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And I do love Jester. I’ve wanted him since I was seventeen years old. But we’ve never kissed or held hands. The most sexual moment we’ve shared is when he ran his index finger across my jaw.
By then, I’d given up on the ugly haircuts and flannel shirts. I knew my mom hated when I looked weird, and losing her nearly killed me.
For the first week after she died, I was in complete denial over how a simple bee sting stole my mom from me. I remembered her saying “Brody” one last time before she was gone. Her death seemed impossible, so I refused to believe it was true. Even after seeing her die, I kept waiting for her to reappear.
The human mind is quite skilled in twisting itself into knots to avoid dealing with pain.
That’s why I worry what I feel for Jester isn’t real or won’t be strong enough to overcome our problems. Has my mind twisted itself up with more denial? Can I trust the dreams I have for Jester and me? Does he even want me in a real way?
As a teen, I flirted with him plenty. My father kept anything too sexy from happening. He claimed I was too young. Though he was right, teen me was pissed. I didn’t want to date anyone else. Jester was the only man who existed for me.
Even after I was an adult, Jester didn’t make a move. I assumed my dad told him to back off. Jester won’t listen to many people, but he’ll bow to Papa Bear.
I still felt rejected. Losing Betty Boop broke me. Having a new woman in my father’s bed set me off. In an ideal world, Lady Bug would have been a royal bitch, so I could at least hate her for stealing my dad’s heart. Instead, they were good together, and he was no longer swimming in grief.
Everyone was so healthy and moving on, but I felt diseased inside. Betty Boop wouldn’t want me to be self-destructive. My brother warned how I ran from one problem toward a worse one. I saw the warning signs yet couldn’t help myself.
One night, out of frustration, I threw myself at Jester at his townhome. He just lifted me off him and claimed I was too young.
“I’m not looking to babysit” were his exact words.
If Jester was the scary doorbell setting off the stupid cat, those bar-hopping, frat-boy assholes were my blazing fireplace. I nearly didn’t survive their twisted fun. Jester’s desire for vengeance got him locked up.
Now, he’s getting out, and I have no idea what will happen next.
I’m no longer the immature teenager crushing on him. Or the young woman who fucked up and nearly got herself killed. I’ve spent the last year preparing to be strong enough for Jester.
Now, I’ll need to test my new skills to claim what I’ve wanted for years.
OVERLORD
Claymore Marsden/President
As a boy, I assumedthe most difficult part of taking on the President rank would be living up to my dad’s impressive reputation. Papa Bear built a safe place for more than his family and friends. For decades, he saved lives and expanded the club’s territory.
During that time, the Born Villains Motorcycle Club’s greatest enemy was the Horned Angels Motorcycle Club, founded by our former VP. Kraken took more than a dozen men with him—including an angry asshole named Cypher—and set up a compound in the nearby town of Cahuenga.
