Rage of the Phoenix Read online

  These children had undergone frightful ordeals. E.T staff worked with them until they could manage mainstream life again. A lot had families and parents who were as lost, hurt and confused as their children. The staff worked with them on a one-to-one basis. The children received educations while with us and they began the long journey of healing.

  E.T offered horse riding, tennis, swimming and many other activities. E.T provided intense counselling for them as well. Many of the children stayed long term, a few stayed short term, depending on their needs and their internal nightmares. No child left still suffering if we could help, staff did their best to help them heal.

  Even though I’d won the jackpot, I couldn’t fund this by myself. So each state had a fundraising team. The fundraising state teams liaised with my Headquarters people. Several events we made standard, a winter, summer and Halloween ball, a massive cookout in the summer for a weekend. Four raffles a year and a hot guy, sexy chick auction once a year at Christmas, were other ideas we utilised.

  The fundraising teams had leeway with local events, but any big events had to go through Stefan. The state teams put forward lots of good ideas. Charity sport matches, holiday auctions, sponsored runs, etcetera. The fundraising teams were in charge of contacting companies, sports teams, the rich and famous and so on and raising money that way. They often held their own meetings with big businesspeople in their locality, wining and dining them into a large donation. The teams worked hard, and I was damn proud of them.

  Once word got around about what we were doing, I was over the moon to note that tickets for events became hot items. The events became greatly in demand, creating lists of people waiting for a cancellation. Stefan, my fundraising director set a minimum price for each ticket and then released them for people to bid on them.

  Adverts ran on billboards, television and radio. The publicity team set websites up and banks and shops threw themselves behind us doing one or two fundraising days a year. Even five bucks donated bought a child a tee or a man shaving foam. Every single buck donated helped. Many of our volunteers did collection days at malls and large shops with collection tins.

  We publicised their generosity and allowed them to display a small plaque at their place of businesses to promote how they’d helped us. Each year, the fundraising team assembled a book giving thanks to those who donated and to the businesses. A few businesses kept those books in plain view with the page showing what they had donated.

  Obviously, we had costs to pay, the heating and electric bills, for example. During the overhaul of the hotels, we’d incorporated as many money saving schemes as we could, solar panels and wind turbines for example. The apartment renovations were something we had to pay for. There was staff wages, grants and other things to pay.

  To combat taking donations to pay wages, I had a shrewd investment team. I gave them five million dollars of my personal money per state. The team managed it and made sure it could pay the wages needed. When I say a good investment team, these were red hot experts at turning a few dollars into thousands. They were brilliant, sheer money-making Midas’s. This meant the donations helped people they were meant to help.

  Each P.T apartment block worked on a six million operating fee per year. Most never used this, they averaged around five million give or take a few thousand. It was wise to give ourselves a buffer, because there was always a just in case scenario. The E.T centres worked on a four million operating budget each. The R.T safe houses worked on a ten million budget because we had to consider the cost of purchasing houses.

  Once they hit their target for the year the fundraising people didn’t stop, they kept going. Everything over the target we split between two accounts. The first being a ‘public bank.’ This we used with an eye towards opening new buildings in new states and they were rocking it. The second account kept the money on hold, so if a state fell short one year raising money, we had the ‘bank’.

  The cost of three Trust properties in one state needed twenty million a year to run, it was highly possible that we could fall short one year. Although since we started, we’d hit every target. The Trust staff were freaking amazing!

  ◆◆◆

  The woman I’d been four years ago was gone, and I was living my dream. I’d three charities that meant the world to me. Sixteen kids although I only birthed five of them and a massive home my kids loved. We lived in an area I adored and had two great holiday homes. There was money in the bank, my children’s futures were financially secure (yeah, my investment broker single-handedly quadrupled my own investments) and my ex was a memory.

  Life had changed for the woman who’d spent her time on the floor broken and bloody. All I’d ever desired was raise a family and be happy. That dream was lost when my first husband died. A second chance of happiness got destroyed by my ex-husband, who turned into a complete asshole. Now my life was everything I’d wished for and dreamed it could be. I was more than happy, I was content and my life was full of love, happiness and laughter.

