LILY

Roswell to Boulder, Colorado by way of Tucson, Arizona.

I stretch as I get out of the car in front of my Uncle Sticks’ house in Boulder.

The house is gorgeous, considering it’s a bachelor pad. White with hunter green shutters on either side of the windows. Two stories and a wraparound porch.

The front door opens and my uncle comes out with eyes narrowed on me. He’s older, sixty, a couple years younger than Big Daddy, but Sticks looks every bit his age. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he grunts as he steps off the porch steps. I meet him halfway between my car and the stairs.

“Hey, Sticks.” I smile and he wraps his arms around me.

“I was hopin’ you’d skip that aunt of yours and come up here.” His face lights up with a smile as he lets me go. Unlike his brother, Sticks maintains a nice goatee, though it’s longer off the chin, it’s not unattractive considering his age. His hair is salt and pepper and his eyes are my same shade of blue. The family resemblance is uncanny.

“So, Uncle D called you?”

He laughs, “Of course he did. Our niece, whom we thought dead, shows up after four years, damn right he called me.” The cold hits me then and I shiver. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” He’s actually happy to see me, which is a good sign.

He helps me with my bags, bringing them all in the house. “How long you gonna stay?” he asks as we set the bags at the foot of the stairs.

“Not long. I just need some time to get on my feet up here,” I tell him. It’s the truth. I never intended to be a burden on my uncle.

“You cook?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

I smile wider, relief washing over me for the first time in almost a week. “I do.”

“Well?” He cocks an eyebrow at me.

“I’ve not killed anyone yet,” I tease.

“Good, you’re staying.”

I laugh.

The night goes much like that until he stomps his way up the stairs to his room. Sticks was married for a very long time to a woman I adored as a child. She died when I was ten and Uncle Sticks has been alone ever since. Well, as alone as a biker with a clubhouse full of club whores can be.

As I climb into the guest bed next to his room, I start to think about his open invitation to stay. I can’t help wondering if he knew more about my being alive than he lead me to believe. It also makes me wonder if he’ll give me the information I need about Roswell. The best I got out of Big Daddy was Rooster’s name. I still don’t know the name of the man who was with Loki that night.

I also need some time to learn as much club business as I can. I need to know how to get inside the walls and hopefully I can do it as something other than a club whore.

My uncle has been the Boulder charter Pres since he was twenty-two. The same age as Kellen when our parents died, but Boulder’s charter was smaller in numbers and already had some well-established businesses to keep it afloat during his transition. Under Sticks’ guidance and leadership, Boulder now rivals Tucson for the largest charter and it is still the most profitable.

During our talk tonight, I learned that the Boulder charter has several stores, shops and bars between here and Denver that they run. The money flows into the entire club through Boulder, and while Roswell and Tucson have their own store fronts, Boulder, for whatever reason, is the bread winner. There are several smaller charters throughout the West Coast. California, Oregon and Nevada are three states that I know for sure have charters.

Uncle Sticks, named because he was always drumming away with whatever he could get his hands on when he was younger, seemed happy to see me at first. Until I told him my plan to get revenge on the asshole who killed my parents and Tryke.

“Revenge is left to the big boys, darlin’,” he said, but there was a twitch in his lips that told me he wasn’t all too disappointed in my intentions.

“Yeah, well, if anyone has a right to it, it’s me.”

He didn’t have much of an argument after that. But he looked me up and down, scrutinizing me in my loose-fitting jeans and light colored t-shirt. The longer we talked the more I think he realized just how serious I am about it.

I’m formulating my plan to get Sticks’ help when I doze off.

I’m awakened by the sun the next morning. I move around upstairs, hitting the shower and getting dressed as quietly and quickly as possible. I want to make him breakfast this morning.

I got here too late last night to make him a proper dinner, so breakfast will, with any luck, make up for it and put him in a talking mood.

I move around the kitchen and I can’t help thinking about Sticks’ wife and old lady. I wonder why he never took another one. It’s not uncommon for members to take old ladies and lose them, either by their own stupidity or something awful happening to them, and then they find new ones. Sticks isn’t like most members, though. He loved his old lady more than life itself.

Just as I’m finishing up the bacon, Sticks sits down at my breakfast spread. I can’t help smiling as he devours the entire table in a matter of minutes. Grunting and groaning in appreciation of my cooking. “Yeah, you ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he smirks.

“For now,” I remind him.

“Listen, buttercup, you want revenge on these assholes, you’re gonna haf-ta find a way to toughen up.”

“So, show me.” I smile at him.

He grunted with a smile on his face. “When you turn eighteen?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Well, fuck me sideways,” he laughs. “I’ll find you a job, get you something inside the club walls, and give you a chance to learn the ropes, but you’re gonna need new threads.” He looks at my clothes again before dipping into his back pocket for his wallet. I notice then that Sticks’ standard attire is a black t-shirt, black jeans, black motorcycle boots and his cut, but unlike most of the men, no chain on his wallet. Then again, he’s pushing sixty.

“I got money,” I tell him as he brings his wallet out.

He tucks the bills back in his pocket. “You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, Tryke didn’t leave me empty handed.”

He nods before he takes off toward the front door. “We got some business at the compound tonight. I’ll be home late.”

I shake my head with a smirk on my face and off he goes. The familiar roar of his Harley brings a strange sense of comfort I didn’t realize I needed.

I’m not sure I’d be able to live my life away from motorcycles, despite the wishes of my brother.

After more than six hours of shopping, a couple stops ended up being Wicked Angels owned shops, and more than a thousand dollars, I have enough clothes to get me started. After I start working, I’ll work on enhancing some, but for now, this will have to do.

I haul all my new stuff up into my room and am trying shit on when the roar of a Harley coming down Sticks’ long driveway captures my attention. I know almost immediately that it’s not Sticks. I know enough about bikes to distinguish one from another and this one is alone.

“What are they doing here?” I mumble. Is it a club member coming by? They’ve got no business here without Sticks. Then again, he could be running late. I walk quickly and quietly over to my window and pull back the curtain enough to see out.

I narrow my eyes. “No way,” I whisper as my heart leaps into my throat and I watch the man on the bike pull of his helmet.