Cutter
Cutter whipped down the road on his chopper. He ignored the speed limit signs as he stitched a line between the other vehicles, zigging and zagging in and out of traffic. Cars honked, but he didn't even bother to give them the finger. Besides, that would have meant taking his hand off the throttle.
His knuckles were sore and white from how tightly he was gripping the handlebars. One name kept flashing in his mind like a giant bloody red neon sign: Wyland fucking West. The only son of a bitch he really had a problem with after so many years.
He took a deep breath, though, and tried to control his anger. Beating the shit out of the new assistant DA on his wedding day wouldn't exactly be a great way to begin stating his case for why the Vanguard should be left alone, but Cutter couldn't understand what the guy's deal was. They were trying to go completely legit, trying to divest all their less savory businesses and income streams. For the law to crack down on them now, when things were so sensitive, so in flux, was almost overly punitive, like something else was at work.
It had to have something to do with their past, with the three of them: Cutter, Liona, and Wyland. Back in high school, the two young men had been a tight, if odd, pairing. Wyland had been on the student council and was the class president. Cutter, back then, had been just another kid who'd lucked into a friendship with a richer kid. Even though they were from different sides of the track, so to speak, they'd had a tight bond.
But, then along came Liona. She'd been the new girl their senior year, a transfer student who'd come along when her dad's work relocated her family. Somehow, she'd fallen in with Cutter and Wyland and their duo became a trio.
For Cutter, his friendship with Liona was always something more. He'd been in love with her from the first day they'd met. Her smile, her easy laughter, her quiet, focused strength. He was drawn to her, longed for her. But Cutter was an uncertain kid back then, scrawny and small, with no self-confidence. Times had changed, of course, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.
Wyland had felt the same way about her. He'd made his move first, before Cutter could muster his courage. Seeing them together had gnawed at him until he'd finally confessed his feelings to Liona. Things hadn't gone well from there, and when the dust settled and Cutter's mind had cleared, she and Wyland were already gone. Off to college, and out of his life forever.
At least, forever was what he'd thought. Now he didn't know what kind of feelings he had for her. He just knew he wanted her out of his head, and wanted Wyland West's meddling out of his dealings. The rest of the MC didn't deserve to be targets just because of some high school bullshit. That was asking too much of them.
With all that swirling in his mind, he raced on, trying to beat the clock. He was just a few minutes away when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He downshifted and veered to the side of the road, a symphony of car horns blaring in protest at his sudden stop. A beautiful bride in a flowing white gown was tramping through the trees. Mud crept up the hem of her dress and covered her heels, but her face was angelic. More than that, he recognized her almost instantly, and his blood seemed to stop in his veins. For years, he'd seen those beautiful eyes, those perfect lips, every time he closed his eyes at night. And, for just as many years, that face was the first thing he saw in his mind's eye when he woke up in the morning.
It was her. Liona Copeland, coming out of the forest, walking away from the church. She wasn't more than twenty feet from him, but he could see the look of concern on her face plain as day. That same look she'd had in math class when she almost remembered how to do a problem, but couldn't quite get it.
“Desmond?” she exclaimed, using the name his parents had given him. “Desmond Hawes? Is that you?”
Cutter grinned. He hadn't seen her or heard her voice in years, and there was still something about her that lifted his spirits, made him feel like he was on cloud nine.
“Lose your way, or something?” he asked as nonchalant as he could manage.
“You're a biker now?” she asked, incredulous as she emphasized the word biker. She seemed oblivious to the rest of the traffic and the fact she was in a wedding dress as she stared at him. “And you wear leather?”
“Like you've got any room to talk on weird outfits.”
She hiked up the bag on her shoulder, readjusting the load, and looked down at herself. “Yeah, well, this is just for today.”
He checked his watch like he didn't have a care in the world. “Don't you have some place to be right about now?”
“Well, I did,” she said, and glanced back over her shoulder, almost like a scared animal on the run would. Something was wrong here.
“Not doing it, then?” She shook her head. Cutter sighed and looked away, down the road. “Wyland's gonna be pissed.”
She shot daggers at him when he turned his gaze back to her. “That's the last thing I give a shit about,” she said. Something about her attitude, the way she held herself as she replied, said the exact opposite, though. She cared about his opinion, even if she didn't care about him.
“Running away, then?”
“Gonna try,” she said, a slow, uncertain smiling creeping onto her face. She seemed to hold her breath before saying, “Wanna help?”
“Help out an old crush?” he asked, a little grin on his lips. “And piss off that motherfucker Wyland in the process?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!”
He jerked his thumb behind him. “Jump on.”
She sighed in clear relief and swung a leg over the seat behind him and climbed aboard. With her overnight bag tucked between them, she leaned forward and instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist.
He hated to admit something like this, even to himself, but it felt damn good to feel her touch again. Even after all these years, and all the changes that had happened in their lives. Except, this time, it was different. He was different.
“Ready back there?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” she said, “let's go.”
They took off, heading back the way Cutter had just come. The cars blared another symphony as he cut across traffic, this time hollering out a victory call.