  Bike pipes sounded outside my office doors, waking me from my musings. I peeked outside and my lips twitched into a smile at a familiar scene. A particular band of men had changed my life. A brotherhood who crashed through my barriers. These men were rough and ready and sometimes downright crude. They loved me and I loved them!

  Hellfire MC. Imagine that, me, having an MC to call family! Our first encounter had been fraught and terrifying. I thought back to that night nearly three years ago, as I watched bikes pull onto the Rage MC forecourt opposite my building.

  Nine months after moving to the States, I was driving back to my hotel in Sturgis after a fundraising event. Andrew Wainwright, a friend had held it for the Trusts, when the car tyre blew, stranding me alone on Sturgis Road, near the I-90, leading to Sturgis. It was pitch black and even the moon didn’t want to play ball at that exact moment of time. The sheer darkness of the night had frightened me.

  Scared, I’d attempted to get the nuts off and change the tyre myself and I couldn’t. In the act of kicking the tyre in frustration and checking my phone for a signal, I heard bikes. I stepped back into the shadows of my car and saw headlights come out of the darkness. Four bikes approached me.

  They rode past me and then the lead biker twisted his head, caught sight of me and did a U-turn and came back my way. He parked up and swung off his bike. The biker looked me up and down and his mouth twitched.

  “Flat?” He grunted at me. The other riders pulled up behind his bike and swinging off their bikes, came to stand behind him. I nodded at him, unsure what to say or do. Run screaming for the trees or ask for help?

  “Bear get the tyre iron and get those lug nuts off.” Lead biker ordered. A huge man trudged forward and my jaw hit the floor at the size of him. Wow, the guy looked like he ate children for breakfast. The man was huge, with a bushy beard and dressed in riding gear.

  “Honey, your phone, not a good weapon, tyre iron makes a better one.” Lead biker said and let loose the grin he’d been fighting. I looked at my hands and realised I was holding my phone up. Wrinkling my nose, I looked at the tyre iron and then back at lead biker and felt sheepish.

  “I’m a twit.” I told him. He gave me that grin again, and a shiver rolled through me. He was hot, as in Tim McGraw hot and very tall. The man must have been six foot four at least and he was lean, sleek muscle.

  His shoulders were wide and his chest just perfect. Bright green eyes that I could make out in the dim light gazed at me. Thick, dark hair, hanging just to above his collar in a sexy windblown mess and he was clean shaven, which I liked in a guy.

  “You’re hot, dead hot, but I think you need a bit of stubble, give you that extra badass edge, although you don’t need it.” I blurted. One of his guys at his back chuckled and Bear raised his head and shot me a look.

  “She’s cute.” Bear said in an amused voice.

  “Yeah.” Tim McGraw look alike agreed. I jumped and stepped closer to him as sirens sounded abruptly from the dark and two crui
sers pulled alongside.

  A fat, overweight man got out, and he did that creepy man thing where he pulled his pants up and his beer belly flopped over them. Lead biker looked towards him and then to my confusion he stepped in front of me, protecting me. I peered around him and noticed the other three bikers had done the same.

  “Late night.” The fat officer said.

  “What do you want, Sheriff?” Lead biker said without an ounce of respect in his voice. A third car pulled up with lights flashing and six of law enforcements finest surrounded us, but I doubted these gentlemen were the finest.

  “Late night, dark road, meeting a whore in the back roads, two and two Chance.” The sheriff replied

  “My tyre blew and who are you calling a whore?” I snapped at the sheriff indignant. Chance as I guessed his name was, moved to protect me. Bear put his hand up to me.

  “Drugs, guns or pussy run?” The sheriff sneered. I felt my body lock. Dangerous vibes hit me from all directions and I knew this was trouble.

  “Back off, asshole. Hellfire’s clean.” Chance warned.

  “Take ’em in. Include the pussy, in fact, that sweet piece, I’ll take in myself.”

