Ashley

Since I’ve been back home sunset after sunset has quickly passed me by. I didn’t know what to do with the spare days flying over my head. Time was slipping through my fingers and I was losing sight of the approaching weekend.  

Over the past few days the weather has been starting to cool down, which meant that most of the guys were out riding today. In our club, we did things a little differently.

Sure – we weren’t people who abided by every law that the men in blue set into motion, but we were good people. My father always had a few men patrolling the highways for any type of suspicious activity and today, that also meant looking to see if we could figure out where the missing drugs were. He wouldn’t admit that there was a problem, but I could see it. The shipments were running short, which meant we had a mole. The question was, who was it?

Dad assigned Roach double shifts while the big boys were riding around trying to locate our mole that he wouldn’t admit we had. It was no coincidence that every time I drove the Honda to the entrance, Roach made it a point to spit at the wheels of the car before he let me leave. With that shitty attitude, he’d never be patched in as a full member. I’d make damn sure of it too.

While the boys were away, I decided to stay behind and clean up after last night’s dinner. The kitchen sink was halfway full of dirty dishes from the previous night’s impromptu backyard barbeque and I didn’t have anything better to do with my time. My arms were elbows-deep in the sink, scrubbing away the crumbs embedding the plates.

As I draw my hands itself into the sink of soapy water, my thoughts couldn’t help but to retrace back to the dark lit changing rooms. For the past couple of days, I tried to understand what was going through Blackjack’s head at the time. His arms had surrounded me in such a grip that threatened never to let go and yet in one hot flash, he pulled away from me as if he was going to melt at the sound of his name. But why?

He was the one that initially kissed me and even when I kissed him back, he didn’t pull away. How is it that the taste of the kiss was full of so much want and yet when I was craving more, he could pull away at the sound of my voice. Years ago, he and I had something. Neither of us can deny that. It shouldn’t have happened, but God did it ever. I was sixteen, and his age far surpassed mine. It was wrong, and both of us knew that. We both tried to fight it, and boy did we ever. Our story didn’t end well though, because he just vanished.

He just left without as so much as saying goodbye.

I couldn’t put my finger on it but my self-doubt certainly could. He was just too damn good for me. How could he even settle on someone who’s been broken by a vile man. Perhaps, my desperation to be touched spoiled it for him. It was a fleeting thought and now that he’s got his fill of curiosity, he’s had enough of me. After all, I’ve never had my questions answered from what happened years ago.

No––that doesn’t sound like him either. Was it because of his close relations with my father? Speaking of which, just how close did he and Dad get after I left home? If Dad has been building a relationship with Blackjack as key member of the club, it would make sense that he wouldn’t want to ruin what they’d both been working towards… But to hell with it!

I’m an independent woman. It doesn’t matter the age difference when I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Everyone in this damn club and even the surrounding towns knew that the Monroe’s took care of themselves to provide for the family. I’ve done my part in the past to keep that motto firm.

Despite that…maybe I was getting too ahead of myself.

When I stumbled back into the club with my bruises, it was well known that I wasn’t capable of recognizing who I was even marrying. Harry had stripped me of my dignity when I fell for his facade. I honestly believed that I was safe and loved in shallow marriage––no deeper than a dirty puddle left by the rain. And here I was––no longer just a Monroe but also a Vale.

Being dubbed “Mrs. Vale” left a dirty stain across my Monroe brand. It was no wonder that Blackjack turned away when I spoke his name. He was brought back to reality while I was still sitting in flightless hope. It left a sinking feeling in my stomach and my conscience betrayed me well enough to the point that––

SHCHK!!

––a plate slipped out from my soapy fingers and shattered into the sink.

“Shit.” I hissed, churning the bubbles away from the clear water.

The bubbles waded off to the edge, but I curled my fingers too quick. A shard of the plate cut my skin, burning and forcing me to jerk the hand out of the water.

“Damn it!”

My opposite hand clutched my wet fingers tight. I bit my bottom lip as I inspected the wound. A breath hitches in the back of my throat at the sight of blood trickling from the cliffs of my fingers to the length of my wrist. My eyes searched my hand for the wound only to recognize the wet slit on the inside of my index and middle finger.

