One Hell Of A Ride (Angels Anarchy MC #1)

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• h a d l e y •

Satan's asshole, that is what this little slice of hell should be named.

Willmott, Texas just doesn't fit this shithole that seems to only have three temperatures. Hot, Scorching, and Surface of the Sun. I have been in this little town in the bowels of Texas for exactly 60 minutes. That's right one hour and I already hate it.

Like who the fuck voluntarily lives someplace that is 95° at 9:45 at night on the cusp of fall, isn't that when it is supposed to cool off, ya know give people a chance to breathe instead of dying of heatstroke? Whatever I'll only be here for a day max, I only came for one thing and then my ass is going back home.

Answers. . .

I will be getting answers after all these years. Answers to all the lies I've been told since I was too small to question things.

And if I don't get answers then heads will roll. . .

I'm perched on my baby, an all black with rose gold accented 2018 Harley Davidson Fat Boy, she was a gift to myself for my twenty-fifth birthday. According to an acquaintance of mine who is really good with computers and was able to track down my birth certificate, my supposed mother is part owner of the bar I'm parked outside of.

Taking one more puff off the cigarette, blowing the smoke out of my nostrils I toss the butt onto the gravel before stomping it out with my boot. Dismounting my bike and double checking the pistol tucked into my waistband, I start my journey into the honky tonk.

Pushing the doors open I strut inside the smoke-filled bar. I see a sea of leather and denim, corresponding with all the bikes parked in the parking lot. Doing another sweep of the crowd before getting to the bar and jumping on the counter.

"Hey! I need someone to tell me where Lillian Shaw is, I'll give y'all thirty seconds before I start passing bullets like party favors!" I shout over the music and chatting.

Silence meets my ears aside from the jukebox crooning in the back corner. An older man who is built like a brick shithouse stands from his seat, his murderous glare pinned on me, the both of us locked in a staredown.

"Who the fuck you think you are, little girl?" He spits at me, but I only smirk at his intimidation tactic.

"Well I think I asked a question and unless you grow a pair of tits and tell me your name is Lillian Shaw then I ain't telling you shit," I spit right back.

Whipping out my pistol and clicking off the safety I start singing 'eenie meanie' and pointing at random patrons.

A surround sound of clicking meets my ears, pausing my game I look around and see about ten or so guns directed at all my vital body parts.

"Bitch you have no authority here, go home to play with your barbies and never come sticking your nose in my clubs business again," the older guy growls.

Now here in this moment y'all are probably thinking I listen and run off with my tail between my legs, but you'd be wrong. I am not a bitch, I am not weak, yes I fully understand that I will not walk out of this bar alive but I refuse to let guns shoved in my face deter what I came here to do.

I've waited too god damn long for this to run away scared.

"Cute. . . So anyway as I said before," and with that I pull the trigger on my pistol, not hitting anybody but just at the feet of the old guy pissing me off, "now that I have y'alls attention who is gonna make me happy and tell me where I can find Lillian Shaw."