  “Don’t resist.” Chance murmured to his guys and me.

  “What’s the charges?” I snapped as the fat sheriff moved towards me.

  “Shut up and assume the position. I’m sure you’ve done that plenty of times.” The sheriff sniggered. The sheriff’s little followers also laughed. He hitched his pants again.

  “I’m not a whore. I’m a businesswoman who runs…” The sheriff interrupted me.

  “Yeah, I’m sure we’re familiar your business. Assume the position.” Sheriff Fatso snarled, waddling towards me.

  Dumbfounded, I watched as officers slammed the bikers up against my car and started cuffing them. The sheriff gripped my arm and flung me next to the hood of my car and my eyes met Chance’s. Shock receded and instead my stomach began churning in fear. I swallowed hard as Chance held my gaze, that was until I felt fat hands on my butt and legs and then my dress being lifted.

  Terror shot through me, shrieking, I kicked backwards at the sheriff. He grunted and banged my head on the car. From being forced over my hood, I was in a far more exposed position. Those fat grasping hands came back to my butt and legs and I screamed. Nightmares flashed in front of me, memories threatened to choke me. Green eyes flared and then Chance and another biker was moving.

  Their heads snapped backwards and the arresting officers stumbled away. Chance was around my car before the other guy and he jammed his shoulder into the sheriff sending him flying. Frozen in fear, I couldn’t move, as two officers came at Chance who was roaring. Even with hands cuffed behind him was positioning his body in front of me, his legs splayed wide.

  “Attempted fuckin’ rape will put you behind bars, fuck your badges!” Chance roared, and the officers stopped moving. The sheriff came at Chance and hit him with the butt of his gun. Chance didn’t move a step just glared at them as blood flowed from a cut on his head.

  “You put the woman in a fuckin’ car and don’t touch her, clothes she’s wearing, shit around her throat, car she’s driving, says money. The sort of money that’ll get you fucked. She’s no whore assholes and if you can’t see that you’re fuckin’ off your heads.” Chance spat out. Silence descended, the only sound was my harsh breathing.

  “Look at her!” Chance roared a few seconds later. Two officers paused as his words hit and they turned to take a proper look at me. Doubt crept over their faces.

  “Put him in the car.” The sheriff rasped. Fatso grabbed me and cuffed my hands behind my back. I screamed and started fighting the sheriff. In return he none too gently banged my head for a third time into my car. Fear had taken over and I couldn’t stop. I kicked and screamed as they took me to the ground and carried me to a car.

  “For fuck’s sake she’s terrified!” Biker three yelled out as they forced me inside. “Anyone can see that you dumb bastards!” Last I saw of him was him getting a backhand from a cop and I lost it.

  Still losing it when we pulled into the station, I was creating as much trouble as I could. I didn’t make it easy for them to get me to the cell. The sheriff having had enough of my fighting, banged my head for a fourth time but this time into metal bars. Subdued now, he uncuffed me and slung me into the cell. I couldn’t get my stiff arms out in time and hit the wall hard sliding into a heap.

  The four bikers walked in and were uncuffed. Then the cell door banged shut. Chance strode over to me his movements angry. Chance bent down and helped me to my feet. With a look at my head, he ripped a bandana from his throat and threw it at Bear.

  “Wet it.” Chance ordered. “Woman you okay if I touch you?” He asked me.

  “Yeah.” I whispered dazed.

  “Gonna clean you up, he split your head. Not gonna touch you anywhere else.” Chance quietly told me, I knew by his tone that he’d put two and two together and come up with four.

  “Okay.” I whispered, then swallowing hard and audibly, I reached up and put my hands lightly on his wrists. Seconds later I tightened my grip and leaned towards him. Something told me this man will keep me safe, no matter the cost. An emotion flashed in his eyes but it was so fleeting I couldn’t grasp it.

  “Balls of steel woman.” He muttered and then took the wet bandana off Bear and began wiping my face. Once cleaned, with the bleeding stopped from the pressure he put on it, he stepped back and gave me room. His three biker brothers got as far from me as they could, signalling they respected my personal space.

