The Thunder Wolves MC - Sophia (Book #4)

I don’t have many memories of my mother. The last one I have of her was the day she left and never came back. I was maybe five or six and was playing in my room with some dolls. She came in, giving me a snack and something to drink, and then she was just gone. I also remember her being in a bad mood, yelling a lot, and always looking forward to when my father would get home. And after she left, it was just my father and me. And I was ok with that. My father and I were close. Even with his drinking, I knew he tried. He was never a mean drunk. If anything, he became funnier when he was drunk. When he was sober, he was crazy serious. Growing up, I learned to take care of myself pretty quickly, and after a small stint in foster care, I learned to play the system, so I never had to go back. I knew that as long as it looked like my dad was taking care of me, my teachers wouldn’t call CPS. I learned how to forge his signature and write notes to excuse my absences if needed. I learned how to make my own appointments, and with my doctor's office having a section to make appointments online, it made it all that much easier. Then, a day or two before needing my dad to appear somewhere, I would start the process of detoxing him, so he was sober enough to show up, and nobody would think otherwise. Sure, I enabled his behavior, but he had his own demeans to deal with, and I was perfectly fine with how things were. He was a good dad and did his best with the circumstances. He hadn’t always been a drunk. I have memories of him being fun without the booze. But those had pretty much faded, just as the memories of my mother.  At sixteen, I decided instead of a car, I wanted a motorcycle, and my dad was okay with it. He had always loved them himself, and well living in Phoenix, a bike was easier to get around on anyway. And with so few rainy days, a motorcycle could be used most days anyway. Now that’s not to say we didn’t ever get rain, but my friend Mike was all too happy picking me up on those days. Well, that was until I found out the only reason he was my friend and would pick me up was that he wanted in my pants. But I wouldn’t find that out until a few months after my sixteenth birthday. Mike had picked me up for school because it had been raining. My dad was passed out from his latest binder, and god knows what he did with his keys.  Making sure the door was locked, I dashed as fast as I could out into the rain and hopped in Mike’s car. “Thank you so much.” Smiling, he pulled away from the house, “No worries, Soph.” We drove to school in silence. Mike wasn’t a bad-looking kid. He still carried some baby weight but wasn’t fat. At sixteen, he was one of the taller guys in our school, standing nearly six feet even. He wore his brown hair in a shaggy due, so it hung in his dark brown eyes most of the time. Neither of us was among the most popular in our school. He was a bit more social than I was and had more friends than me, but I didn’t mind. Having too many people in my life would cause more people to ask questions about my father, and I couldn’t have that.  Getting to school in no time, Mike and I headed in. We shared most of the same classes, so we got to hang out most of the day. It was Friday which meant movie night for us. His mom had a date, so tonight's movie night was to be held at my house. Mike was the only person that I have ever allowed in my home and knew about my dad. I made him promise never to tell anyone, and so far, he has done just that and kept it to himself. The day went by quickly, and we headed out, stopping at a Redbox on the way to my house. “How about action movies this week?” Mike was obsessed with action movies, especially The Fast and The Furious movies. I rolled my eyes. “No, we watched action movies last week.” Pouting, he moved past the action movies and continued scrolling through the list of movies. “Fine, what do you want to watch?” I smiled, “Get a horror movie.” I loved scary movies. In fact, I lived for them.  Sighing, he selected a couple at random, knowing I didn’t care which ones he got. I would love it either way. Once we had our movies in hand, we stopped at the first fast food place we saw and grabbed something to eat because I hadn’t gone to the store yet and didn’t have anything at the house. Then we headed to my place. My dad was, of course, not home, so I had to let us in. Chances were he was out either at his favorite bar or had gone to the store to get a refill on his alcohol bottles. While Mike got everything set up in the front room, I ran up to my room and changed into some pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. I could so live in these clothes, but our school had a uniform that we had to wear so I couldn’t. By the time I got back downstairs, Mike had the movie ready to go and our food laid out on the coffee table that he had pulled out away from the couch so we could sit on the floor with our backs to the couch. I took my seat next to him on the floor and hit play. The first movie was an old one but a good one. In fact, it was one of my favorites, The Omen, the original, not the remake. As the movie started, we settled in and ate our food. The night was like any other Friday Mike and I had spent together since we became friends when we were thirteen, and he moved into a house just down the street. Well, that was up until about halfway through the movie. That’s when our friendship ended.  