Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

I looked over to see a moving van parked at the curb next door. Usually, I was a nosy fucker, but I was too tired to give a damn. I hiked my pack up my arm and walked up my front steps. I didn’t give a damn who was moving into old Mrs. Anderson’s place. Right up until I glanced over to see a woman holding a big box. Fuckin’ hell. I might’ve been wiped, but I wasn’t dead. Even from a distance, I could see she was hot as hell. And a tiny thing—maybe five-three if I included the messy bun of dark hair on top of her head. Mrs. Anderson had been a shrill old bitch who’d hated me on sight and hadn’t been shy about showing it. She’d called the cops on me for every perceived slight—from my Harley being too loud to my lawn being too green. Honest to God, she’d claimed the unnaturally green lawn was proof I’d used chemicals like a front yard steroid scandal. Matters only got worse any time I had my brothers over. Especially my brother who was a brother. Seeing me having a drink in the privacy of my backyard with a Black biker automatically meant we’d been planning something evil. Running drugs, beating women, robbing houses, and whatever other bullshit accusations she’d spewed. Since our houses were single stories with a tall wooden fence separating our yards, she’d had to climb her frail ass up a ladder to spy on me. The nutjob. When I’d heard she died, I couldn’t say I was sad. I could, however, say I’d toasted whatever hell she burned in. They needed the luck. And then I’d pissed...