blubbery bulk than anything else. His weight must have been a problem for him all his life, or at least most of it, because he looked more or less comfortable in his own skin. Maybe not happy with it or proud of it, but comfortable wasn’t one of those things that required pride or happiness. It just was.

 

I was comfortable with the Sin Reapers; I wasn’t happy with them.

 

The man took a sharp hit to the side of his face, but it didn’t look like it did too much damage. It looked like he bit his tongue because there was blood trickling out of his mouth. There was no question as to if he were in pain.

 

I gave him credit; he didn’t ask them to stop. That was one of the rules here: if you asked for it to stop, it would. But you’d also be gone. No club, no patch, no initiation. If you wanted in, you had to suffer the consequences, and it looked to me like this guy was ready to do that.

 

My eyes slipped away from the grunting, moaning man on the pavement, unwilling to look at him any longer. He was ugly, but determined, and that made it so much worse. Determination always made things take longer and I never needed to see this much violence again.

 

Of their own accord, my eyes found Max. They couldn’t help it; he stood out in a crowd.

 

A bloodied, bruised hand raked through his thick, dark hair. It was damp with sweat, but it didn’t make him look greasy or unkempt. If anything, it only added to the sex appeal that oozed from him. He was grinning wickedly, like he was enjoying this, and I admitted quietly to myself he probably was. He was probably getting a kick out of this whole thing.

 

That should have disturbed me, but I was long past the point where any of this disturbed me. It made my stomach twist in knots and caused my heart to ache from time to time, but I knew it was all part of the life and if I wasn’t capable of handling it, I should get out.

 

But Max.

 

He rolled his shoulders, flexing those large muscles of his. He was wearing a black t-shirt, the shoulders cut off to expose his biceps, and jeans that hung low on his hips. When he raised his arms, I could see a strip of skin beneath that shirt. Tight, muscled, and towards his belt buckle, covered in just a few dark hairs that led to promising, seductive places.

 

It was only Max throwing the next punch that jerked me from the inappropriate places my mind was slinking down to.

 

Max’s already bloody fist caught the man—they called him Thunder, a new recruit—square in the jaw until he coughed up a spittle of blood. I saw a tooth scatter across the pavement and took a small moment of comfort in knowing it was over. Lose a tooth, that was another rule. I cringed as Thunder spit up blood again, but tried to keep it in. No use in showing these guys fear; they’d never leave me be after that.

 

Oh, Max would hold them at bay. He was my warrior and my lover and no one would cross a man like Max, but it would go easier for everyone if I acted like the tough bitch I was supposed to be.

 

Times like this, though, it was hard.

 

Thunder worked at getting himself back onto his feet. He got up halfway and I knew someone would go to help him soon; the initiation was over, so the punishment was, too. But while he was on his hands and knees, I saw a guy out of the corner of my eye. He moved too fast for me to say or do anything—what could I do anyway? I was just an old lady—and before anyone even knew what was happening, Bills slammed a steel toed boot right between Thunder’s ribs.

 

I caught myself before I screamed, but Thunder didn’t.

 

He let out a sharp wailing sound as he slammed back into the pavement, clutching at his ribs and groaning. I was willing to bet money Bills had caught the rib they had already broken. More than that, I was almost positive he’d meant to.

 

The protests were instantaneous and none were as loud as Max. It gave me a little smidgeon of hope that things were still okay in his heart and soul, that Max was still a good guy. Maybe not a great guy, maybe not the kind of guy who wore a white hat and did things by the letter of the law, but a decent guy when it counted.

 

It didn’t take more than a minute with Bills to know he was not.

 

“Back the fuck up,” Max said to Bills as the other large, menacing man laughed like the maniac he was. “He’s passed; he’s in. The rules stand.”

 

Bills shoved Max off, but still smiled. It wasn’t a good or comforting smile, but he held up his hands to show he respected Max’s authority. Or at the very least still abided by it.

