Invisible Flames: Rebel Souls MC #2

1.0 Charlotte

The loud rumbling of motorcycle engines distracted me from the tiktok videos I was scrolling through. It was nearly ten at night and Dad must be having another illicit meeting with the outlaw bikers. The ones that don't go on record in his office.

My bedroom window looked out over the driveway. Unable to take my eyes off of their massive size I watched them dismount as the noise from the bikes died. There was only two of them; usually they were with three. Distractedly I wondered where the third one could be. Unfortunately I'd never been able to get close enough to look at them properly. But as small town gossip goes- they were all sexy, muscled and tattooed with smiles that made a a girl want to drop her panties.

"Get away from your window," my best friend, Carrie, whispered harshly. She spoke as if they'd be able to hear her with all the windows closed. "They'll see you!"

"So?" I never understood her fear of them. They were just men. Big, scary, rough looking men, but still only men. Men who commanded respect and had power radiate from them. "Joey is a prospect now."

"Please don't tell me you're thinking about getting back together with him?" She groaned. She sat on my floor, legs crossed, while scrolling through her phone. Plopping down next to her, after abandoning my lurking spot at the window, I sat with my legs extended and glanced at their. Her distaste for my high school boyfriend had never been subtle. Even now, three years post breakup, it was written all over her face.

"It's been three years. Maybe he's changed," I suggested.

"He's a douche," she deadpanned. Laughing shortly I nodded at her in agreement. "But seriously," she continued. "You'd never get back with him?"

"After what he did? No." Joey had always been somewhat of a dick. Honestly, that was part of the attraction. I was sixteen when we got together and stayed until I was nineteen. He was a bad boy with an even worse attitude. He wasn't even one of those bad boys who were secretly good guys and treated their women well. Jackass. I let him treat me like crap, thinking it was love and not knowing any better. I'd let things slide that I shouldn't. Like his body shaming of my best friend. And helping his best friend, Carrie's ex, fuck with her head for so long.

Shame was the only thing I felt for letting it go on as long as I had. Carrie was an angel for forgiving me. She'd said we were both manipulated and gaslighted, just in different ways.

At the time I thought that's how relationships were supposed to be. Volatile. It didn't make sense. My parents were never like that. I should have known better. Being young and stupid wasn't as appealing as it sounded.

"He is like a thousand times sexier now than he's in the club though," I said quietly.

"What's your obsession with the club?" She asked.

"I can't explain it." This conversation we'd had multiple times too. Standing I walked to my bedroom door, ready to tiptoe downstairs to see if I could finally listen in on the whispered conversations between my father and the club. It was a small town. I knew what most of them looked like in passing but had no idea what the members names were or what they looked like up close. We didn't exactly run in the same circles. Which was ironic considering two of them were sitting in my kitchen, sipping my father's most expensive bourbon while discussing illicit deals.

At least that was my assumption. I'd never actually made it all the way downstairs during one of the meetings. The third step from the bottom squeaked no matter where I stepped on it.  I could try and skip it but I wasn't exactly what you call graceful. An attempt like that, in the dark, would have me tumbling down the last three stairs, landing face first on the tiled entryway.

But in my head they were all tattooed and sexy. And I did not want to be wrong.

"Come on," I whispered, walking toward my bedroom door.