Fallen Bast*rd

Willa 18 years old

"Ma, have you seen my bike keys?" I ask, sitting at the kitchen counter. I can't for the life of me remember where I threw them last night; I wasn't in the best of moods after yet another awkward run-in with West and BJ.

I reach for the juice jug and pour myself a small glass of orange juice, staring expectantly at Mum's back. She turns and fixes me with a glare, the kind that says, 'do one.'

"I don't know, did you put them back on the key hanger? You know, where all the other keys live?" she asks, pointing to the front door. Tilting my head, I stare at her in disbelief.

"We have a key hanger?" I ask, frowning in confusion. Mum hates it when I play at being clueless.

Ignoring my question, she spins back to the sink, muttering, "It's been there your whole life; maybe try using it."

Chuckling, I drain the rest of my juice and place the glass in the dishwasher. I walk up behind Mum and wrap her in a hug; gotta get them in while I can. "I know, Mum, it's just," I begin.

"You're lazy?" Mum teases as she turns off the tap. Grinning, I shake my head. "No, it's just soon I won't be able to bug you every day, you know, because it would be frowned upon for you to trail around after me at uni," I say, giving her cheek a sloppy kiss.

Moving towards the door, I drop to my knees and begin rifling through my shoes. After the fifth pair, I finally find them. Thank God, maybe Mum's right, I do have too many shoes.

"Found em, Mum, see you later!" I shout, popping to my feet. I pull on a pair of black biker boots to match my black denim jeans, fitted tee and leather jacket. All rider safe, don't want Dad making me watch another human crayon video.

"Okay, say hi to Aunt Lilly and remind her and Uncle Butch that dinner is at six thirty pm or we'll be late for the ride." Mum clearly forgets Aunt Lilly has never consulted a clock for anything in her life.

Nodding, I push open the front door of our sleek, modern two-storey home, boasting five bedrooms, four and a half baths.

Complete with top-notch security; a necessity when you live in the in-between, that place between legal and the "let's not talk about that," or as my father and brother like to say, "It's club business."

Rounding the driveway, I find Dad sitting in the garage. "Hey, Dad," I say, gliding past him as he stares at his phone with the kind of intensity he reserves for Mum when she's in her riding gear.

"Oh hey, Will. You taking the bike over to Georgie's?" he asks, suddenly giving me his full attention. Interesting.

I grab a helmet off the shelf and pause, glancing at Dad. "Well, I'm not wearing all this to make a fashion statement," I say, gesturing at my safety gear.

Dad huffs, standing up to his full height, all six feet of him. I sigh, rolling my eyes, and place the helmet on my bike, preparing for the inevitable lecture. I stare at him with wide-eyed innocence.

"I just wanted to warn you. Mason may have pissed off one of Roberto's men. Just want you to watch your six, is all, Willa-bear." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Poor Daddy, he stepped away from the Prez patch only to have a constant headache.

Rolling my bike to the curb, I stare up at the sky. I understand all too well the dangers of messing around on someone else's turf. I was there the night Mason got hot and heavy with the wrong woman, and the brothers paid the price: two dead, and Mason unable to ride because of multiple broken bones. God made him pretty, but he sure as hell didn't add an ounce of common sense.

*

I pull up to the gates of the Fallen's compound and wait patiently for the prospect to open them. "Oh come on, Kirk, it's the big green one," I shout, tapping my fingers against the handlebar. ‘Honestly, how hard can pushing a button be?’

"Kirk!" I snap again. "Damn it, Willa, you're not supposed to use my legal name." He whisper-yells as the gate slides open just wide enough for my Harley Softail to squeeze through.

As I speed past, I give him the finger. ‘Serves you right, Kirk. You should've thought about that before you ratted me out at school.’

On the approach to Georgie's house, a wave of sentimentality hits me again. ‘This'll be the last time, for at least four years, that either of us will be here or at the Soulless compound.’ I think, once more, taking in my surroundings.

Parking next to Georgie's Harley, I take off my helmet and place it carefully on the seat. Then I head up the stairs to Lillian and Butch’s modern townhouse.

After tapping in the code, the door clicks open, and I find myself face to chest with the person I was hoping to avoid until much later tonight.

"W... I mean Ax," I gasp, shrinking away from him. He smirks, his gaze wanders over me, sliding over my every curve. My cheeks flush, remembering the last time we were here for dinner. I shake my head and step back. ‘I'm done playing this game. If he wants someone more mature, fine. Stop messing with my head.’

"Willa, you don't have to," Ax begins, but before he can finish, Georgie bursts into the room, her outfit matching mine in every way except for the colour. I mouth 'thank you,' and she nods.

"There you are! Come on, Mum's waiting to give us a gift," Georgie announces, linking her arm with mine and pulling me towards the kitchen. She pauses, glancing at her brother.

"Dad’s up at the clubhouse, Ax. He's waiting for you." Ax looks at me, but I'm busy staring at my boots. Jaw clenched, he makes a swift exit.

"Willa, Georgie!" Aunt Lilly calls excitedly, wrapping us both in a tight hug. "I can't believe my girls are heading off to uni and leaving me for four whole years." She pouts and squeezes a little tighter.

'Please don't cry, Aunt Lil; she's a proper crier, full war widow at her long-lost lover's grave kind of tears.

Thankfully sparing us the tears, Lilly ushers us into the kitchen. On the table sit two identical jewellery boxes, each holding a platinum charm replica of our bikes.

We thank her, adding the charms to our necklaces. Butch and Dad gave us those last week, and Mum added the Zodiac charm. Staring at the new additions, we both smile.

Later, up in Georgie's room, sprawled on Georgie's bed surrounded by moving boxes, I stare at the ceiling. "Are you gonna be okay? Living for months with Dex there to satiate you," I tease, staring up at the ceiling.

"Are you?" she replies. The silence that follows feels heavier than the boxes stacked around us.