BITTER SWEET BEGINNINGS

BOOK FIVE

The Kingsmen MC series

TARA OAKES

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

First edition. June 17, 2015

Copyright c. 2015 Tara Oakes

Written by Tara Oakes

Published by Twelve Oaked Publishing, inc.

Book Cover: Image from CBB Productions

TO MY LAMBCHOP, MY LOVE

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ALSO FROM THIS AUTHOR:

A LIL’ LESS BROKEN, Book one in the Kingsmen MC series

A LIL’ LESS LOST, Book two in the Kingsmen MC series

A LIL’ LESS HOPELESS, Book three in the Kingsmen MC series

BITTER SWEET DECEPTION, Book four in the Kingmen MC series

BABY V, Book one in the Chianti Kisses series

BOSS, Book two in the Chianti Kisses series

STAIN, Book one in the My Soul to Wake series

ALL AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON.COM

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Thanks so much to everyone who has helped along the way in bringing the Kingsmen MC books to life. Alicia, my Personal Assistant, Laura Classi, my editor, and CBB from CBB productions were instrumental yet again in creating the book you are about to read. And thanks so much to each and every single reader who have hopped on and held tight, with each twist and turn this ride takes us.

DISCLAIMER This novella is a short, bridge of a book to set up the characters and events right where I need them for the final book in the series, the conclusion to the Kingsmen MC- BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS. With so many characters and storylines in this sage, I wanted to make sure that all of their voices were heard in a way that would not be rushed in the last book. Although this book may be short in words compared to my other books, I hope you understand why and feel that it is not short in emotion or story. Or steam…. Let’s not forget the steam.

BIKER FRIENDLY REFERENCE

The life of a biker although foreign to most of us, is a very intriguing subculture with its own laws, rules, language, and traditions. Hopefully this reference will help the rest of us get to know a bit more about them before we take a peak into the lives of Lil's and Jay, two people born and raised in the secret world of the MC, full of passion, loyalty, fierce family bonds and... danger.

TERMS

1%er -

The small population of biker clubs that consider themselves outside the law. They often run operations in gambling, guns, prostitution, smuggling, paid protection, drugs, and more. They are considered to be the baddest of the bad, and the roughest of the rough.

Brother -

Club members within the same club refer to each other as 'Brother'. They have made a vow to each other to protect and take care of each other as family.

Cage-

An automobile, usually a van.

Church –

A club meeting to be attended by patched brothers only. Most clubs run as a democracy and important matters are voted on during meetings.

Club Mama –

Women that regularly attend events and interact with the M.C. They may aspire to become an Ol' lady one day but do not yet have a patch holder. They may spend time with many different bikers within a club but have loyalty to the club first before a man. They are considered to be a little bit more respected than a sweet butt.

Cut -

Refers to the leather vest worn by most bikers in a club.

M.C.-

Acronym for Motorcycle Club.

Ol' Lady –

A term of affection used for the main woman, or wife, of a club member. She is given his protection and is considered off limits to any other biker. Women are not considered club members, but rather have associations to the club through their Ol' man, or their patch holder.

Nomad –

A member of an MC that is currently without a specific charter. They are still considered a brother but they choose not to offer specific allegiance to a designated charter, instead they are loyal to the club organization in whole.

Patched In –

When a prospect completes his initiation period and is voted in to become a full fledged club member, or “Brother”

Patches –

The cloth patches or embroidered designs added to a biker’s vest, or cut, that identifies which club they belong to, the location of their specific charter and their position in it. Other patches can be added to signify milestone events. Example: if the member has ever served prison time for his club, or killed for it.

Piece –

A gun.

Prospect –

Those that desire to become a full-fledged patched member must complete an initiation period as a prospect before a final vote is taken as to whether or not they can fully join. Prospect's usually are given the worst assignments and must prove their loyalty and worth to the club.

Rag –

Another term for a leather vest, or cut, but worn by a woman, given to her by her Ol' man to signify that she is his “property” and is off limits. An Ol' lady's rag does not usually bear the club name, logo or charter as she is not a club member. It simply states “Property of_____”

Sweet Butt –

A term used to describe a woman who is used by members in a club. They are usually welcomed to club parties, or “Brother only” parties but are never allowed at family events. It is a derogatory term and there is very little respect for these ladies by club members.