When I pursed the flesh down to look for anything that might’ve gotten inside, the gap increased with a sudden sharp sensation. I clenched my eyes shut at the pain as another hiss escaped my breath. Soap had gotten in the wound and was wringing an uncomfortable sting inside the tear. I maneuvered away from the sink quickly, carrying my hand against my chest as I looked for a clean rag.

When I couldn’t find one laying on the counter, I dug into the nearest cabinet and found one next to the silverware. I clutched the checkered rag and dried the wound before anymore soapy water could fester inside. The sting revolted against the rag but slowly, I managed to coax my hand into a dull ache.

That was so stupid of me. Just where did my mind go?

I shook my head at the sight of the rag as I headed back to the sink, turning off the faucet. The soapy water had cleared up and the plate shards were more apparent in the water. That could’ve done me some good before I cut myself. Damn.

As I looked up from the sink, the windows were clear. Fresh blue skies speckled with the faintest spread of clouds in the bright day. If there was a storm picking up, it wouldn’t be coming anytime soon. It had to be bad luck or something.

I dropped my good hand down to the sink to start picking at the shards. This time, I was careful enough to see where my hand was going. When I touched up on one of the shards, I could’ve sworn there was a wisp of red ribbon drawing itself from the bottom of the sink. After blinking a couple of times, the shade had faded into the blue and I was left with three shards sitting on the palm of my hand.

At that moment, the door opened with a terrible screech up till it hit the wallflowers.

The sound of my Dad’s voice calls to me.

“Ashley––honey, you home?”

I throw the shards in the bin and turn away from the sink.

“In the kitchen, Dad!” I holler back, wiping the wet hand on the denim of my new jeans.

His boots rustle up the whole house as he treads heavily down the corridor. The shelves shook at each step, a common thing if he ever came home upset. Daddy could always upstairs as quiet as a mouse when I was fast asleep––but if there was war, he was charging into fort Monroe like a bull.

I look up to the open arch as he walks inside the kitchen, “Is everything okay, Dad?”

The man shook his head, unwilling to move from his spot. Instead, he spoke slowly.

“Your favorite prospect picked something up from the gate this morning.”

I restrained myself from rolling my eyes at the mention of Roach.

“Was it a new personality?” I asked, hoping he’d find it just a tad bit amusing. He didn’t.

My father’s expression remained sober.

“It’s from your husband.”

That word of news nearly made my heart stop dead.

A cold panic rinsed down my stomach and I had to clench to the sink counters to keep myself standing. I leveled my eyes at the floor, pursing my lips hard. The news made me feel a whole lot worse than the sting that was rising back up to my fingertips. I was standing there, clutching the damn counters till my knuckles turned white.

“Darling…” Dad tries to coax.

“Is he here? Is he back home?” I manage to stammer.

He clicks the roof of his mouth, “Now why would I let that sunnuvabitch crawl his way back to you?”

“He’s got nothing now, Daddy.” I could only shake my head. “As soon as I ran away, he lost every bartering chip on the table.”

“Ash, don’t worry––”

I ripped my eyes away from the floor.

“The Bears should’ve skinned his hide and sent it to his damn mother as soon as he let me get away!”

At that, my father crosses his arms.

“Fuckers are smart enough to give me the honors.”

That didn’t loosen the tension running through my head. All jokes aside, I was filling with dread at any mention of Harry. I wanted all of this to be over. The pain sitting at the inside of my fingers was enough of an omen to say that it wouldn’t be that easy. I’d slipped away, I’d gotten bruised, but the mental scars were still there. I had to scathe my wings to free myself from that fucking cage.

My dad led me back into the clubhouse, directly past the doorway that led us into where we held church where the so called “package” was waiting for us.  Cracker, the boys, as well as some of the members were seated along the table in their assigned chairs. Roach was sitting there with a partial grin running up the lines of his hollow face. I knew he was getting off at the idea of being invited to an active meeting. It made me sick to my stomach that he didn’t realize the severity of the situation.

I glanced up quickly as the doorways to church opened, revealing none other than my Uncle Tex. I didn’t even know he’d gotten back into town – not seeing him since I’ve been back. He’s my dad’s brother in law, my aunt Roxy is my dad and Cracker’s little sister. I continued to look around the room until my eyes settled on the man I was searching for.

