Apex: Born Villains MC, #1

By Bijou Hunter and Juliet Flynn

Cyril "Apex" Tayback is an enforcer for the Born Villains Motorcycle Club. He suffered a brutal childhood, bouncing from one trauma to another. When the club found the angry, young man living in the woods, he was on his way to a life in prison or an early grave. Now, Apex's their most feared enforcer.

Seeking help from the Born Villains Motorcycle Club, Giselle has escaped a painful past she can no longer remember. Her body tells a story of suffering, but her mind is a blank slate. All she knows is her heart already belongs to the fierce and beautiful biker.

Claiming Giselle immediately, Apex won't allow her past or anything else to stand in the way of their future.

But the Born Villains face problems beyond a lost woman's violent past. They'll contend with secrets brewing in a rival club and the aftershocks from a brutal attack on the heart of their sanctuary.

The Born Villains MC series contains sexual content, harsh language, graphic violence, and drug use. This book is only suitable for readers 18+. Trigger warnings: childhood abuse, sexual abuse, and cheating (not H/h).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bijou Hunter
• Release date: Apr 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224631230

Bijou Hunter

Romance Author of Contemporary, Suspense, and New Adult ~ Find me at www.bijouhunterbooks.com ~ Join my mailing list: www.bijouhunterbooks.com/mailing-list

Book preview

NOTE TO READERS

This series is different than my usual ones. Each book will include multiple POV chapters with side characters. Various storylines will span several books. Not all questions will be answered in Apex. However, the main hero and heroine will get their happily ever after, including epilogues.

CHARACTER LIST

TO PREVENT SPOILERS, THIS LIST ONLY INCLUDES CHARACTERS MENTIONED IN APEX

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BORN VILLAINS MC FOUNDING MEMBERS

Brody Marsden/Papa Bear — Founder

Kraken — former Vice President; now rival club President

Ominous — original chick member

Jester — Road Captain; currently in prison

Buzzsaw — former Sergeant-at-Arms; runs Sanctuary’s construction

Flagg — Secretary; Kraken’s brother

Gravel — runs the Sanctuary’s ranch

Dropout — runs Sanctuary’s gym

Tank — runs Sanctuary’s landscaping

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BORN VILLAINS MC CURRENT LEADERSHIP

Claymore Marsden/Overlord — President; Papa Bear’s son

Grit — Vice President

Warwick Marsden/Bomber — Treasurer; Papa Bear’s son

Blunt — (Acting) Road Captain

Hawthorne Baxter/Thorn — Sergeant-at-Arms

Cyril Tayback/Apex — Enforcer

Ghost — Enforcer

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MEMBERS

Talon Marsden/Sister Sass — Papa Bear’s daughter; chick member

Aqua — chick member

Stix — runs Sanctuary’s auto shop

Mulholland — 2nd in command at Sanctuary’s auto shop

Rave — chick member; kid: Michael

Riot — chick member; Rave’s sister; kid: Michael

Motley

Doughboy

Penthouse

Neon

Smoke

Puppet

Clutch

Vegas

Emo

Topeka

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PROSPECTS

Emma/Dire — daughter of Ominous

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ENEMIES

Kraken — President/Founder of Horned Angels MC; former VP of Born Villains MC

Dio — Vice President

Cypher — Sergeant-at-Arms

Evac — Road Captain

Spider — Enforcer

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OLD LADIES/GIRLFRIENDS

Lady Bug — Brody/Papa Bear’s second wife, kids: Nadia (estranged), Katana w/Papa Bear

Betty Boop — Brody/Papa Bear’s deceased first wife, kids: Claymore, Warwick, and Talon

Pumpkin — Warwick/Bomber’s wife, kids: Conner (deceased) and Collin

Sugar Plum — Grit’s wife; kid: Vallie

Jelly Bean — Aqua’s wife

Sweet Buns — Tank’s wife

Bunny — Buzzsaw’s wife

Flame — Gravel’s wife; kid: Jay; runs the Sanctuary’s ranch

Cream Puff — Flagg’s wife

Sweetie Pie — Mulholland’s wife/runs Sanctuary’s store

Queen Bee — Kraken’s old lady (deceased); kids: Jules and Scout

Mother Goose — Kraken’s old lady

Mabel Mabie Sandza — Blunt’s girlfriend; kid: Clark

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ALLIES

Graeme Hubbard — Metamora sheriff/Papa Bear’s former foster brother

Doctor Sal Perez — owner of Metamora Urgent Care/Papa Bear’s former foster brother