Tat –

A tattoo. Full fledged club members, or brothers, often have the club patches permanently tattooed on their body to signify that they are a member even if not wearing their cuts. An Ol' lady will usually have a tattoo to honor her Ol' man to signify that she is his property even if she is not wearing her rag.

PROLOGUE

He left. He actually fucking left!

Who does that?!

I’ll tell you who does that… a selfish fucking bastard. That’s who.

I know what I’d done was terrible… some might even say unforgivable. But a very small glimmer of hope was hiding way down deep inside that he was better than this. That all those words of loyalty, commitment, and protection actually meant something and not just BS to feed into his whole macho biker act.

I guess I was wrong about him. He was just like the rest of them. A liar.

I’m used to it by now, how could I not be? I’ve had more practice than most having been on the receiving end of it. I guess that’s how I got to be such a good liar myself.

CHAPTER ONE

CHARLIE

THEN

“Let’s go, girls! We’re leaving!” mom called from the bottom of the stairs up to the second floor where Dana and I were fighting over the little white patent-leather purse in both of our clutches.

“Mine!” she screamed. My little sister had the highest-pitched squeal I’d ever heard. She’d perfected it over the years. We fought, she whined, then she yelled loud enough where mom would come running to her rescue. She’d gotten it down pat. And like clockwork, I heard the thudding of footsteps racing up the stairs in our direction.

My bedroom door swung open and mom stormed in, fully prepared to separate us.

“Enough!” She took the pretty little pocketbook from the middle of our tug-of-war and held it high above her head where neither I nor my baby sister could reach.

“It’s Easter Sunday! We are going to be late for church services and you two are up here fighting over a bag!?” she fumed. “What is it going to look like if we walk into the sanctuary hall after services have begun, hmm…? With my two daughters all mussed up from fighting like animals?”

Leave it to mom to worry more about what things would look like if her perfect family showed even the slightest bit of imperfection while on display.

“She started it,” I accused my brat of a baby sister of instigating the fight.

“Nuh-uh!” Dana retorted. “She won’t let me use her old pocketbook. I asked real nice, mommy.”

I rolled my eyes. “So? It doesn’t matter if you asked nice, which you did not. I’m using it today. And you’re nine! What do you need a purse for anyway?”

Dana’s cheeks began to flush and her little palms squeezed themselves at her side. “I want to use the pocketbook! I won’t go to church without it!”

“What’s going on here?” Dad strolled into the room, still working on his tie.

Mom still held the purse hostage from both Dana and me.

“Nothing, dear. Just a little sisterly squabble.”

She handed the bag over to Dana who accepted it eagerly. My mouth dropped open and I could feel the pressure building inside me. Dana smiled while petting the bag as if to clear away any dust from the surface. She looked triumphant, knowing she’d won yet again.

“Let’s go, Dana, you’ve got your bag now.” Mom grabbed her little hand and walked past, between dad and me, leading my treacherous sibling down to the car.

I didn’t move. I was so angry that I didn’t trust myself not to start throwing things in my little room. It always happened like this! She’d always gotten her way. No matter what, mom always took her side and I was sick of it. I didn’t care if she was the baby… what about what I wanted for a change?

I felt years of emotion rising to the surface as that last reminder of my second-class rating was more than painful. I closed my eyes and felt my shoulders slump.

Dad’s hand reached out and pulled me close. “It’s alright, Charlie girl.”

I sniffled, “No, it’s not.”

He bent down, kneeling in front of me. He smiled, using his fingers to wipe away the dampness on my cheeks. “How about you and I take a special little trip to the store tomorrow after school, hmmm? It’s time you had another purse. A grown-up one. Not a little girl’s pocketbook.”

I lifted my eyes up in curiosity. “Really?”

I could hear my voice take on a new level of excitement. Mom didn’t take me shopping unless it was for both Dana and me, and my sister wound up with most of the purchases.

“Can we really?”

Dad nodded. “You betcha. Just you and me, kiddo.”