Blackjack, on the other hand, was sitting next to my father’s chair with Uncle Cracker on just the other side. That made me feel a tad bit worse but a whole lot better. Somehow, his presence made up for the shitty day given that I hadn’t seen him for days. I tried my best not to look at his face as my eyes took in the room while my father escorted me up to the front of the table.

Every man was silent. In church, everyone was quiet. You’d be dumb not to be, it was a place where you let the Prez do the talking, and that Prez was none other than my Daddy.

I could see the package on display for everyone to see, laying on top of the table. It’s opening flaps were ripped apart to unveil the contents. The thing was no bigger than the length of my foot.

As I approached the cardboard box, I could feel the knots tightening up in my stomach. I knew who this was from and yet my body was trying to deny it. Even as my eyes got closer to its contents, I could only make out the grimy outside of the box. Its corners had been soaked in rain and the cardboard was left to dry till the morning.

When I finally forced myself to look inside, the knots loosened up and I could only tremble. Within the box was a leather cut measured and tailored so that it held the heavy bronze of its emblem with pride.

The pieced medallion had anchored it down to the box with a bear on its cast, opening its mouth to roar. I restrained my hand from shaking when I took the cut in my hands by the bronze plate. My father watched me intently, but this only made the men start whispering about them.

I should’ve realized that this was only inevitable.

Upon the plate was engraved, “Property of Bears MC––Reaper”. Below it was a faint parcel note that had been dried and wrinkled up by the rain. My father took it in his hands and unfolded it beside me. I could hear the paper chuckle as my father smoothened it down to size. The sound was haunting.

“We––the Bears MC––have recognized that this holy matrimony has been interrupted by the spoils of domestication. You––the Reapers––should know that despite anything that goes on within the marriage of our unified members, this marriage is tied with no acknowledgement of separation from the patriarch of the family.” My father read and my face could only fill with disgust. “Therefore, we ask that you leave your livestock with the dominant member of this marriage before we take it upon ourselves to make this severe action just. When you do transfer her back to our club,” He read slowly and paused, the cuff of his wrist tightening at his aggravation, “make it apparent that she is wearing our emblem otherwise we will assume she will attempt to infringe on this union again.”

I honestly didn’t have anything to say to that. That letter wasn’t a request, it was a demand. It seems Harry had been doing some sucking up with the Bears, enough for them to leave me this lovely tailored cut for me at my front door. There’s no way in hell this piece of livestock is going back to the dominant member of the family.

Blackjack scoffs, “This fuck off…”

“They don’t think it’s going to be that easy.” Zane stood up from his seat, “That’s our fucking sister on the line.” “Boys, boys, boys…” My father coaxed them all, the weight of his voice booming throughout the room. “What they’re inciting is the old bylaws where two opposing MC’s are unified in order for neither of them to touch violence upon the wedding parties. They want to make it known that they’re acting accordingly to the established text and guidelines.”

“Acting like it’s our Bible as well.” Blackjack resounded, his eyes coming back to me.

“You got it, kid.” Fist nods sternly, “But they forget one thing.”

A silence spurred between the members as they waited on every syllable of Fist’s word.

I broke it on a whim.

“The Reapers follow no man who poises himself as a God, therefore the old tradition of MC law is fool’s gold.” I say softly.

“Atta’girl.” My father whispers, his hand collecting my shoulder with a squeeze.

They can’t force her to come back then.” Zane insists.

“They can always try to force her to come back through violence.” Blackjack corrects him, “This way, they have an agenda other than saying––“we’re using her as blackmail to get to you”.”

“They don’t know the reason she left in the first place.” Uncle Cracker muses from his thoughts.

“Exactly.” Fist nods. “They think that she left on the accounts of her abuse. They even mention it in their fancy wordplay.”

“Spoils of domestication’, bullshit.” Zane scoffs.

“I just find it funny how this spineless bastard calls himself “Reaper”.” My Uncle Tex chuckles lowly to himself. “It’s as uncreative as it is tasteless.”

“On the contrary,” I look up at him, a grim smile coming across me in the light of the moment. “I think Reaper is a fitting road name for Harry. Let’s see how much is left of him after we’re done with them.” I wasn’t the broken, beaten down wife any more. I refused to be that woman. I’m Ashley fucking Monroe, and this MC Princess is back home – I hope he’s ready for the war that’s coming.