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A Wifey for the Bad Boy

By:Olivia Hill

A Wifey for the Bad Boy
Olivia Hill

Chapter 1

Samantha stepped out of her car with a suspicious look around. The  neighborhood that she'd pulled up to certainly seemed safe enough, and  she had to admit, if the playground parks that she'd driven by were  anything to go by, it was one of the cleanest in the city. Still, the  towering brick building that her brother's instructions had led her to  definitely ruined the image. Not only was there an odd dogpile of  motorcycles sitting just outside of it, but there were also two smokers,  squatting and laughing right in front of the entrance.

Sighing to herself, Samantha closed the door of her lime green bug and  stepped up onto the sidewalk. Her black heels clicked against the  pavement, and as she marched towards the smell of smoke, she had to  remind herself why she was there in the first place to keep her feet  moving.

"Please!" James, her younger brother, had come begging to her for help  just the day before. It was the first time that she'd seen him in  months, and though she'd frowned at his shaven head and leather jacket,  she'd ushered him into her apartment without hesitation.

"What happened? James?" she'd asked, crouching next to where he'd collapsed onto the floor.

"They're going to kill me," James had whined in the back of his throat,  his brown eyes filling up with tears. "Sis, please." Apparently, he'd  gotten himself into trouble again.

And, like an idiot, Samantha had thought that she could get him out of it like she always did.

"Please, what?" she'd asked. "How can I help?"

James had only been too happy to tell her. Which was why she was  approaching a building rumored to have a biker gang holed up inside of  it, with two thousand dollars cash in her pocket.

The smokers stood up as she approached, and she swallowed around the  lump in her throat as she forced a smile. "H-hello," she said as warmly  as possible. "I'm here on behalf James. Uh, James Smith."

Putting out his cigarette, the man with a blue mohawk shoved his hands  into the pockets of his leather vest and chuckled. "We get a lot of  Smith's," he said snidely. "Sorry if an old name like James doesn't  really ring a bell, either."

"Uh," she said nervously. She contemplated just turning on her heel and  leaving, especially if they hadn't been expecting her like James had  said they were. And who knows? She could've come to the wrong place  entirely.

"Nah," the other man, a tall lanky guy with a shaved head and tattooed  neck, said. "She's talking about the Smith kid who took a joyride. The  one who owes boss two grand?"

"Oh," Blue Mohawk snapped his fingers. "Ohhhh, yeah. You must be the sister. Yeah, boss has been expecting you."

"Great," Samantha smiled, relieved, though her heart was still going a mile a minute. "If you could just tell me what floor-"

"Oh no, sweetheart," the tall one shook his head softly, a sympathetic  grin on his lips. "No one goes in without an escort. Come on," he took  one last drag of his smoke and flicked it into the road. "I'll take  you."

"No fair!" Mohawk shouted.

"Hey, you couldn't even remember that the boss was waiting for her," he  shrugged, wrapping an arm around Samantha's tense shoulders. "Guard the  door, will you?" he laughed, leading her inside.

Samantha had never been so uncomfortable in all of her life. The guy  touching her smelled like motor oil, and she had half a mind to pull out  of his grip. It didn't help that she'd decided to wear one of her best  dress suits, opting for a professional and intimidating look rather than  an unkempt and easily impressionable one.

"Right here, sweetheart," the man turned them towards an elevator.  Another man who was also clad in leather waved from where he was  slouched up against the wall, and her escort returned the gesture with a  smile. Well, at least the grunts were happy. Maybe the boss wouldn't be  so bad?

"Where to?" the new man, an older biker with a rounded stomach, asked calmly.

"Fifth floor," the tall guy answered. "We're up to see the boss."

"Oh," he said, looking Samantha up and down. "Is that a new one?"

"New one?" Samantha repeated.

But the tall man just laughed. "Nah, she ain't a call girl," he shook  his head. Samantha ducked hers, her blush burning her cheeks.

