Free Masters of Menace: A Biker Erotic Romance by Sophia Hampton Page A

while I cried.
     
    Every good memory I had was in this house, and every good memory was of my dad. And he was gone now. Michael Lawrence took him away from me. I headed up to my bedroom. It was still decorated like it was when I graduated from high school. Hell, there was still a picture of Steve and I tucked into my vanity mirror. I laughed as I remembered the drama that was involved in that relationship, but it was high school. I pulled the picture out of the mirror. Maybe I would call him up and we could get coffee or something. Ask him how his baby is doing. A lot happens in four years.
     
    I paused in front of my dad’s door. The room where the Christmas presents hid, where I would bound every Sunday morning—no matter how old I was—and snuggle under the covers and we would watch classic movies all morning while my dad told me about when he saw all of them when they first came out. I entered the room, curled up in the center of his bed, and pressed his pillow to my face, inhaling his scent. Tears started to leak out of my eyes and before I was aware of what was happening, I was sobbing into his pillow, tears of anger and regret and loss and grief.
     
    Tomorrow I would start work.
     
    Tonight I would grieve.
     
    One year later
     
    The alarm went off at five, but I was already wide-awake. I had barely been able to sleep at all last night. Today was the day. I was sitting at my computer, continually refreshing the page, waiting for the article to go live. I was told it would be any time between five and eight. Three long hours waited for me.
     
    I clicked refresh again, my knees pressed against my chest, my long chestnut hair pulled up in a sloppy bun. I was wearing nothing except one of my dad’s old oversized t-shirts and a pair of boxers—AKA, my typical sleep and work attire. One of the great things about freelancing and working for a web-zine was working in whatever the hell and wherever the hell I felt like. And today that was curled up in the center of my bed in my pajamas, refreshing my screen every four seconds—approximately the amount of time it took for a page to load.
     
    After three years of research, one of which was almost entirely devoted to the subject, I was finally going to be publishing my article on Michael Lawrence. I knew everything I possibly could about the man. I knew he had been active for the past five years after being elected—if one could grant such criminals the decency of democracy—president of the motorcycle gang known as the Confederate Cycles of America. They were often seen with massive Confederate flags flying from the back of their bikes.
     
    The group itself has been active for almost fifty years, but once Lawrence got his disgusting paws on the gang the crime had ratcheted up like this, increasing more every year. I could track almost every murder or unexplained death in the past year back to the CCA. My research and network were thorough, detailed, and unassailable. I made sure every piece clicked together like Legos.
     
    I pushed my black, horn-rimmed glasses up with my knuckle and refreshed the page again and again. I slammed on my keyboard in frustration. It was only 5:11. I still had endless hours to wait for my article to get published.
     
    My mind drifted back to Lawrence, as I found myself doing more and more often. He was the worst humanity had to offer. He was vicious, violent, crude, and a brute. He took what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted, and refused to let anything as mundane as morals, ethics, or human decency stop him.
     
    I grabbed my laptop and headed down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, unable to stop myself from constantly reloading the page. What was taking so long? They had my article for almost a week now. They swore it would be up, and it was not up. The squealing noise of the boiling water matched my emotions almost exactly.
     
    ***
     
    I was on cup four an hour and a half later before the article was finally posted. I