 

Bills was around six-foot four or five inches with broad shoulders that were built from lifting weights and other types of abuse. He had a shaved head and a snake tattoo spiraling around behind his ear and dipping down his neck to his shoulder. Bills was the kind of guy that a motorcycle club had a tendency to attract: big, mean, and a little unhinged. There were probably other, worse things to say about Bills, but I didn’t like to think about them.

 

I didn’t want to know the truth, because then I wouldn’t be able to be brave. And I needed to be brave.

 

My eyes flickered over to Thunder, who had thankfully stopped wailing. Several of the other guys had gathered around him and for a moment, I saw it all starting again.

 

“You think you’re Reaper material?” Max asked, his voice low and rough and sexy as hell. “You think you belong with us?”

 

“Yes,” Thunder said, though his hands trembled at his side. I didn’t know if he knew what was coming, but he must have sensed the danger.

 

The club members encircled him. They were a ring in the parking lot, roping him in, ensuring there was no escape. Either he would make it or he wouldn’t. By the looks of his fat, blubbery stomach, everyone was probably pretty sure he wouldn’t. But there was determination in his eyes.

 

He would see this through.

 

Bills threw the first punch and that was when I knew it was going to be bad. He had a mean streak in him that was so much worse than everyone else.

 

I knew when I heard the slap of his fist against flesh that Bills wasn’t going to be able to take it easy on this one. He couldn’t, it wasn’t in his nature. It made him a good lieutenant, the kind of man you could go to when you needed something dirty done, but it didn’t make him a very good person.

 

I’d caught him looking at me a time or two since my dad’s death and it didn’t leave me with warm fuzzy feelings about the whole thing. Max would protect me, I knew, but he couldn’t be there twenty-four seven. And besides, I wasn’t sure where Max and I stood anymore.

 

Bills hit him again and I thought maybe Max caught on to what I’d already realized: Bills was going to make things hard for Thunder. Before Bills could throw the next punch, Max stepped in and slung a hard fist into Thunder’s gut. He whispered something I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t care. Things would be bad, whether Bills was throwing the punches or Max was.

 

When Max pulled away, the others began. A barrage of violence and I had to look away.

 

But I was wrong. Things weren’t starting again; they were over. Thunder had survived initiation, most did these days. It was rare that an initiate didn’t survive, and that usually had a lot more to do with underlying problems than anything else. And that hadn’t happened in years. Except for—

 

I shook my head. It wasn’t important, and I told myself if Max had been there that day, if things hadn’t been left to Bills and those who followed him, it would have ended differently. Maybe he wouldn’t have joined the club anyway, but he wouldn’t have died.

 

The members grouped around Thunder and embraced him as they might a brother. These guys took the club seriously and considered members family, even the ones they didn’t like.

 

They helped Thunder up and patted him on the shoulder, offering wonders of congratulations and encouragement. Max even shook his hand and said he believed Thunder would be an excellent addition to the Sin Reapers.

 

That was nice of him, I though snidely before I could catch myself.

 

That wasn’t fair of me to think, not really. This was a violent way of life, that much was definitely true, but Max was a loyal, good man. If he said it to Thunder, he meant it, and I shouldn’t be so critical.

 

But it got hard when you knew the kind of violence that was going on right under your nose. Everything was hard.

 

Max looked over at me, his eyes bright with excitement and adrenaline. It was a familiar look, one I’d seen a thousand different times before. It didn’t used to bother me when he looked like that, but things had shifted lately and now I wasn’t sure what I thought. But I knew there were things that bothered me now.

 

He sent me a wink, grinning that smile that I had always loved so damn much, but I didn’t know what to think of it this time, so I looked away.

 

I loved him, I had loved him since high school and I didn’t think would ever change, but I didn’t love this anymore. I didn’t love the violence, nor the blood or the fear. Not anymore.

 

My eyes slipped shut and I sent a silent prayer out to my father. An apology for all the things that had gone wrong in such a short amount of time. An apology for the things I couldn’t let go, no matter how much he would have wanted me to.

 

Because whether this had been his life or not, he never would have wanted it as mine. Never.