"Ah," the old man agreed like he understood, the elevator dinging as it opened up beside him.

"See ya, Earl," the tall man called, directing Samantha into the dimly  lit elevator. As the doors closed and the whole thing lurched, she heard  the oddest tune of a quick piano. It reminded her of a hurried funeral  march.       


With a bang and a shudder, the music cut off and the doors groaned open,  revealing a carpeted room with a few empty desks shoved up against the  walls.

"Ah, Dan."

Samantha turned towards the voice, and sure enough, another biker was  resting against the wall, a toothpick in his mouth as he uncrossed his  arms.

"Oh, hey Bill," her escort said. "Boss in? I've got the Smith girl."

"He had a call earlier," Bill said, kicking off of the wall to lead them  towards the giant set of double oak doors directly ahead. "Probably  finished by now, though. Hey, Boss?" he called, knocking.

"Enter," a sharp voice answered, and Samantha felt her heart skip a  beat. She had a very bad feeling about this, and she found that she  suddenly wanted to change her mind; to say, "Never mind," and leave. But  she couldn't, not if she didn't want to let James down, and so she  stayed silent and still as Bill turned the brass handle and pushed open  the doors.

A dark figure sitting in shadows was resting behind a large ornate desk,  but she could still make out the blue of his eyes piercing through the  darkness. As Dan pulled her further inside and Bill stayed behind,  closing the doors after them, Samantha couldn't help the sudden gulp  that she forced down her dry throat.

"The Smith girl, sir," Dan said, finally releasing the hold that he had  on Samantha's shoulders. She shivered at the loss of his touch, and as  the man behind the desk stood up, she found that she'd never felt more  alone. He was taller than Dan, she saw, and far more broad.

"Thank you, Dan," he said coolly. "Miss Smith and I have much to discuss, so if you don't mind," he said, gesturing to the door.

"Of course," Dan nodded, and it was only another second before the door clicked open and closed behind him.

"Um," Samantha cleared her throat, trying to take some control of the situation. "My brother, he said-"

"Your brother," the man nodded, his tone plummeting as he spoke, "Has  caused my organization nothing but trouble. I hope that your presence  will not bring about the same result." When Samantha just stared at him,  her brown eyes wide, he sighed, and said, "Please. Sit."

She took a seat in the plush chair facing his desk, her hands shaking as  she gripped the edges of her seat. "He's caused trouble?" she asked  quietly. She knew that he must have, for him to have shown up at her  door in hysterics like that. Still, she wanted to hear his crimes from  the man he'd apparently wronged.

"Mhm," the man hummed, retaking his own seat. "Not only did James steal  from me, but he pawned a brother's bike. Both are transgressions that I  could have easily punish him for, but," he paused, folding his hands on  top of his desk. "Then he mentioned you."

"Y-yes," Samantha nodded, popping open her purse. "I've brought the money that he owes-"

"Oh, my dear," he smiled politely, shaking his head. "This isn't about the money."

That made Samantha freeze. "But," she said, her hand on her wallet. "He said-"

"James says a great many things," the man sighed. "He swore an oath when  we took him in, but he has since proven that those were just words to  him, nothing more." Leaning back, his leather chair creaked, and he  said, "Though, I am surprised that you showed up. I'd thought that you  were just another false promise."

Samantha frowned. "I don't understand," she said. "He said that you'd  excuse his debts if he paid you back, but now you're saying that it  isn't about the money. Did you lie, because you thought that he was  lying?" she asked.

"Nothing quite so complicated," he smiled. "I told him that he would  need to pay me back, yes. But the two thousand that he assured me you  would bring only covers the money that he stole from me. The custom bike  that he pawned, however  –  well, that's another twelve thousand."

Samantha dropped her wallet back into her purse. She didn't have that  kind of money. "I," she said, covering her mouth with a shaky hand. "He  didn't-"

"Yes," the man agreed. "I'm sure he didn't tell you a thing about it. Or  that he'd planned to have you cover that final expense."