  “Why are we here?” I finally asked sitting my butt at the end of a hard bench.

  “Sheriffs an asshole, hates bikers, hates MC’s and mine is one of the biggest and more established. Fuckin’ funny considerin’ that this whole part of South Dakota is known for bikers and MC’s.” Chance replied.

  “He’s messing with the wrong person.” I told him. He gazed and nodded.

  “I’m getting the point darlin’, you’re high class and that whoever’s he’s just fucked with, meaning you woman, he’s gonna pay a price.” I nodded in agreement. Fatso would pay a heavy price. I’d have his damn job!

  “As soon as I get my phone call we’re out of here. All of us. I don’t know why you was on Sturgis Road, I don’t care. I know you stopped to help me and because of me, Fatso arrested you.”

  “Not on you, if it hadn’t been you it would’a been something else. Thinkin’ they were watching us.” Chance rumbled back. His eyes fell to my hands, following his gaze, I saw they were still shaking.

  “On me.” I whispered daring to disagree with the big burly biker.

  “Woman I’m gonna sit my ass with my brothers. Those assholes ain’t gonna rush shit here. You wanna sit and commune, join us, you wanna stay here in a bubble, you do that. But first put this on, you’re fuckin’ freezing.” I hadn’t noticed the temperature had dropped, and I wore my little black dress, cut low to hint at cleavage and black high heels. My shawl and heavier coat (that I kept for emergencies, which this was indeed an emergency) were back at my car.

  A leather jacket was slung at me and I pulled it on not arguing. I got the feeling many didn’t argue with Chance. I reached up to pull out my hair and my hand caught on something sewn onto the front of the coat. Chance moved away from me and sat, legs stretched out and hands behind his head with his brothers.

  The front had several patches sewn onto it. One above his right breast said President, the second said Third Gen. The next situated over his left breast was a kick-ass patch. I pulled the jacket out and studied it better.

  It was a circular patch with the flames starting at the bottom and going halfway up the circle. In the middle of them was a skeleton with devil’s horns on its head and holding a pitchfork. In the other hand, the skeleton held a motorbike and above the skeleton’s head was a crown of flames. It was seriously badass.

  Underneath the flames was the words Hellfire MC written in a bold freestyle script in
white. The leather was heavy and smelt of motor oil, which wasn’t disagreeable, and of man. It was a smell I was rapidly linking to Chance. A pleasant smell and I dipped my nose to inhale it in deeper.

  I caught Chance’s eyes on me and he gave me a half grin. I smiled back and shifted closer, he held his arm out and I froze in place. Chance began lowering it when my feet took over and took me straight to him. I curled up under his arm and he slung it around my shoulders.

  I didn’t say much just listened as his brothers, communed, I suppose. None of them looked bothered by the arrest or the fact the nasty cops had ignored my three demands for a phone call. There was a toilet set in the corner I think they expected us to share, which was icky. I was sharing a cell with four men for crying out loud. Luckily for me none of them used it while I was awake, if they did when I was asleep, I didn’t know and didn’t care.

  I came awake with my head nestled on Chance’s muscled thigh and opened my eyes in surprise. One of his arms was around my waist and the other behind his head. Another jacket covered my legs. I was warm, cosy, and it amazed me I had fallen to sleep. Green eyes watched me as I gathered my wits.

  “Time?” I asked.

  “Just gone eight.” Chance grumbled. He pulled out a pack of gum and offered it to me, I took it, giving him a smile of gratitude. To moisten my mouth I sat up chewing it and dragged my hands through my hair. It was a mess, I gave up, rising to my feet I looked at an officer.

  I pinned him with an evil look, demanded my phone call and then threatened his job and livelihood if I didn’t get it in the next ten minutes. The idiot sneered at me but his partner appeared worried enough he let me out to make a call. I could see the front desk from the cell and I marched over to the phone. I punched in a number I knew well and waited. If Andrew didn’t pick up, I was screwed, finally a sleepy voice answered.

  “You took your time.”