I felt my smile beaming. A shopping trip with just dad and me! And a new bag, too! I felt like the luckiest girl alive then. Who cared that Dana got a bigger Easter basket earlier that morning than I did? It didn’t matter anymore.

I noticed Dad’s tie was still crooked. “Mom’s gonna flip if she sees your tie like this.” I quickly worked to remedy the situation.

Mom and dad had been fighting more and more before that day. I hated when dad got in trouble with her, so if I could spare him a lecture from a crooked tie on Easter Sunday, then I would.

He laughed. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

I reached around and hugged his neck, squeezing tightly. My dad was the only one who knew how to make me feel better about the stupid stuff between mom or Dana.

He was the only person who would ever truly love me, and I was the luckiest girl alive to have him as my daddy.

~*~

NOW

“How about we watch that new vampire movie?” Dana called out from the kitchen.

I really do appreciate everything she’s been doing these last two days, but she’s beginning to get on my nerves. I know we’ve come a long way from where we were when we were kids, but I find myself dangerously close to snapping at her.

“Sis, I can’t watch another damn movie. I can’t watch anymore TV either. I’m about to lose my mind!” I let out my building frustrations.

Dana joins me, carrying a fresh glass of water and a bottle of pills in her hand. “Med time!”

Great. Dope me up some more and maybe I’ll get lucky enough to pass out again. At least when I’m sleeping, I don’t have to think about Clink. I can be numb to the heartache and pain for just a little while as the magic little pills cast their spell over my battered body and soul.

I hold my hand out, palm up, and gladly accept the little white tablets as my baby sister and temporary caregiver dispenses the potent pain relievers and antibiotics. I throw the handful of pills into my mouth and follow it with a chaser of water, washing them down.

Using the back of my hand, I wipe under my chin at the drop that’s escaped my lips. “Thanks, Dana.”

She smiles, glad to be helpful. It’s not often that we’re kind to one another. I hope she knows that I appreciate all of her attention the last couple of days. I might actually miss her when she goes home tomorrow. I never thought I’d think that about her.

“I’ll stop by the bookstore later and pick up some new things for you if you want to give the TV a rest. You can get caught up on that new series about Salem. You know, about the witches.”

I shift to get more comfortable within the cushions of the oversized sofa, pulling up the little knitted throw to cover my neck. I close my eyes and wait for sleep. She still speaks, though.

“And maybe the day after tomorrow we can take a ride to the beach, sit out and get some sun, maybe walk the shoreline. The doctors say you’ll be clear to get out and exercise a bit by then.”

Her words cause me to fling my tightly-shut eyes open in shock.

“I’m sorry?” I ask. “Won’t you be back home by then? I thought you were leaving tomorrow?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. I feel my pulse quicken at the horrific possibility her words imply.

“Dana…” I find my voice growing terse.

She clears her throat. “About that…”

Shit.

~*~

THEN

“He’s not coming,” Dana boasted from the living room window.

Mom and dad had pretty strict rules about not dating until we were 16, so Dana was living vicariously through me. Although, from the tone of her voice, I could tell she was rooting more for me being stood up than actually enjoying my first date.

“He’ll be here, honey. Don’t you worry about it,” dad reassured me from behind his newspaper as he read in his favorite old broken-in leather chair. “If he doesn’t, he’ll have me to answer to.”

I smiled, hiding my growing fear. What if Dana was right? What if he wasn’t coming? With each passing moment, my anxiety grew and so did Dana’s glee.

“Stand back from that window, dear. What will the neighbors think if they see you peeking through the drapes like a puppy? And your sister’s nervous enough.”

Mom brought dad a nightcap. He hadn’t been home for dinner in over a week, having just opened two new locations to his dry cleaning company. Mom had been pulling out all the stops to make that night as close to a Leave It To Beaver/ Donna Reed/ and Good Housekeeping moment all in one.

She had even invited Granny Griffiths over. And for my mother to invite her mother-in-law over… you knew she was desperate. The only person Granny Griffiths seemed to dislike more than mom just so happened to be me.

I guess all grandparents have their favorites, but Granny Griffiths didn’t even try to hide the fact that I was way down on the list of favorite grandchildren. In fact, I was at the bottom, off the page, holding it up so Dana’s name could be seen at the very top.