Davina — owner of Bacon Haven Diner

Risa — manager of Bettina House (Metamora shelter)

APEX

Cyril Tayback/Enforcer

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This isn’t my normal gig. I’m a blunt object. I fuck people up for the Born Villains Motorcycle Club. That’s my thing. My size—from my six-five height to my massive hands—makes me an ideal Enforcer. Violence is how I breathe. Beat me, cut me, fucking shoot me, and I’ll keep coming until my enemy makes their kill shot.

That’s how it’s been since I was twenty and got my cut. The club is everything my first family wasn’t—loyal, idealistic, fun, and stable. I’m appreciated for my size and violent talents. But the Born Villains see the real me.

Like I’m not a patient man. Probably not all that fucking bright, either. My club President—Claymore Overlord Marsden—doesn’t expect me to be anyone except the asshole he's known for a dozen years.

So why has he got me playing detective around Metamora?

People show up in Metamora all the time, looking for help. Some are losers, but many of them just need a fresh start. And that’s been the MO of Papa Bear—Born Villains MC founder and the man who saved me from an early grave or a life in prison. Brody Marsden is a criminal with a heart of gold. He built this town, the Sanctuary, and the Born Villains club.

And the chick today came looking for his help before getting spooked and running off.

Now, Overlord expects me to track her down. I don’t know why he can’t get our people in the sheriff’s department to do the deed. No, it’s gotta be me.

So I leave our gated compound on the club’s eighty acres and ride the winding Metamora roads to Main Street, where the chick was last seen. I can’t find a decent parking spot in front of Bacon Haven Diner, so I pull onto the sidewalk. Leaving my hog—a black denim Harley Street Bob—blocking the path, I don’t worry about getting towed.

Inside the country-style diner, I spot the part-owner—like many places in Metamora, the club bankrolled this restaurant. Looking good for a woman in her fifties—thick black hair, icy gray eyes, decent curves including a nice rack—Davina shoots the shit with a local farmer. Once the old-timer sees me, the fucker loses his smile.

I don’t blame him for being scared. I’m a big guy, and I don’t smile. Chicks at our clubhouse claim I’ve got pretty eyes and a handsome face, but I think they’d say that shit even if I was a troll. They’re not riding my dick because I look like a model. They’re biker groupies. As long as I’m covered in tats and ride a hog, they’ll claim I’m an outlaw sexiest man alive.

But this farmer fuck—whose name I probably know but can’t remember like most people’s fucking names—doesn’t think I’m pretty. No, I’m a walking plague, looking for someone to destroy.

Feeling like an asshole, as usual, I crowd the sixtyish farmer in his overalls and muddy boots while asking if Davina can talk. She offers a little eye roll in response to my treatment of her customer. I don’t know why she cares. He probably only talks her up because she leans forward while they chat, offering him a solid view of her tits. Wait, maybe she knows he’s looking, and she does that shit for tips.

As Davina takes me aside to talk privately, I can’t stop checking out the uppity farmer. I know where he lives. Burning his shit to the ground would be easy. Not that I will. Papa Bear frowns upon random violence. The Born Villains are weapons, not animals.

Focus, Apex, Davina says when I keep eyeballing her customer.

People need to learn their place.

You can hassle him later. Let’s talk so I can get back to work.

Glancing around the place, I notice a regular from our clubhouse, The Lockup—named in celebration of the location so many people swore we’d end up if we didn’t act normal. The chick pretends not to see me. Yeah, she’s got her daytime brain on, wearing her stockings, working at the bank or some other boring-as-fuck location. The kind of chick who craves biker cum until the sun comes up and she finds Jesus again.

Returning my gaze to Davina, I ask, What’s the story about the chick you lost?

Davina thinks to complain about my wording. If I was Thorn, she’d probably pout or bitch until he apologized. If I was Ghost, she’d hurry his bitchy ass out the front door. For me, well, she just ignores my rude mouth.

