Faith slammed a bottle of whiskey on the table and backed away. She refused to turn around, fear plaguing her eyes as she moved silently back toward the bar. I realized that things going on in the club were drastically different now. Faith feared outsiders. Something she had never done before. What was the club doing that would have her so paranoid? What kind of hanky shit did they have their fingers in? Before I left, the only shit the club got involved with was the occasional transport of stolen goods.
Dutch ran the club with an iron fist. He kept the club out of doing the hard shit and did his best to keep our nose clean with the law. Under Dutch’s thumb, I always felt safe. He was the perfect man to be patched in as president of the Devil’s Armada, always firm but never a coward. Dutch didn’t put up with anyone’s shit and that’s why I liked him. He was more of a father to me than my own dad ever was. I was just a young kid from the wrong side of the tracks who happened to stumble upon the clubhouse by accident. I was lucky they didn’t pulverize me right there, but Dutch, hell, he saved my life. He had a soft spot for misfits and wanderers, and when he saw the fear and desperation in my eyes, he took pity on me. I think it was because I reminded him of his own children. I was the same age as Scythe when he found me, and it didn’t take me long to fall into his ranks.
I started by sweeping the shop, watching the club with envious eyes as they formed a family I desperately wanted. My own parents wanted nothing to do with me and discarded me like a piece of trash the second they could. My father used to make fun of my weight, calling me a no good, fat piece of shit that wasn’t worthy enough to lick his steel toe boots. I used to blame his behavior on his alcohol addiction, but it wasn’t long before I realized my dad was just a shitty person in general.
My mom only encouraged his behavior, taking his side and babying him when she should’ve been taking care of me. When I turned seventeen and could no longer handle being my dad’s punching bag or my mom’s disappointment, I skipped town and somehow found myself deep in the heart of Armada country.
After a few months of being shop bitch, I earned the title of prospect and it wasn’t long before I had my own bike and was climbing the ranks until I found a steady foot as the club’s Tail Gunner. Being in the Devil’s Armada gave me the family I always wanted, and somewhere along the way, I fell in love with Dutch’s daughter, Faith. Scythe used to give me shit for fawning all over his sister, but it wasn’t long before we had both Scythe and Dutch’s blessing. I treated Faith like the princess she was, and since I was like a second son to Dutch, I had his blessing to make Faith my Old Lady for good.
Just thinking about all the things I had planned for us, brought tears to my eyes. I was supposed to marry this woman, and now she couldn’t even recognize me. Not that I expected her to. I went from a cleanly shaven, obese bastard without any ink, to a lean, tattooed asshole with a ghostly past. I looked nothing like my former self, and sometimes when I looked in the mirror, I had a hard time even recognizing person staring back at me.
The man in the mirror was the opposite of everything Midas stood for. Midas was about pride and protection. He didn’t give a shit about how he looked or what people thought of him. His life revolved around the club and keeping Faith safe, and when he died, so did his purpose. Midas wouldn’t have lost half his body weight, grown a beard or bothered marring his skin with something as trivial as tattoos. He didn’t need it. But Midas was dead, and Holden needed a second skin—something that would conceal him safely in the shadows and away from those who wished him harm.
Now my body was a canvas of pointless ink, with only a few illustrations thrown in that I actually gave a shit about. I hated my beard, too; it’s itchy and gets in the way of eating. It’s also a bitch to keep tame because my whiskers are assholes that do what they want and could give two shits about my comfort. The beard was an unfortunate evil that had to stay, at least for now because it hid the scar my family would immediately recognize if I shaved my face. It wasn’t easy hiding a two-inch scar that dragged across the entire length of my face behind anarchist chin whiskers that refused to cooperate. If I cut my beard too short, I ran the risk of my scar making an appearance, if I kept it too long, I looked like Adam Parrish when he emerged from the board game in Jumanji.
I even used fucking contacts to change the color of my eyes. They used to be a cool, ice blue, now they’re a mix between slate gray and amber. The most difficult thing to disguise had to be my voice. While down in Texas, I picked up a southern twang and learned to control my tone, making it deeper and more seductive. Even my own mother couldn’t recognize my voice anymore. I would call the house every once in a while, to check up on her, but I would always have some stupid bullshit excuse as to why I called. Sometimes I pretended to have the wrong number, other times I would just sit and listen to her say hello. I’d done this move on Faith, too, but I never had the guts to speak to her either.
Being a ghost was harder than it looked, and every day that I lived underneath this ghostly façade was another day I had to go without her.
But here she was standing before me, a completely different person than the woman who stole my heart.
Faith was a hardened woman now. I could see it in her fear driven stare, and the wobble in her shaky fingers. The carefree woman I fell in love with was gone, and now there was an armored tank surrounding her. I wonder what changed her?
“What’s your name?” I asked her, toying with the bottle of whiskey she gave me.
“None of your business,” she snipped, placing the gun on the bar.
“Not much for small talk, are you?” I grumbled, taking a swig from the glass.
“No, I just don’t have time for some bullshit biker that has a death wish.”
I laughed, because her comment was hilarious. “Honey, a man like me laughs in the face of death. I’ve walked that line and evaded his grasp for far too long.”
She frowned. “Well, when my brother gets here and finds you inside his club, you’ll be wishing it was death that found you instead.”
I smirk over my drink, admiring the bite in her words. Hardened or not, Faith was feisty, and a feisty woman was my favorite kind of woman to chase.
I tipped the bottle in her direction, “Cheers to your brother, then. I look forward to meeting him.” I take a drink and wipe my beard with the back of my hand. “And cheers to you, too. A woman who possesses both beauty and a quick tongue is a treasure even the richest man desires.” I threw her a flirtatious wink and reveled in the sudden flash of pink that highlighted her cheeks.
I was getting to her, and very few words had been used to do it. Midas still had that golden touch even from beyond the grave.
She opened her mouth to say something else to sass me, but she was interrupted by the revving of motorcycle engines pulling up outside.
She gasped and went incredibly still. Her reaction could only mean one thing. My family had finally returned home.
Chapter Three
Faith
Was this guy stupid or just plain dumb? I tried to warn him about what would happen once my brother got back, but he was refusing to leave, sitting there smugly in the corner booth, drinking his whiskey straight from the bottle.