The Biker’s Mafia Princess (Angel and Savage) novel Chapter 2

Rebel POV.

I’ve fucked up, like, royally fucked up.

It was hard growing up with a huge family like mine. So much was expected of me, to be the perfect biker and mafia little princess. To be a good example to my little sister and brother. To have perfect grades, perfect clothes, hair, everything. But did anyone ask what I wanted to be? No, they fucking didn’t.

So, in true Rebel fashion, I rebelled.

I wasn’t spoilt or anything. Ok, that is a lie, I was. Some would see what I have done as attention seeking, throwing a hissy-fit. But it was more than that.

Let me take y’all back a few years and then maybe you will see where I’m coming from and how I ended up in this clusterfuck that I am now in.

I had a good early childhood; I was loved, adored even. I had all the love and attention a little girl wanted. Now I’m not saying I wasn’t loved after this because I was. When mom had Luna Skye, I helped as best as I could. Being the big sister was a huge responsibility. But I felt lonely.

Everyone was more interested in the new baby. They did try to include me, but Luna took up so much of mom and dad’s time. It was fine. The other adults made time for me. Mom and dad were always busy. If it wasn’t with the new baby, it was with their respective grownup stuff. They didn’t have time to play with me, so I felt alone.

Then my brother arrived when I was five Ryder-Junior or RJ for short. And boy did that little golden boy turd arrive in style. Dad was made up, he had got his boy. The boy he could take biking and do boy stuff with. Luna had mom, and me? Well, I had myself. I was like one of those latchkey kids in a way.

Uncle Blaze was teaching Dylan, his son, and my best friend to ride a dirt bike. Uncle Blaze and aunt Coral were there for me more than my parents were. So I was taught to ride and do other stuff and I’m damn good too.

Luna and RJ got everything they wanted the older they got. When it came to me and what I wanted, I had to throw the mother of all tantrums to get it. It didn’t matter that I was being good, or that I had asked for things for my birthday or Christmas. They got everything, and I was told to share. Really? Share, like I had any choice. They took everything from me, yet I was the bad one. I stopped asking and getting my hopes up.

The divide in the family just kept growing. I became a recluse, a ghost in my own family.

When I started high school, I tried to keep myself to myself, but it’s kind of hard to do when your family is famous. The Moretti’s being known for the mafia ties and the Jackson’s well their ties to the Princes Of Darkness MC. I quickly became the queen bee of the school. But I knew these kids only wanted to get to know me because of who my family was, not for me.

So like any attention starved teenager, I soaked it up and eventually started lashing out. Using my connections to get what I wanted. No homework for me, no waiting in line, getting what I wanted when I wanted.

At sixteen, I was drinking, smoking, and partying with these people. A big fuck you to my parents and both families. Until I was found comatose, barely breathing and hypothermic in a ditch.

God, my mom, and dad went to town on me, calling me selfish and a brat for how I had been acting. So, in true Rebel fashion, I did it again. Any attention is still attention, right? Wrong.

My grades began to slip, I dabbled in drugs and had several DUIs by the time I was eighteen. Then the day came. The family intervention. I scoffed family, what fucking family? They weren’t there for me, always too involved with the two crotch goblins to give a fuck about me. I was their child too, but I was forgotten about.

I fought with my parent’s told them I hated them, then I was attacked by my siblings. They go their asses beat because after all it was their fault. If they hadn’t had been born, my life wouldn’t be in the toilet. I was sent to rehab for six months.

I quickly ruled in there, too. I didn’t want the help. Then one day, something just clicked in place. I knew I was being a selfish little bitch in some ways. So when I left rehab, I got a job and kept my head down.

That is, until that fateful night.

I was on my way home from finishing the close down shift in the local diner. When I was walking home. I saw a few of the people who I used to knock around with. Not friends, not even acquaintances, more like customers. They used to get their drugs from me and only wanted to be friends because of my family name. God, I was so fucking stupid.

Where was I? Right, sorry.