She came in around breakfast and asked the waitress about Papa Bear. I got involved there and hit her up for info. This girl was spooked and kept looking out the window like someone might be following her. I only got her name before she saw something and ran off.

So why am I here?

Davina wants so very fucking badly to put me in my place. I know exactly why she won’t. Maybe that’s why I’m being such a big dick. I know I got a get out of jail card.

She asked for Papa Bear, Davina says rather than knock me upside the head.

Think the cops sent her?

No.

Think our enemies sent her?

Why would she run off if it was a trick to get into the Sanctuary?

Rather than admit she’s right, I shrug my shoulders. Was anyone eyeballing her? Could she be nuts? Or a drama queen?

I didn’t see anyone, but it was during the breakfast rush.

So, I’m supposed to run down this chick rather than let her come back around here?

She needs help, Apex. I noticed bruises around her hands. If you don’t give a shit, I’ll call Papa Bear to send someone else.

Not needing a low-key lecture from the man who saved me from my greatest enemy—myself—I mutter, Don’t get twisted. I’ll track her down.

She was really pretty, you see?

So?

A girl so pretty and dainty has victim written all over her. Even if she outruns her current problem, she’ll stumble into a new one.

Then maybe she can’t be saved.

You were, so why not her?

Hating logic to be used against me, I ask, What did she say her name was?

Giselle.

What does she look like?

Blonde hair and light blue eyes. She’s shorter than me. Petite and skinny. The type of girl Thorn likes, honestly. Her skin was pale, with freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wore a gray hoodie, blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. They looked brand new, as if she had ditched her old wardrobe when she went into hiding. Her hoodie’s why I can’t give you a decent picture from the security feed.

Think she might have ditched Metamora when she saw whoever was chasing her?

She left on foot, meaning she couldn’t have gone too far. Besides, she went through the trouble of coming to town and hitting up the diner. She’s around, Apex.

Eyeing Main Street—hopping as usual despite being a weekday—I nod. There are only a few places around Metamora for her to stay. I’ll hit up the shelter and motels.

Davina finally asks her pity question. How’s your mom?

Doing great at dying slowly.

I’m sorry.

Shrugging, I mutter, I know.

But you’re acting like an asshole today. So maybe put your emotional crap in your back pocket while dealing with Snow White.

Why Snow White?

The fairest of them all.

That pretty, huh? I ask, getting curious now.

Don’t go horndog on me. I’m not in the mood.

You care too much. Cut your heart out and shove that shit in the garbage disposal. Trust me. Life will get a whole lot easier.

Davina rolls her eyes and walks back to the cash register. I stroll past her and the farmer. I growl an insult to the latter. Years ago, Papa Bear claimed I couldn’t allow old problems to die. As usual, he was right.

Back on my hog, I think about where Snow White might be now. Built for disappearing, Metamora has several small motels. The nearest city—Gallup Hills—is where money is made, and rules are created. But nestled in the hills, my home welcomes the lawless and lost.

After riding to the women’s shelter—Bettina House—blocks from Bacon Haven Diner, I talk up the director. Like Davina, Risa goes way back with Papa Bear. They grew up in the system, discarded by blood and survived by government charity. Then, they aged out of the system into a world that gave zero fucks.

But Papa Bear had a vision. He used his many friendships to turn his dream into a reality. Around Metamora, many people love him, others fear him, and plenty owe him, but everyone knows him.

I’ll keep an eye out, Risa says after I describe Snow White. It’s been quiet lately.

That’s good, right?

The world didn’t get better, says the gray-haired woman, sporting an ample ass and small build. People just don’t know there’s anywhere safe.

I wasn’t kidding with Davina when I said tearing out my heart made the world easier to bear. I look around the shelter and don’t suffer from the same sorrow I know Risa does. I never feel like I need to save everyone like Papa Bear wants to. I’m not that guy. My heart refuses to suffer for anyone beyond a very select few. If I were colder, my mom’s dying would never register on my radar, and my life would be easier.

Risa doesn’t want to hear such harsh truths. She’s got a big fucked-up heart. I fixed my pain by not feeling shit. She thinks she can soothe her past by making other people happy. I think she’s chasing a fool’s paradise. She thinks I’m dead inside. Our conversations don’t tend to go well.

