The Kings Lesson: Cursed Kings MC

The character King and others do speak in slang. These are not grammar/spelling mistakes.

Throwing my bags in the car, I get in and drive home. I hate that my phone is so low. I need some sort of noise to distract and silence my mind.

There's nothing, though, and the sound of the car doesn't make much difference either. I know what I am about to go home to, and I'm not looking forward to it. I'm not looking forward to anything right now in my life.

When I married at seventeen, my parents said we were the perfect couple—well-suited and amazing. My brother told me I was a fool, and I now wonder if he was right.

You see, my mother prepared and taught me to be the perfect housewife. She wanted me to marry a good man, someone who stood strong within the community, and she succeeded. Being seventeen, I didn't realise what was going on; I just relished the attention he gave me.

I was sixteen, and he was thirty. I saw nothing wrong with this, as my parents welcomed him with open arms and introduced us. I remember everyone at school and college being jealous of me.

Edward was a stunning guy. His strong jawline and perfect abs sang to the woman, and I got him. I, the stupid seventeen-year-old, married him.

Things were great at the start, but then I realised my life was a hamster ball, always going round and round in circles and never changing. There's never a corner in my life, a left or right option, just circles after circles.

My stupid brain won't stop. Grabbing the phone—I don't care if it dies before I get home—I hit the music and turn it up, letting 'Highwayman' by Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, and Kris Kriss, as I call him flood through the car.

It helps; it begins to silence the thoughts, which seem to get worse around this time of year—no doubt because we're approaching our ten-year anniversary now.

The rumble makes me glance around, and I see the bikes stop next to me. I quickly face forward, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Although it's too late for that, the hot summer day means my windows are down.

I'm not about to turn down my phone and get noticed, so I sit, staring forward.

The rap against my door makes my head turn. A wicked smile greets me, and the guy leans his head to the side.

"Fan of the oldies?" he asks, and I nod quickly, trying not to look at him for too long, but goddamn, I can't help but drink him up. He isn't wearing a jacket, or even a top, it's slung over the handles.

The dark artwork along his arms calls out to be touched and god his body.

"Good taste," he smirks at me, and I lick my lips. "I'm king," he nods his head at me, and I laugh. King? Is that some sort of joke? I then take in the bike and notice the Cursed Kings sign. He's the king?

As the the leader of the club? I give a nod and watch the lights change and use it to escape. I breathe a sigh of relief as he disappears with the other bikes in my mirror.

Everything about him screamed dominant. I'm pretty sure he's the type of guy to take what he wants. No questions, he wants it, he has it. He's the type of guy who would come home and not give a shit if I haven't cooked and eat me instead. I can just imagine his hand tangled into my hair as he uses my mouth to pleasure himself.

'Stop! That's a whores job.'

Edward's words snap in my mind, and my body shakes.

The slow simmer of regret and need bubbles in my stomach at the reality that my life is simple. It can't be anything but simple, as Edward won't allow me to have anything better.

Walking into the house, I go through and find Edward sitting perfectly straight in the kitchen. He talks away on the phone, and I sling my bags on the hook and walk to him.

"She's here. I shall put her on the phone with you. She didn't tell me anything," Edward states as he slides the phone into my hand. I glance at the screen and see my mother's name.

Miranda.

"Hello, mother," I say.

"Mazikeen! I called twice today, and you didn't answer," she complained.

"Mother, I didn't ignore you; I was in class teaching." She knows I now work. When Edward said we were moving here, I agreed if I could work.

"Well, I wanted to know the plan for your and Edward's tenth anniversary. It's a big number, Mazikeen. You need to ensure Edward knows you appreciate him and everything he does for you," she states.

"I know that Mother. I haven't forgotten, and I will think of something," I reply.

"You will think of something? That means you haven't; why haven't you, Mazikeen?" she asks.

"Mother, we just moved here a month ago. I started work this week. Can you give me a chance, please," I plead.

"Don't take that tone with me." Her words are snapped.

"Darling, your mother deserves respect," Edward stands and looks at me.

"I was simply explaining the situation. I wasn't trying to be disrespectful or have a tone, I apologise Mother," I say.

"I will call you again tomorrow; ensure you answer. Tell Edward I look forward to our dinner date, and I hope you will come to this one."

My head nods. "I will be attending Mother," I avoided the last one, I acted sick so I could avoid it. I hand the phone back to Edward, and I hear him talking to her as he walks out of the kitchen.

Standing here in the kitchen, I feel like screaming. I barely did anything wrong, there was no tone, sure my voice may have raised slightly, but she's acting like I need to do something big and elaborate for our anniversary.

I know Edward's plan. Flowers, me cooking for us, and then, if he's feeling it, missionary sex. It's rare we even have that these days.

I walk through the house and find Edward in the living room. He's sat back on the chair, so I walk towards him.

"How about this year, we go out for our anniversary?" he asks, and I stand shocked. That's different and not expected. I nod, lean over him, kissing his lips and smiling against him.

Grasping his hand, I move it to my head, hoping that he will tangle his fingers into my hair—only he doesn't. He gently holds my head like I'm a weak, fragile doll. Climbing onto the chair with him, I kiss him more fiercely.

My hand slips between my legs, and I begin to play.

"Stop!" Edward's shout has me jumping. "Don't do that. You're not a fucking horny teenager or some whore," his words lash at me hard, and I nod.

All I want is something, but even I know it's not going to happen.

"I'm showering," he says, moving me off him and walking out. I wait and then follow. Stepping into the bathroom, I strip and go to step into the shower.

"What are you doin