Page 5 of Kneeling to Candy

Thinking back on that early memory has a tear sneaking out of the corner of my eye, something that happens more since confiding to Atlas about the hacker. I could have sworn I dried up my tear ducts years ago after learning some sick bastards got off on seeing them. However, a few remained and still surface when I least expect it.

A club bunny’s life isn’t all roses, but it beats working in a whorehouse any day. You’ll never hear me complain about the endless amount of work the MC asks for help with. This biker crew took me in when I needed help the most. I’m eternally grateful for the second chance they’ve given me.

That’s probably why it’s hard for me to forgive myself for my transgressions against the club. Remorse is my constant companion.

Honestly, I’m harder on myself for my betrayal than any of the bikers have been with me. Their forgiveness makes it worse, even though they’re still pissed at me.

One day, I hope to show them I’m worthy of being in this family, that I’m worth all the headaches.

I’m wiping my eyes clear of moisture when the door to the supply closet swings open, causing me to freeze in place like a deer in headlights.

What the hell?

Standing in the doorway is a dark silhouette, haloed by the afternoon sun shining in from the patio doors. My eyes don’t need to adjust to the light to recognize who’s standing in front of me. I’d recognize the hard muscled outline of this Adonis biker anywhere.

My heart quickens as I take in the one club member I’ve fantasized about more times than I can count.

“Candy?” Butch husks, his voice gruff from lack of use. “Why are you hiding?”

CHAPTER TWO

CANDY

Penn “Butch” Lawson, one of the technical specialists on the crew, fills in the entire width of the closet doorway. I blink to adjust my focus, seeing him more clearly.

He stares down at me with heavy, pinched brows, shadowing his hazel eyes.

Did Butch just speak to me?

Surprised, my mouth gapes like a fish out of water. Have I stepped into the Twilight Zone?

In my two years in this club, Butch has not once addressed me directly. In fact, I can count the few times I’ve heard him utter a word to his biker brethren. He keeps mostly to himself, speaking only when necessary.

When Butch joined the club shortly after me, I originally thought him shy, since he was quiet. That was until I saw the jagged scar across half the width of his throat. I assumed the old wound was the culprit for his lack of communication.

Curiosity had me asking Ziggy—Butch’s best friend in the MC and tech comrade—what happened to him.

My mind drifts back to that conversation…

“It’s not a pretty story, Candy. Are you sure you want to know?”

“I’m not unfamiliar with the ugliness of this world, Ziggy.”

Ziggy shakes his head with a resigning sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Al-Qaeda ambushed Butch’s SEAL team while on a mission in Iraq. While under heavy fire, one of the enemies’ men snuck up behind Butch and attempted to slice his throat open with a Bowie knife.”

A gasp escapes me, imagining the horror Butch endured.

“Right? Scary shit. The fucker got him good, too, nicked his vocal cords on one side of his throat. But Butch was fast to react. He got his hand in-between the dude’s arm, preventing him from slicing clean through his neck. My bro is lucky no arteries were severed during the attack, or he would’ve bled out right there on the ground.”

“Christ! That’s awful,” I say, with a pain in my heart for the silent biker.

Ziggy’s lips curl upward on one side of his face. “Not as awful as what Butch did to the terrorist piece of shit in retaliation.”

“Retaliation? How on Earth could Butch retaliate when he was suffering with a knife wound to the throat?”

“We’re SEALs, Candy. We don’t go down without a fight. Butch wasn’t about to let the enemy sneak up on his remaining team members like he did him. He figured if he was a goner, he was going to take the rat bastard with him. He twisted the fucker’s hand until he released the blade, swiped his legs out from under him, and butchered him with the dude’s own knife. By the time Butch was through with him, there wasn’t a distinguishing feature on him for his terrorist buddies to use for identification.”

My ears buzz at hearing this horrific story. A normal person would be terrified to learn the man they’re fixated on is a gruesome murderer. But all I feel is pride for Butch dishing out a punishment far exceeding what he received.

---