So, I take off and check out the closet motel. The ten-room extended-stay location is popular with families teetering close to homelessness. Port In A Storm is where Risa sends those who can leave the shelter. Some are junkies trying to stay clean. Mostly, they’re moms and their kids on the run from abusers. The first-shift front clerk and I shared a group home years ago. He remembers me but pretends otherwise.

No one new around here, Marty Miner says. Same five chicks and four kids as last week and the week before.

Why do you sound disappointed?

Sometimes, the younger ones look to party, Marty says and smirks. I help them out with that.

Sizing him up, I shake my head. Poor bitches must be desperate.

We glare at each other for several seconds before I walk out and head over to Metamora Retreat. Around then, I get a text from my club brother—and our new Sergeant-at-Arms—Thorn, looking to know if I need help with my detective work.

I’ll hit you up at The Lockup for a beer later, I tell him rather than beg for company.

With Thorn restless, I don’t know why Overlord chose me for the job. I was just sitting in HQ—the Sanctuary’s clubhouse, restaurant, and heart—sucking on a lemon and watching an old football game on ESPN. Now, I’m tracking down a chick with a load of problems I don’t care about.

Willie Miner runs the front desk at Metamora Retreat, where a few working girls live. Like his brother, he knew me back in our group home days. Like Marty, Willie is a frequent customer at The Lockup.

Any good-looking chicks check in recently? I ask him after he peels his gaze away from The Price Is Right.

How good-looking?

Don’t know. Blonde, blue eyes, on the short side. She reminded Davina of Snow White, whatever the fuck that means.

Oh, you’re looking for someone specific, then?

Yeah, man. She came around Bacon Haven asking for Papa Bear. Did any new chicks check in or not?

Sure, did, my man, he says, adjusting his crotch like the thought of her gives him a boner. And this chick is on the run.

Did she tell you that?

Willie struggles to pay attention once a TV broad starts screaming about winning Plinko. I slam my hand down on the front counter, scaring him out of his chair. Grinning at Willie regaining his footing, I think he’s confused me with the loser teenager he knew from the group home.

Getting his head back in the game, he grumbles, No, I learned she was on the run after two guys showed up earlier. They were parole officers or some shit. I told them I saw her, but she bailed that morning. Lied and said she only paid for the night. I’m not helping any fucking cops.

Now that I know your bullshit story, why not share the real deal?

Gesturing out the door, he replies, She’s still checked in. I called her room to warn her that the po-po was on her tail, but she didn’t answer. Haven’t seen her around. Was going to head down that way later but heard some gunshots. No way was I looking to get dead, you know?

Gunshots at the motel? I ask, reaching for my weapon as I glance out the front window.

Don’t know. Shit echoes in Metamora. Between the hills and woods, I can’t tell where noises are coming from. But I wasn’t risking it. Besides, those parole guys looked sleazy. There was no way to know if they were planning to jump me if I left the office.

Dude, you know you’re supposed to call Sheriff Graeme or the Sanctuary if you hear gunshots, I growl at Willie, wishing I could pound on him. Even if it’s just hunters in the woods, we need to know.

Yeah, but shit happens, man. I get distracted by my job.

You mean your fucking TV shows.

Whatever. I didn’t hear any screaming after the gunshots. No one came running in here to call for help. No cars sped away. It’s been real quiet since then.

When was this?

An hour ago, maybe. Not sure. It’s been quiet, so I’m not ringing up the cops or your bros.

What name did the girl use?

Evelyn Davidson.

I text Overlord to let him know shit might go down at Metamora Retreat. If I die, I tell him to inform my mom my death was a suicide. That way, she might feel guilty.

Weapon at my side, I leave the office and round the corner toward the back of Metamora Retreat, where Giselle/Evelyn’s room is located.

The day remains quiet. Not much action on this side of town. Mostly farms, a few bars, and the motels. The only troublemakers are those looking to sell or buy shit they don’t want anyone to see.

Room 9’s door is open a crack. The shades are closed. A single vehicle is parked in front of the room. The rest of this end of the lot is empty. I think the working girls are shacked up in rooms 1-5.