“Darling, come have some fruit salad with me,” Granny called to her little pet from the dining table, where mom had just set out dessert.

Dana finally abandoned her perch by the great bay window to go sit next to granny and appease her.

“Honestly, Regina. Do you think sixteen is even old enough to go on a date? I mean, I realize you may not be the best judge of those sorts of matters…” Granny helped herself to some coffee while Dana took a seat next to her, basking in the criticism of my social life.

Or lack thereof, if that boy stood me up.

“Mom, Charlie is old enough to be trusted to go on a date,” dad rose from his recliner, addressing his own mother’s judgment. He passed me on the way to the dining table, kissing the top of my head reassuringly. “She’s a responsible young lady who will make sure she acts in a way befitting the trust we’ve placed in her.”

My dad had a unique way of reminding me how much he trusted me while simultaneously implying that he’d be disappointed if I abused that trust. It’s a skill that’d gotten him far in life. He’d built a largely successful business with several dry cleaning stores. Every single employee was more than loyal to him and that doesn’t come easily.

Little did granny know, mom was indeed against my date that night. It was dad who put his foot down and advocated for me. It caused more than one argument between the two in the last few days.

The walls were thin in that house and my bedroom just so happened to be directly above theirs. I could hear the arguments between them over it and how mom thought that Dana should be brought along to chaperone. Seriously? How was a twelve-year-old girl going to chaperone a date… other than by being a nuisance and a spy who’d run back and tattle on the slightest bit of physical contact?

Dad was quick to refute it stating that keeping me under too tight of a thumb would only result in my rebelling like she had done. I had to laugh at that one… the thought of my mother rebelling at anything was nothing more than wishful thinking. The Regina Griffiths that I knew wouldn’t rebel against anything that would cause even the tiniest bit of public ridicule or embarrassment.

I tried to listen to more of their conversation but their voices became too hushed. What I wouldn’t have given to be a fly on the wall of their bedroom that night.

The doorbell chimed loudly breaking my train of thought and interrupting the runaway thoughts I had of my mother rebelling against the full prices at Barney’s department store or rebelling against the smudged nail polish in her pedicure.

Immediately, all forks dropped at the dining table as the desserts were quickly forgotten. Mom stood and straightened her skirt, turning quickly to smoothe her hair in the refection of the glass of the curio cabinet. Granny watched her daughter-in-law and rolled her eyes none too discreetly.

I felt my heart beat fast, then racing even faster still.

He’s here.

Dana was on her feet quicker than quick and had passed me before I had the reflexes to try to restrain her.

The young man standing on the porch with his finger ready to press down on the doorbell again was taken off guard at the door suddenly opening.

“I’m sorry. But, you’re late. Charlie’s not allowed to go anymore.” Dana was ready to slam the door just as quickly as she had opened it. Adam Sanders, the cute captain of the football team who had asked me out on my first date was stunned at her words.

“Dana!” I shrieked behind her, moving quickly to take her by her shoulders and pull her away from the entryway. “I’m so sorry Adam. She’s a pathological liar, don’t listen to a word she says.”

The teen heartthrob looked confused. “I—I’m sorry. I wanted to stop and gas up before I picked you up so we wouldn’t have to stop later….”

“Please, won’t you come in,” Mom had managed to take Dana’s place in inspecting my date.

NO.

The last thing I needed was for my crazy family scaring him off. I instantly looked back to where dad was behind me, silently begging him with my eyes to intervene.

He and mom had already spoken to Adam last week and embarrassed the ever-living shit out of me when the boy showed up on my doorstep to ask me out.

“Why don’t we let them get going, Regina? They’ve already lost a little bit of time tonight and Charlie knows her curfew isn’t going to change because of it. Let the kids go have some fun.”

Thank God for dad.

“It’s not fair!” Dana wailed from deep inside the house.

My blood ran cold at the sound of her words. I knew what was coming.

“What’s not fair, dear?” Granny could be heard consoling the little darling.

I swiftly lifted my denim jacket from the wooden coat rack near the front door and thought there was some small chance I’d be able to get out before Dana had succeeded.

“It’s not fair that Charlie gets to go out and I have to stay here! I want to go, too!”

