Chapter 2

ASHLEY'S POV

But Matthew is on his knees near the porch, his leather jacket tossed carelessly behind him.

Even in distress Matt still looks deliciously handsome.

Six foot three of battle hardened muscle that comes from years of riding, fighting and surviving in the Sons of Chaos MC.

His broad shoulder strains against the faded black tee clinging to his sweat damp skin. Ink covers every inch of exposed skin—full sleeves of snarling wolves and flaming skulls.

His hands are fisted in his hair while his shoulders shake violently as two bikers hold him up on either side.

His sharp jawline shadowed with stubble, high cheek bones and those piercing hazel eyes of his usually cocky and teasing—now red rimmed and raw from tears he can't stop.

I've never seen him cry before, but watching him weep profusely, he looks completely destroyed.

One of the older members grips his shoulder, murmuring something into his ear, but Matt only lets out a broken sound that doesn't even resemble a word.

My heart starts to race even faster as I wonder what could have gone wrong for such a huge biker to cry.

My feet move before my brain can catch up. I slip between the parked Harleys, keeping my head low, my pulse thundering in my ears. Nobody notices me. Or maybe they do and just don't care.

The air feels heavy, thick with a tension that is suffocating.

I creep closer to the house, pressing myself against the side wall before sliding in through the back door. Inside seems worse, so I quietly step outside again.

I watch the men, all of whom have frowns on their faces. Some low hisses escape their lips.

"This is so fucked up, man," I hear one biker snarl. "She was such a sweet girl…"

My breathing turns shallow, and I lean in closer to him.

I grab the sleeve of the biker, and he turns sharply, his eyes hard. I doubt he recognizes me.

"What?" he snaps before I can say a word. I swallow, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

"W-what happened?"

There is a pause. A heavy one. The kind that stretches forever.

Then he looks back at me, face cold, voice flat.

"Daisy is dead."

I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat the moment the words leave his lips.

Daisy is dead?

I hear the words, but my body refuses to accept them.

She's supposed to be back with my airfare,turning that corner and returning to my hideout with that unbothered expression she always wears.

My throat closes the moment I see the coffin. I gasp, pressing my hand tightly against my chest as it carves in.

A silent sob tears from my throat, and it feels like something has just broken inside me.

Four huge bikers carry the coffin on their shoulders.

I take another glance at it,a cold chill running down my spine. I had just seen her some hours ago; she raced out to get me my airfare. How come she's dead?

The air suddenly feels damp and cold. The whole place is soaked in silence.

Then, suddenly, a loud sob slices through the quiet. When I turn, it's my stepmother.

Two other old ladies hold her tightly, preventing her from harming herself.

Her hair is scattered, and her face is streaked with tears. The makeup she put on for my big day is smudged.

They tie the coffin to their bikes and leave for the cemetery where they will bury Daisy.

After they left, the house was empty. Of course, everyone went to the cemetery except me.

Not that I have a choice. I feel like a prodigal daughter since I left home very early with the intention of running away.

But here I am again,back to where I shouldn't be.

I march into the house and go straight to Daisy's room.

I don't know if I want confirmation, but pure instinct pushes me there, and I stand inside her room.

My eyes dart across everything; from her bed, which she had always refused to share with me, to the beautiful decor Dad made uniquely for her.

Finally, my gaze lands on the pictures on the wall. The first three are hers, and I look at them for a while.

I miss her, but I can't help that tears aren't rolling down my cheeks.

I walk a little further, and it is her pictures with Matt that catch my attention. I blink a few times, studying his handsome face.

His dimples when he smiles, and the unique way he always ties a blue bandana before wearing their signature cowboy hat.

A dark smirk curls up my lips as I step forward slowly to touch his face, but the sudden sound of footsteps grabs my attention.

I turn at once and feel angry eyes on me. I can't help but lift my chin to see who is staring me down.

Unsurprisingly, it's my stepmother. They are back from the cemetery so quickly?

We briefly lock eyes, I quickly look down, darting my gaze away.

"G-good evening, ma'am," I stammer. "I didn't know you guys were back."

Silence.

She says nothing, instead, her red-rimmed eyes dart around the room and settle on me.

"How dare you come into her room!" Her loud voice startles me, and I flinch.

I stare at her with wide eyes.

"It's your fault she's dead!"