Book II – Wind Therapy






Some men are born to lead, born to be the one in charge, given the tools to handle everything the world throws at them. Maverick is one of those men, however, nothing could or would prepare him for Marisol.

Marisol dreams of a life far and away from her so-called family. When the big bad biker gang rolls through her little village of fruit growers to deliver much-needed medicine to her people, she quickly sets her eyes on their striking leader – Maverick.

You do what you have to in order to survive, but when an escape presents itself, it’s nearly impossible to resist that urge.

It caught me off guard, but not enough for my brain to fail in doing the calculations. I had it. Enough to cover financially. There was just one thing.

“How old are you?” I demanded.

“Twenty,” she answered without any hesitation, with no hint of a lie… which immediately made me suspicious.

“Oh, yeah? Let’s see some ID,” I said.

“Mav?” I turned on the seat of my bike, looking over my shoulder at Fenris who’d spoken. He raised his eyebrows, holding out his hands in a ‘what gives’ gesture. I waved him off. The rest of my crew riding with me all looked surprised but didn’t say a word.

Marisol handed me over her identification, which she’d slid out of one of the back pockets of her jeans. It was real, printed vertically, but the dates said she wasn’t quite twenty yet. She was nineteen, but she’d hit twenty in a few short weeks.

I flicked my eyes to hers and the desperation in her gaze decided me right then and there.

“I could use an extra set of hands for something for the next month,” I said. “She wants to go; I can bring her back on the next run – we’ll see if she can square the debt in that time.”

“No.” Abuela shook her head and Marisol rattled off something in Spanish, clearly trying to argue the point.

“I said no.” Abuela turned her attention off her granddaughter and back to me. “You don’t want this girl. She is nothing but trouble. You could pick any girl here for whatever you want—”

“I did,” I said, cutting her off. “I picked her.” I thrust a chin at Marisol and said, “Go pack some shit, put on some better shoes, and make it fuckin’ quick, we got someplace to be.”

I got the distinct impression that Abuela wasn’t happy, but not for any love of her granddaughter. There was nothing but spite on the old woman’s face.

“The girl lies. All the time. Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies! You can’t believe a word she says!”

“Duly noted, but you’ve got your choice. Cash or her ass, so you suddenly got the cash?” I demanded.

Her mouth thinned down again, and she turned her head, refusing to look at me.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” I declared and called back to my guys, “Anybody got an extra lid?”

“Shit, he’s fuckin’ serious right now,” I heard one of my boys mutter in surprise. Squatch, I think, but I wasn’t mad at him. This was pretty fuckin’ out of character for me – but sometimes you had to ride on instinct and mine was saying to seize the fuckin’ moment, so that’s what I was doing.


Text Copyright © 2020 A.J. Downey

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, event, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

Leave a Reply