The door was almost closed behind me before granny halted me with her words.

“Charlie? Why don’t you be a good big sister and bring Dana along with you? I’m sure she’d have a wonderful time.”

A lump formed in my throat. I’m sure she would have a “wonderful time” as granny put it… at my expense, that is. I felt my lips open to object, but was interrupted by my elder.

“Besides… I think it’s better for everyone, with all things considered, that you have a companion tonight.”

Adam must have felt like he was put on the spot, moving quickly to act gentlemanly. “Uhh… sure. That would be cool, I guess.”

He locked eyes with me and shrugged his shoulders apologetically. The last thing he would have wanted was to bring any unneccesary attention to his raging teenaged hormones by objecting to a chaperone, where one would then have to wonder at his intentions.

I couldn’t believe what was happening! First, the brat taunted and teased at the possibility the date wouldn’t even materialize. Then, when he does show and I’m almost in the clear, she has to throw a tempter tantrum and try to ruin it a different way.

“Great!” screamed Dana who somehow already had her light jacket ready and waiting on the staircase railing. Her crocodile tears were all but dried and gone by the time she’d joined Adam on the other side of the threshold.

She’d planned it, somehow, knowing that one last fit would somehow secure her place on my date after dad had forbade it earlier. With Granny there, serving as a captive audience to any and every complaint, Dana knew she’d be given her way.

I swear, sometimes I hate her.

~*~

“How was your date?” Mom was folding a heaping basket of fluffy towels while sitting on the sofa.

I was sure that dad had already gone to bed, with it having been after ten o’clock.

“Great!” Dana answered, throwing her jacket into a heap on the nearby chair. “Adam bought us ice cream and we played mini golf. I think we’ll do it again sometime!”

She stomped up the stairs with no regard to our sleeping father in the nearby room. I turned to my mom, eyebrows raised, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It was great! Who doesn’t dream about bringing their little sister along on their first date? How can I ever thank you?”

Mom placed the neat square of creased bath linen down onto the pile. “Don’t be rude, Charlie.”

“Rude?” I spat. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I mean, that would be so inappropriate. Let me just roll over and have everyone walk all over me so I don’t risk the chance of being rude!”

Mom’s face hardened. “Your father is sleeping!”

My eyes widened. She was worried about my voice waking him? When Dana had just pounded on the stairs like a damn elephant? I was getting more and more angry then.

“How could you? Why can’t you ever take my side? Just once?” I called out as I gave up on the conversation, and left in a huff to my own bedroom where I’d be able to take out my frustrations by punching my pillow in peace.

I refrained from slamming my door only to spare my dad the abrupt awakening. It didn’t take long before the knock came.

“Leave me alone,” I barked out to the wooden barrier.

With no lock on the handle, mom entered anyway.

“Charlie. Please don’t speak to me that way. I’m still your mother. While you’re under my roof, you will speak to me with respect.”

I worked feverishly at attacking my eye makeup with the tiny pre-moistened circular pads in the mirror of my vanity.

“Don’t worry, mom. I’m counting down. The day I graduate, I’m outta here.” One last swipe at the black goo on my lashes, and the pad is tossed into the small trashcan nearby.

My mother sat on the edge of my bed, shocked.

“You don’t mean it. Why would you say something so cruel? After everything we’ve done for you… everything we’ve given you… why would you say that?”

I turned in my seat to face her. “Because it’s true. You treat me like a prisoner around here, mom. I’m always guilty in your eyes. It’s bad enough that everyone else treats me differently… but you? Why do you always treat me like I’m a burden?”

She looked shocked. “What do you mean?”

I threw my hands up in the air in defeat. “Oh, come on! Every holiday, every family party… you don’t think I notice the looks? The whispers? I’m treated like an outcast mom. And you know who’s the ringleader?”

I could tell by the look in her eyes that she didn’t know.

“You, mom. It hurts the worst when you look at me like that. When you talk to me like that. When you don’t stick up for me when other people do it. It’s like you’re condoning it or something.”

I could see her eyes reddening, softening as they fill with unshed tears. “I—it’s not true. Nanny and Poppy never treat you like that.”

