Craving The Biker's Widow.

Chapter 2-Daisy is dead.

CHAPTER 2.

DAISY IS DEAD!

~ASHLEY’S POINT OF VIEW~

I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat the moment the words leave his lips.

Daisy is dead?

I hear the words, but my body refuses to accept them.

She's supposed to be back with my airfare,turning that corner and returning to my hideout with that unbothered expression she always wears.

My throat closes the moment I see the coffin. I gasp, pressing my hand tightly against my chest as it carves in.

A silent sob tears from my throat, and it feels like something has just broken inside me.

Four huge bikers carry the coffin on their shoulders.

I take another glance at it,a cold chill running down my spine. I had just seen her some hours ago; she raced out to get me my airfare. How come she’s dead?

The air suddenly feels damp and cold. The whole place is soaked in silence.

Then, suddenly, a loud sob slices through the quiet. When I turn, it’s my stepmother.

Two other old ladies hold her tightly, preventing her from harming herself.

Her hair is scattered, and her face is streaked with tears. The makeup she put on for my big day is smudged.

They tie the coffin to their bikes and leave for the cemetery where they will bury Daisy.

After they left, the house was empty. Of course, everyone went to the cemetery except me.

Not that I have a choice. I feel like a prodigal daughter since I left home very early with the intention of running away.

But here I am again,back to where I shouldn't be.

I march into the house and go straight to Daisy’s room.

I don't know if I want confirmation, but pure instinct pushes me there, and I stand inside her room.

My eyes dart across everything; from her bed, which she had always refused to share with me, to the beautiful decor Dad made uniquely for her.

Finally, my gaze lands on the pictures on the wall. The first three are hers, and I look at them for a while.

I miss her, but I can’t help that tears aren’t rolling down my cheeks.

I walk a little further, and it is her pictures with Matt that catch my attention. I blink a few times, studying his handsome face.

His dimples when he smiles, and the unique way he always ties a blue bandana before wearing their signature cowboy hat.

A dark smirk curls up my lips as I step forward slowly to touch his face, but the sudden sound of footsteps grabs my attention.

I turn at once and feel angry eyes on me. I can't help but lift my chin to see who is staring me down.

Unsurprisingly, it’s my stepmother. They are back from the cemetery so quickly?

We briefly lock eyes, I quickly look down, darting my gaze away.

“G-good evening, ma’am,” I stammer. “I didn’t know you guys were back.”

Silence.

She says nothing, instead, her red-rimmed eyes dart around the room and settle on me.

“How dare you come into her room!” Her loud voice startles me, and I flinch.

I stare at her with wide eyes.

“It’s your fault she’s dead!” She points an accusatory finger at me, her voice rising again. “It’s your fault my jewel was shot.”

“It’s your fault, you killed her!”

She lunges forward, but before she can attack me, a big arm grabs her, yanking her backward.

It’s my dad. He whispers a few things to her and kisses her forehead.

Then she turns and leaves the room. I heave a deep sigh of relief, only to be met with the angry eyes of my father.

“Where have you been?” He steps forward, his bloodshot eyes locked on me.

I swallow hard and blink rapidly. “I—I was back…”

When I can’t form coherent words, my father does something he has never done in my twenty years of life.

He slaps me hard.

And it isn’t just once, it’s two times—hard enough that I slip to the floor, my eyes shutting tight.

“Stand up!” He commands, and I do as he says.

I force myself up, holding the bed stand for balance, though I can no longer see his face.

“I should have known you’d be just like that b***h ass w***e of your mother,” he snarls. “You all bring nothing but darkness!” He continues through gritted teeth. “I should have killed you in her belly when I had the chance!”

I swallow the lump in my throat, wanting to sob hard as each word strikes my face, but tears don’t come when I need them.

I feel hollow and blind at that moment.

“Andrew will be coming to pick your slutty ass up from my house tonight,” he sneers. “And make sure you sign the marriage agreement on the table while you pack your things.”

“By seven in the evening, your evil ass should be out of my house!” He adds, and I hear his footsteps leave.

After he leaves, I collapse to the floor. Slowly, I crawl to the edge of the room and hug my legs with trembling hands.

Tears finally start to roll down my cheeks, and my throat goes dry.

No noise, no sounds—I just sit there on the cold floor. I stay on the floor for the next few hours.

I cry until I lose the strength to do so. I sob until I can no longer do so.

Minutes later, I stand up and walk to my little cubicle I call a room.

Passing through the hallway, I grab the marriage agreement and retreat to my room, where I lock the door.

I thought of tearing the agreement to pieces, but that would be digging my own grave.

I stare at it for a few seconds, eyeing the name boldly written on it:

Andrew Warrick Harrington - Prez SOC MC.

Ashley Knowles.

Without further thought, I take the pen by the side of my bed and scribble my signature on it.

It is done. Home isn’t safe for me,perhaps I should leave and walk directly into death.

Not that I have a choice. If Warrick doesn’t kill me, my stepmother might strangle me in my sleep before morning.

In the biker family, a big wedding isn’t necessarily needed unless you're marrying outside the family.

All that’s required is signing the marriage agreement, and most times, they kidnap a priest from his church to bless the union.

I walk back into the sitting room, and my dad is seated there, puffing on his cigarette.

I pause, taking one last glance at his face before dropping one of the marriage agreements on the table for him.

The loud horn from outside grabs both of our attention, and we turn toward the sound.

He stands up and heads outside, but I head back in to grab my bag.

I guess Warrick’s men are here to pick me up. It is past seven already.

I pick up my bag and step outside, but as soon as I do, I freeze.

A full motorcade of six cars awaits; I don’t know much about cars, but I can identify three jeeps and an Audi.

All are sleek and new. I swallow hard, wondering what is happening.

My gaze narrows to my left, where I see my dad and stepmother. We exchange a brief look, both of us surprised.

Then, one of the men from the cars steps down. He wore a tailored grey suit and polished shoes.

We don’t usually see that kind of thing around here, so I wonder who they are.

He marches toward me. “Ashley Knowles?” he asks, and I nod reluctantly.

He immediately grabs the bag from my hands and gestures toward the car.

“Please hurry in, Prez Warrick is waiting for you.”

Surprised, my feet move forward, and I settle into one of the black jeeps while my parents watch as we drive off.

I am alone in the back, and the driver makes sure to keep the silence. He only glances at me a few times.

The drive takes a while—about fifty minutes to an hour and we finally pull into a big mansion.

The door is opened for me, and I step down nervously.

I look around, my fingers trembling at my sides. I follow the man with my bag,we walk into the mansion while others stay with the cars.

But as soon as I step into the sitting room, the first person I set my eyes on is Matt.

Matt—my late sister's fiancé.