I take photos of the SUV’s license plate to send to Overlord. Something feels hinky here. The door isn’t open enough for me to see in. I don’t hear voices or a TV playing. I scan the area, but nothing moves. With the echo, any sounds ought to find me.

Waiting for backup makes sense. I’m not looking to die. But I don’t fear death, either. Mostly, I’m too fucking impatient to wait for anyone to watch my back.

Leaning against the wall, I open the door wider with my boot. I wait for a second and let it go. The door's weight tugs it back at me, leaving only the original crack. No one reacts to my presence.

Overlord texts me to wait for backup. He says Thorn is minutes away. My President is also headed in this direction. I just need to be patient.

Yeah, that’s not in my wheelhouse. Never has been, and I can’t imagine it ever will be. If I live to be an old man, I might get the hang of patience. Today isn’t that day.

I kick open the door with more force, sending it crashing into the wall. A gunshot rings out, and a bullet hits the door pane parallel to me. The shooter’s gun is empty. Click, click, click. The asshole keeps tugging at the trigger.

After the fifth click, I rush inside the room and nearly trip over a dead guy near the bed.

I spot a second man slumped by the bathroom.

And on the floor against the dresser—still pulling the trigger—is Snow White.

Swiping the gun from her shaking hands, I kneel down and study her bloodied face.

When she stares at me with dazed eyes, I’m temporarily stunned. Not by the sight of a battered woman, lost in her trauma. I’ve seen that shit monthly for years.

I’m shocked stupid by the palest shade of blue eyes looking back at me. They belong to a woman so beautiful I can’t believe she’s real. Her pouty pink lips are tugged down into a frown. These sick fucks left bruises and blood on her flawless fair skin. And Davina was right. Snow White does, in fact, have freckles. But those eyes are what erase everything in the world beyond her.

I don’t ask for much in life, but I want this woman.

OVERLORD

Claymore Marsden/President

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Apex isn’t a wet-behind-the-ears prospect. I’m a big guy at six-three, but Apex is built like a monster truck. Violence never fazes him. It’s what he lives and breathes now.

So, when Apex calls for backup and a cleanup crew, I know shit’s gone down. I send out an alert for Metamora’s east side around the motel to be shut down. No one goes in except Villains and our allies.

Riding my hog—billiards teal Fat Boy—from the Sanctuary, I’m joined by another Enforcer and a member—Ghost and Motley. We arrive to find the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms—Thorn with his dark blond hair tied back, blue eyes on alert, Colt M4 Carbine strapped to his wide back—standing with two members—Penthouse and Vegas—in the parking lot behind Metamora Retreat.

Stash your weapons, boys, Thorn says as we climb off our hogs. Killing’s over.

Where’s Apex?

Inside with his shiny new toy.

Rather than ask for Thorn’s meaning, I point toward a small side road leading to the woods. Keep your eyes out. We don’t want this place lighting up once Graeme arrives.

I leave Ghost and Motley with Thorn and move toward the only motel room with the door standing open wide. I notice a large SUV with a Texas plate.

Even before entering the room, I catch the familiar smell of blood and bodies loosening up under the effects of death. On the floor is a middle-aged good old boy with two holes in his upper torso. His cowboy hat rests nearby. So does a second dead man around the same age and build. Wouldn’t be surprised if they were brothers with their matching goatees and flannel shirts. A bullet to the throat ended the second guy.

Sitting on the edge of the bed is a woman in her late teens–early twenties. I can’t see much with her head titled forward and light blonde hair spilling over her face. She’s a tiny thing with bruised fingers poking out of the hoodie she wears on the warm spring day.

Apex stands next to the bed, shadowing the shell-shocked chick. His thick arms are crossed, and neck muscles clenched. Though my Enforcer’s on edge, his nearly black eyes watch the woman like she’s his long-lost best friend.

What’s this? I ask when Apex can’t get out of his head long enough to speak.

She’s the chick you sent me to find.

Did you do this? I ask, kicking the nearby good old boy.

She did.

The woman’s gaze lifts when I lean down to speak with her. She looks right at me, but nothing’s happening behind her pale blue eyes.

Is she high? I ask Apex as if he’d know.

Don’t think so.

What did she say?

Nothing.

