Broken (Motorcycle Club Romance): Ryder and Sawyer 1 (Fallen Idols Motorcycle Club Book 3) by Savannah Rylan
Authors: Savannah Rylan
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ONE
SAWYER
Five years ago, I swore to myself that I’d never set foot back into Brooks Landing. Me, and the secret I took with me, were to never return. The club and everything that went with it was no longer a part of me. They had already taken too much. Dad might not be dead, but with a life sentence in prison, he might as well be.
Then, one phone call had me packing my bags, and hightailing it back. Mom needed me.
And, even though I despised the club for what they did to my family, I wouldn’t let them keep me away from my sick mother. Leaving her behind was hard. She was always there for me when I needed her. Growing up, she never missed a single game or concert, and even went as far as joining the bitches of the PTA. A part of me wished I had told her; she would’ve made the darkest time in my life a little brighter, but another part knew with Dad locked up here, she’d never leave Brooks Landing. And I was right.
I tried talking her into getting treatment in New York, but she refused to leave home, and I refused to let her do this alone. So, I swallowed my pride, and hopped on the next flight out of New York and headed back home.
I’d been in town for a couple days. I was sure word had spread. There were eyes and ears everywhere in this damn town. You couldn’t even wipe your ass in peace. I sure as hell didn’t miss it.
What I did miss, however, was the park on Marigold where Dad taught me how to ride a bike. The ice cream shop down by the boardwalk that had the best brownie sundaes I’d ever had. Most of all, I missed my family—at least what was left of them.
I looked out the window of my childhood home, and spotted my brother in the driveway, working on Dad’s old bike. Mom mentioned he’d been tinkering, and was determined to get it back on the road.
The unmistaken sound of motorcycles roared past the house, and I peeked through the blinds, looking for the Club’s cuts.
Instead of seeing Fallen Idols sprawled across the leather, I saw the token Las Almas skulls and curvy letters. I might’ve been out of the loop for five years, but that didn’t matter. I could’ve been gone twenty, and I’d still be able to guarantee one thing: Las Almas did not belong in Fallen Idols territory.
When they stopped in front of my house, my jaw nearly hit the floor. Cruz, my little brother, walked over to them, and I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t imagining this. Two thoughts flashed through my mind. The first was, those Las Almas guys had balls. Second, my brother was a goddamned idiot. Was he trying to get himself killed?
What the fuck had been going on since I left? It didn’t matter. I was back, and this shit wasn’t going to fly.
I stormed outside, about to lay into my brother, when I heard Cruz say, “You can’t come here. You’re going to get us caught.”
“Cruz?” I called out to him.
“Shit,” he mumbled, as the two guys turned their hard gazes on me.
Cruz took after my mother, his dark features reflecting our Mexican heritage. It was like he had nothing in common with my father and I. He looked like he belonged with the Las Almas.
Over my dead fucking body. It didn’t matter how much he resembled them physically, they were the opposite of everything my family stood for. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing. They’re just asking for directions,” Cruz lied, and he knew I didn’t believe him. His lip twitched, and I could tell he was talking out of his ass.
“Hopefully, you’re sending them back to their own town. Don’t want any problems here.”
I stood my ground, not allowing fear to overtake me.
“We detoured. Got lost in the neighborhood,” the guy with the goatee and black bandana on his head said, inching his bike up my driveway. “Why don’t you come hop on my bike, and show me personally how to get back to the highway?”
“Why don’t you get the fuck off my property before I call the cops on you for trespassing? Or, maybe, for
SAWYER
Five years ago, I swore to myself that I’d never set foot back into Brooks Landing. Me, and the secret I took with me, were to never return. The club and everything that went with it was no longer a part of me. They had already taken too much. Dad might not be dead, but with a life sentence in prison, he might as well be.
Then, one phone call had me packing my bags, and hightailing it back. Mom needed me.
And, even though I despised the club for what they did to my family, I wouldn’t let them keep me away from my sick mother. Leaving her behind was hard. She was always there for me when I needed her. Growing up, she never missed a single game or concert, and even went as far as joining the bitches of the PTA. A part of me wished I had told her; she would’ve made the darkest time in my life a little brighter, but another part knew with Dad locked up here, she’d never leave Brooks Landing. And I was right.
I tried talking her into getting treatment in New York, but she refused to leave home, and I refused to let her do this alone. So, I swallowed my pride, and hopped on the next flight out of New York and headed back home.
I’d been in town for a couple days. I was sure word had spread. There were eyes and ears everywhere in this damn town. You couldn’t even wipe your ass in peace. I sure as hell didn’t miss it.
What I did miss, however, was the park on Marigold where Dad taught me how to ride a bike. The ice cream shop down by the boardwalk that had the best brownie sundaes I’d ever had. Most of all, I missed my family—at least what was left of them.
I looked out the window of my childhood home, and spotted my brother in the driveway, working on Dad’s old bike. Mom mentioned he’d been tinkering, and was determined to get it back on the road.
The unmistaken sound of motorcycles roared past the house, and I peeked through the blinds, looking for the Club’s cuts.
Instead of seeing Fallen Idols sprawled across the leather, I saw the token Las Almas skulls and curvy letters. I might’ve been out of the loop for five years, but that didn’t matter. I could’ve been gone twenty, and I’d still be able to guarantee one thing: Las Almas did not belong in Fallen Idols territory.
When they stopped in front of my house, my jaw nearly hit the floor. Cruz, my little brother, walked over to them, and I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t imagining this. Two thoughts flashed through my mind. The first was, those Las Almas guys had balls. Second, my brother was a goddamned idiot. Was he trying to get himself killed?
What the fuck had been going on since I left? It didn’t matter. I was back, and this shit wasn’t going to fly.
I stormed outside, about to lay into my brother, when I heard Cruz say, “You can’t come here. You’re going to get us caught.”
“Cruz?” I called out to him.
“Shit,” he mumbled, as the two guys turned their hard gazes on me.
Cruz took after my mother, his dark features reflecting our Mexican heritage. It was like he had nothing in common with my father and I. He looked like he belonged with the Las Almas.
Over my dead fucking body. It didn’t matter how much he resembled them physically, they were the opposite of everything my family stood for. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing. They’re just asking for directions,” Cruz lied, and he knew I didn’t believe him. His lip twitched, and I could tell he was talking out of his ass.
“Hopefully, you’re sending them back to their own town. Don’t want any problems here.”
I stood my ground, not allowing fear to overtake me.
“We detoured. Got lost in the neighborhood,” the guy with the goatee and black bandana on his head said, inching his bike up my driveway. “Why don’t you come hop on my bike, and show me personally how to get back to the highway?”
“Why don’t you get the fuck off my property before I call the cops on you for trespassing? Or, maybe, for
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