CHAPTER ONE
Willow
I pushed open the doors to my father’s offices and smiled at the church’s receptionist.
“Hi, Eleanor.”
My father was the reverend of the First Baptist Church in Viewpoint, South Carolina, a church of about two hundred, older, conservative members. Even though it was small, there was a separate building that housed the pastoral offices behind the main church. Daddy was the nicest man I knew. He was probably the nicest man anyone in town knew. Since my mother died ten years ago, it had been the two of us against the world. After her passing I had to help keep daddy focused on his work, and he tried his best to fill the role of a mother to a teenage girl. It wasn’t easy for either of us, but we grew incredibly close as we grieved and healed together.
“Oh, hi sweetie. How are you doing?” Eleanor pushed her Bible aside and leaned across the counter.
Eleanor Torres had worked at the church since before Daddy had taken over and she was very, very sweet. A little dim and out of touch, but always kind. Her husband Sam was a deacon and their daughter Taylor helped out with the little kids on occasion.
“I’m great, thank you,” I said. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s doing much better. Thank you for asking.”
“Of course.” I held up a small stack of paper. “Daddy asked me to bring in the sermon he printed last night. Is he free?”
“Sure, sure, go on back.”
I nodded and headed toward my dad’s office.
As I approached, I heard two angry voices, low enough I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but loud enough to know they were arguing.
I frowned. My father never argued with anyone. The only time he raised his voice was when he was preaching… and that was really only when it was on the topic of sin or the book of Revelation.
Now, however, he was the aggressor.
“I told you, Richard, I was done with this conversation and if you continue to—”
“Hi, Daddy,” I said, interrupting the altercation. I faced Richard Waters and forced a smile. “Mr. Waters.”
Richard was one of our deacons, but (and I’m ashamed to admit this), I didn’t like him. In fact, he scared me. I didn’t get a good feeling from the man, and even though he had a lovely wife and a perfectly polite son, he flat out gave me the creeps.
“Mornin’ Willow,” Richard said in his thick Kentucky accent, and his eyes raked my body making me feel like I should cover up. “You look… beautiful.”
I swallowed and took a deep breath in an effort not to shudder. “Thank you.”
“Well, I best be goin’,” he said, and I stepped back so he could pass.
Daddy leaned down and kissed my cheek, then closed the door. “Hi, honey.”
“Hi, Daddy.” I handed him the paperwork he’d asked me to grab from the house. “Why were you fighting with Mr. Waters?”
“It’s nothing. Just a disagreement on a Bible verse.”
“That sounded much more heated than a disagreement on a Bible verse,” I countered.
“It’s my job to be patient and guide our flock in the right direction. I promise you, it wasn’t a heated argument.” He smiled and squeezed my arms. “Now. Are you and Brad going out tonight?”
“Yep.” I grinned and glanced at my engagement ring. Almost two carats of perfection in a platinum band. Brad Aljets was my newly announced fiancé and I was in love with the perfect man. He and I had grown up in the church together and his faith in God was as strong as my father’s. He came from a lovely family (his father was the mayor), and we’d been dating (chastely) for a year. He’d proposed the Sunday before last in front of the entire congregation, and I couldn’t have been happier. I was twenty-two years old, entering my senior year of college to become a teacher, and couldn’t wait to start my life with Brad. I was working on being the perfect political wife, and I thought I was doing a pretty good job so far.
“What time is he picking you up?” Daddy asked.
“Seven.”
“Well, why don’t I take you to lunch and make sure you’re home in time to be spoiled?”
“I would love to go to lunch with you, Daddy, but I’m meeting Jasmine and Parker to start the wedding planning.”
Jazz and Parker were my two closest friends. Their families attended our church, and we’d been inseparable since third grade.
“Well, that’s far more important.”
I giggled. “Nothing’s more important than you, Daddy. I can reschedule—”
“Don’t you dare. It’s not every day my little girl plans a wedding.”
I kissed his cheek. “I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
“I better get going.”
He nodded. “Make sure you drive west…”
“So I avoid the biker bar,” I repeated for the umpteenth time. The church was in a shady part of town… sort of. The biker bar was literally on the other side of the train tracks, which separated the “bad” part of town from our side of town. West vs. east. Sometimes I wondered if Dad was worried there might be a “rumble.” Maybe the Sharks and the Jets would break out in a knife fight… or even worse, in song and dance.
I bit back a giggle and sighed. “I know, Daddy. Don’t worry. I’m careful.”
“That’s my girl.” He sat behind his desk. “Text me when you get wherever you’re going.”
“I will. See you tonight.”
He nodded and I decided to leave via the door from his office, rather than heading back through the lobby. It was faster and it meant I could avoid Richard Waters who usually hung around to speak with Eleanor whenever he visited.
As I walked to my car in the front, a deafening roar had me frozen in place.
A sea of black and chrome motorcycles flew by me, passing right in front of the church, and I couldn’t help myself from laying my hand over my racing heart. My word, they were loud… and intimidating… and kind of exciting. I shoved that thought deep down in my soul. I was not allowed to think they were exciting. They were dangerous and the bikers certainly were not good people (as Brad had told me on more than one occasion).
The problem with me, however, was that I found myself enamored by motorcycles and the men who rode them. I’d always been drawn to them. I couldn’t tell you why, but one of my earliest memories as a child was pulling away from my mother in a mall parking lot and running toward a motorcycle parked near our car. We’d been visiting her sister in San Diego, and we were getting a few supplies for our Disneyland visit the following day.
There was an older man with long hair and an even longer beard who saw me coming (probably because my mother let out a scream of fear), and knelt down to my level as I laid my hand on the bike.
“Pretty.”
He grinned. “You like my hog, huh?”
I nodded.
“This here’s a Harley Davidson Fatboy.”
I wrinkled my nose. “It’s not nice to say ‘fat.’”
He chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”
I stared at the man and knew I’d never forget his eyes. Ever. They were blue and they were kind… like Daddy’s.
“Willow!” my mother admonished. “Do not run away from me again.”
“Sorry, Mama. I like the hog.”
“The what?” she asked, and the man stood back up.
“My bike. I call it a hog.”
“Oh,” Mama said, and tugged me closer to her legs. “Well, thank you for letting her look at your motorcycle.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
Mama pulled me (reluctantly) to our car and we drove away, never to see the man or the motorcycle again.
Brought back to the present by one of the bikers looking my way, I licked my lips and waited for the last bike to drive out of view. I noticed the patches on the backs of their jackets read: Dogs of Fire: Savannah, and it sounded kind of tame for a motorcycle gang. I suppose there was the fire bit, but no mention of Satan or pictures of nude women on their vests. I shook off my thoughts and climbed into my car, driving the opposite way of the men.
* * *
Dash
As I passed the Baptist Church, I couldn’t help but notice the leggy blonde standing by an older model Toyota Tercel. Fuck me, she was gorgeous.
She wore a thin, yellow sundress that stopped at her knees, and some sweater thing that covered her arms. She’d finished off the innocent as fuck lookin’ outfit with cowboy boots and I suddenly felt pressure against my zipper. I imagined myself fucking her right out of the slip of fabric she called a dress, but I’d insist she keep those boots on.