Mike scooted closer to me, placing his arm around my back resting it on the couch behind me. I ignored it, not thinking anything of it as I continued to watch the movie. But that was my mistake. Me not reacting gave him the impression that I didn’t care and made his next move. Slowly he moved his arm closer to me and wrapped it around me, his hand coming over my shoulder and grazed against my chest. This time he successfully pulled my attention away from the movie. “What are you doing?” Smiling at me, he shrugged, “What?” I rolled my eyes at him and shoved his arm off my shoulder, and went back to the movie. But a few minutes later, his arm was right back over my shoulder, his hand making more connection with my chest than before. “Mike, seriously, what the hell?” I shoved his arm off my shoulder again. This time when I looked over at him, he wasn’t smiling anymore. “Oh, come on, Soph. You can’t tell me you never thought about the two of us hooking up before. Come on, what would be the harm? We already know we work well as friends. Why not get something out of it as well?” He asked but didn’t actually wait for my answer as he slammed his lips to mine, holding my head in place with one hand while his other hand pushed up under my shirt. I tried pulling away, but that only managed to make things worse as I fell over onto the floor and, with his grip on me, pulled him down on top of me. Using his body weight, he pinned me to the floor. His legs were on either side of mine as he sat on my legs, holding them down. He held my arms above my head with one hand while he gripped my chin with the other holding my head still as he looked down at me. His eyes were dark and not at all like the fun, caring eyes I had grown to know. “Mike, get off me.” He shook his head, “No. I am your friend Soph. Out of all the guys in our school, I should have been the one to have you first. But then I hear from a few of the guys you put out for them. So why them and not me? No, it’s my turn. I have put in all the groundwork. It’s the least you could do.” I shook my head the best I could. “I don’t know what you're talking about. Now get off me. I am not playing.” Moving his hand from my chin, he reached down and pushed my shirt up. Realizing this was going to end badly for me, I started to fight again, trying to pull my arms out of his stronghold. But I was so much smaller than him, his hands wrapped around both my wrists easily.  For the first time in my life, I cursed my father for being a drunk and out searching for alcohol and my mom for being a b***h and running off, leaving us behind. Leaning over me, he moved his hand down my chest and stomach down to the waistband of my pants and started pushing them down. “Come on, Soph. Don’t fight it. You know you want it as much as I do. We could be so good together.” His words were not all that comforting to me, and as he pushed my pants farther down, I tried to fight harder. “Get off me, asshole.” Deciding since I wasn’t making any headway with my hands or legs, I threw my head forward, head butting him. But that only seemed to piss him off more as he set up, never losing his grip on my wrists as he stopped trying to remove my pants and punched me in the side of the head. “b***h, this could have been a pleasant experience for both of us.” Dazed from the punch to the head. I didn’t notice as he ripped my pants the rest of the way off until he started to spread my legs. Regaining enough focus, I put all my strength into keeping my legs closed as I began to scream as loud as I could. If I was lucky, one of my neighbors would hear, although chances of them doing anything were next to none unless they themselves were sober enough to realize the screaming wasn’t coming from their own head.  I was so focused on my struggle, and he was so focused on getting what he wanted neither of us heard my father burst into the house, having heard my screams from outside. To my luck, he was sober enough and had only gone to the store to buy a few bottles to drink at home tonight. “WHAT THE f**k DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” With that, Mike was pulled off me and slammed into the wall next to the couch. I didn’t waste any time as I pulled myself up off the floor and ran up to my room as fast as I could, and got new pants. From downstairs, I could hear my father yelling at Mike as he tried to talk his way out of what my father had just walked in on. But my father knew what he saw, and after beating Mike to a bloody pulp, he threw him out of our house. “Ever talk to her or look at her again, and I will kill you, mother fucker, don’t think I won’t.” I watched from the middle of the stairs as Mike took off like a bat out of hell and got the f**k out of here. The moment Mike was gone, my dad slammed the door closed, and I ran down the stairs into his arms. I hadn’t shed one tear the whole time Mike had me pinned down. No, I wouldn’t give that to him. The moment my dad’s arms wrapped around me, though, my tears broke like a waterfall as they streamed down my face. That moment was a turning point for my father. Now he didn’t change overnight, and he had his moments of weakness, but he was hardly ever seen drunk after that day. He was there, present as a father. He took me down to one of his buddies' gyms, and they taught me how to box. They taught me how to defend myself. I learned quickly how to take care of myself and never be weak physically.  My lesson in being strong mentally came from going to school. By the Monday after Mike tried to rape me, word had been spread around the school that I was an easy lay, and I loved it rough. I was dubbed the slut of the school. All the guys made obscene comments or gestures as I walked by them, and all the girls called me slut, w***e, or trash. At first, I am not going to lie. It hurt, it hurt a lot, and I was in a very low place mentally. But then I realized that just about every one of the girls who called me by those names wasn't angels themselves. No, in fact, out of all of us, I was the only one still actually a virgin. So I took the names they called me and owned them. If they wanted to think I was those things, then let them. I knew who and what I was and was happy with myself. I didn’t need to make anyone else happy but myself.  