Jilted Bride: Marrying The Biker King

dal

my fiancé Jason's friends slurre

The annual Serpents of Redemption MC rally was a r

t club, the Iron Lizards, I was an outsi

t buzz against my thigh. I ignored it. Probably just ano

the jar, a step closer to leaving

suffocating press of leather-clad bodi

ne buzz

I pulled it out. An unknown

wiped acros

, the laughter, the clinking of bottles -

ache, like something had shatte

My Jason. The man who s

deep down the front of her leather pants, her hips grinding back again

photo, a digital cl

watch r

s. That club-hopping "Sweetbutt" who always wore the least a

curling inside her while her own hand gripped his belt b

laughed. A shor

he traded me for? A storage room and a woman

pness. Cheapness at myself - for e

in my stomach,

looking all

ng toward me, two beers in hand, a perfect smile on

lterated rage shot up f

d when I stepped back, avoiding

walked toward the small stag

e called ou

eling hundreds of

microphone from a drunk guitarist. The fe

t the front wearing cuts that read 'Ser

was steady, clear. It surprised even me

le as he started push

as it went pale in an instant. "You might be looking f

ugh the crowd, punctuated by

you were getting so hot and heavy with her in that stockroo

face flushed from white to red to purple, his mouth opening and closing

erate, and slid off the engagement ri

n't loud, but every syllable landed l

e, twisted with humiliat

ssed it casually toward

link. "Keep it. Give it to the next woman who

guitarist, who was still standing

rted like the Red Sea, clearing a path in front

lty is cheaper than dirt - I wasn't

, and the cold night air

was shaking all over. I pulled out my p

ch-black road. No idea where I was going. No ride. But stan

bare feet. I'd kicked off my heels miles ago, and

ded, replaced by the sound of my own rag

from behind. A car screec