I squat in front of the woman. Her elbows rest on her knees. She looks through me. I can see her battered face better now. New bruises will soon cover the old ones.

What’s your name? I ask softly and then again with more intensity when she only stares.

Finally, she blinks and really looks at me. I don’t know.

She’s got a big knot on her head, Apex says and then overexplains, I wasn’t grabbing on her or anything. I just saw the blood in her hair and touched the spot.

I don’t even need to look at Apex to know my Enforcer’s got his heart set on this girl. Makes sense. The chick’s dripping with fragile beauty. Apex has also been in a fucked-up mood since his bitch mom returned to Metamora to die with an audience.

When I reach around to feel the chick’s head, Apex’s stance goes hostile. He’s itching to stop me from touching his prize. He’s already possessive. As if this girl wasn’t already drowning in bullshit, she’s gained an entirely new problem by enchanting a violent man.

Did these guys rough you up? I ask her.

Staring dazed, she mumbles, I don’t know.

Where did you get the gun?

I don’t know.

What do you know?

The chick’s expression never changes. She isn’t with it. I don’t know if she’s slow, broken, or wasted.

What do you know? I ask Apex.

He shares the details about how he arrived at this moment. I sense he’s holding back info. Maybe she said or did something he wants to keep to himself.

Here’s what happens next, I say, and Apex stops staring at his prize long enough to notice me again. Risa can bring around an SUV to drive the girl to the clinic. You’ll act as their escort. The girl isn’t to be left alone. If our mystery woman gets undressed for an exam, one of our people stays with her. If she has to piss, she does it with a chaperone. I’ll send Sister Sass and Aqua over to supervise those intimate moments.

Apex’s enraged face hides nothing. He’s lifted this stranger up on an especially high pedestal. No way should his princess piss with spectators.

We don’t know her, I say and gesture at the dazed woman. Her problems are now ours. We’ll clean this up, figure out who the stiffs are, and learn her story. But never forget she’s a stranger.

Apex’s dark eyes flash to the woman, staring at the wall. When he doesn’t respond to my words, I ask if he understands.

I get it, he mutters like I’m his asshole dad telling him to do his fucking chores.

But I know Apex doesn’t get shit. His head is elsewhere now. I still send him with the girl, knowing he’ll pitch a fight otherwise.

Apex walks through the room, looking for the chick’s shit. He takes a small suitcase from the closet before returning to the bed, where she sits dazed.

When Apex asks the woman to stand, she sits like a dazed lump. He gently lifts the chick to her feet and gets her shuffling toward the door. Once they pass the Villains lingering just outside the motel door, my club brothers join me.

We need to ID the stiffs, I tell my men. Apparently, they told Willie that they worked for parole. That’s clearly bullshit. Wrap them up and take them to where Graeme can get prints and other shit he needs.

I catch Ghost looking put out by today’s events. The usually sullen Enforcer gets extra bitchy lately whenever Apex is involved. They were friends as much as two twisted-up assholes can be. Something went wrong months ago. I’m not their therapist, so I haven’t asked for details.

Now, Ghost—dark brown hair hanging loose around his shoulders, navy blue eyes raging at the world, beard needing a trim—glares at me for suggesting today’s situation matters.

We treat this incident as an attack on us, I add to get his head in the game. These men came into our territory to pull their shit. The people who sent them are our enemy, no matter why they’re here. If anyone comes looking for these fucks, we assume they want war. Do you understand?

The Sanctuary must be protected at all costs. Our people’s lives depend on us never letting down our guards. I know that more than anyone. My motherless daughters are the price we paid after the last time we got arrogant and figured no one would touch us in our town.

I leave Thorn in charge until our Secretary arrives. Despite his title, Flagg loves cleaning up shit like today’s mess. As the final founding member to still hold a rank, he’s transformed plenty of bloodbaths in his day. His brother was once our VP. Now, Kraken leads our main adversary—Horned Angels Motorcycle Club out of Cahuenga. Flagg stayed loyal to the Born Villains. Even getting long in the tooth, he’ll fix today’s problem.

Once we have the dead men’s prints and mugshots, their bodies will burn to dust. The room will be cleaned, the carpet removed, and the bullet holes mended. Their car