By my junior year in school, I was known as the bad girl, and nobody bothered me. I didn’t date any of the guys from my high school. Hell, I didn’t date any guys from any high school. I opted for older guys and dated a few guys that went to ASU. My dad wasn’t all that happy about that but trusted me to know myself. At the age of seventeen, I had lost my virginity to a guy named Samuel. He was a nice enough guy, but I knew we would never last. He was upfront about our relationship from the start. He would only be going to ASU for a year. Then he would be going somewhere in California. He was a member of a motorcycle club there in California and was only here to study accounting so he could take over the books for his club. But I didn’t mind, he was a good guy, and we had fun. By the time I graduated high school, I had already taken college classes in writing and had already written my first book. It sold like hotcakes and soon became a bestseller, earning me a book deal. I opted to write under a pen name and decided not to use my real photo. I was young and wanted to do what I loved doing and be able to live my life. My publishers were all for it. They even hired a woman that was willing to let us use her face. She also did all the book tours for me and promotions of the book. She loved it and had wanted to live in the light like that, and I didn’t, so it was a win-win for the both of us. And we both became good friends. Unfortunately, by my twentieth birthday, my father died due to health issues stemming from his drinking days, leaving me on my own. To say I was crushed was an understatement and left me lost for a few years. But I soon got back on my feet and released what would be my fourth book. This one told a story of a young girl who had to learn to take care of herself and her alcoholic father and her adventures with her best friend, who turned into her biggest enemy. The only difference between my life and the girl in my story was that her father didn’t come and save her. She had to learn to save herself in the end. After that book, I took some time off from writing. And with the help of my publishers, I found my mother. It took me almost two years to decide what to do with that information.  In the end, I decided I would simply move to the town she was in and see what happens from there. If I chose not to approach her, I would simply sell the house I bought and move on. If for some reason, I found it in me to talk to her and forgive her for leaving, then who knows, maybe I would decide to stay. Either way, I had more than enough money to do it, and it wouldn’t be any actual loss for me anyway. Hell, it could give me a new location for my next story. So here I am at the age of twenty-four, driving across a couple of states to a town I have never been to and a home I have only seen pictures of. A house that I hired my mother, who turned out to be an interior decorator, to decorate for me, and never once told her I was her daughter. I used my pen name anytime I spoke with her, not wanting to let her know just yet who I was. The ride was nice and freeing on my Harley Davidson Cruiser. I got a custom paint job done on it, so it looked slightly girly but still badass, with rose vines painted over the black background. The vines looked as though they wrapped around the bike and were squeezing it. I loved this bike, but it wasn’t my only form of transportation. I owned a sleek black Honda Civic as well. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it made doing some things easier to do than being on a motorcycle. I was having it delivered at the end of the week to the new house simply because I enjoyed taking my bike for a long drive like this. As I headed out this morning, I received a call letting me know the movers had delivered my things to the house so I would have clothes to change into when I got there tonight.  As I pulled into what was going to be my new hometown, at least for a bit, I found a diner and pulled in to grab something to eat for dinner before heading on to my new house. I would go to the store in the morning and get a few things, but for now, it was getting late, and I was ready to relax. As I pulled in, I noticed a hand full of other bikes, which were always cool. But at the same time, I knew enough to be careful. If there was a motorcycle club here, even as a chick, I could run into some trouble. Hopefully, they were cool and understood I wasn’t in an MC nor cared what the hell they did. Parking, I pulled my helmet off and left it with my bike, and made my way inside. The moment I walked in, the whole place fell silent. Sitting in the back of the diner were a handful of large guys all wearing cuts indicating they were, in fact, members of an MC. Throughout the place, there were a handful of other people all eating or drinking something. Behind the counter was an older woman who looked like she was dead tired. “Sit anywhere you like, dear. Menus are on the table.” I nodded and picked a seat away from the MC guys, but so I was facing them in case they decided to come over and start something. Over the years, I had run into my fair share of MC’s and not all of them were friendly. Once I was sitting down, I pulled the menu out and started looking it over. The place slowly grew louder again as everyone went back to their conversations. I let out a sigh of relief and relaxed a bit. “What can I get for ya, dear?” I smiled up at the waitress. “I think I will just have your BLT with some fries and tea, please.” She nodded and walked back behind the counter, putting in my order. While I waited, I pulled my phone out and started answering emails that could wait until tomorrow, but I had time now.