“I’m not talking about your parents, mom. I’m talking about daddy’s. Like tonight. Granny Griffiths… those things she said. The way she looked at me and scrutinized everything about me. Why—why do you let her do it?” I asked.

It was true. Her parents, my nanny and poppy (who I was even named after) would never have treated me so badly. But dad’s family? They barely tolerated me. And it was even more noticeable compared to how they doted on Dana.

“Oh, Charlie! I had no idea you felt this way,” she claimed. It was hard for me to judge the sincerity of her words. “I—it’s just that I want so much more for you, sweetheart. I want better for you. I want you to have everything you want in life. And I know how easy it is for young girls to get sidetracked. You deserve more than that, Charlie. If I’m too hard on you sometimes, that’s why.”

“Oh yeah? And I suppose that’s Granny’s intention, too? Tough love?” I challenged bitterly.

Mom scrunched up her face in uncertainty. “Nah. She’s just a bitch.”

I gasped at the very first curse word I’ve ever heard my mother say in my presence. And then, for the first time in a very long time, we laughed together. Hard, long, and hysterically, we laughed and bonded together over a shared hatred of the old lady.

CHAPTER TWO

NOW

“Wake up, sleepyhead!”

That voice is truly and utterly annoying.

“You can’t sleep all day, Charlie.”

See… that’s where she’s wrong. I can sleep all day… and I plan on proving it.

“Just give me a few more of the magic pills and shut off the light Dana,” I instruct my sister on how she’s going to help me sleep all day.

I hear the echoes thud as she places a glass down on the nearby coffee table. Next, the jingling of the pill container as she pours the prescribed amount. I hold my hand out blindly and make a mental note of each of the tiny little weights that fall into my palm.

One.

Two….

I hold my hand out further but nothing else is added. I turn over, carefully, so as not to drop the medicine that’s already in my hand.

“What gives? I should get two more,” I inform her of the mental calculations I’ve done as I tallied the missing meds.

Dana grabs the water glass and shoves it toward me, signaling to drink. “Nope. Just the antibiotics from now on. No more pain meds.”

I swallow the medicine. “You sure? I think there should be a few more days worth?”

She shakes her head. “Outta luck, darlin’. ”

Huh. That went fast. There must be a mistake. I’ll have to give a call into Dr. Matthew’s office and straighten it out.

“And let’s get you in the shower. You’ve got visitors coming over.” Her words hit like cannonballs.

“No… I don’t,” I counter.

She smiles. “Yes. You. Do. Now get in the shower. You kinda stink.”

“I don’t stink. And I don’t want any visitors.”

I turn over and pull the throw back over my shoulders, fully prepared to find some sleep even without the help of the missing pills.

The slow warmth that builds under the small blanket is stolen from me as Dana whips the afghan from my body.

“It’s been three days, Charlie! I can only put them off for so long. They call every single day and they won’t take no for an answer anymore.”

I listen to her tale of how she was strong-armed into accepting company. I don’t believe it, though.

She takes my hand in hers and pulls gently. I did just have a moderately invasive procedure, after all, and I’m sure that’s the only reason she’s not pulling harder.

“Let’s go, sis. Or I’ll bring in the hose and soak you down right here.”

Ugh. “Fine! I’m up, I’m up. Get off my back.”

I move past her, back through the hallway and into the large bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I take a look in the mirror over the sink and am shocked at what I see. I’ve done everything possible to avoid any glimpse of myself since I’d gotten home from the hospital a few days ago.

My skin is ashy, sallow. The circles under my eyes are dark and puffy, signaling exhaustion, yet I’ve done nothing but sleep for days. How is that possible?

The rat’s nest of light brown hair piled on my head is stringy and dry, in deep need of a conditioning treatment. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, letting it all sink in.

I look as bad as I feel.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

The shower is set to hot, and I let it run as I take to undressing from my stretch pants and t-shirt.

I recoil a little as I pull the fitted baby doll tee over my head. Agh! It does stink! I throw it into the laundry bin and remind myself to wash that load twice. Now naked, I turn, contorting my body to look over my shoulder into the full-length mirror behind the door, analyzing the damage.

There’s a small bandage on my lower back that I peel off carefully, revealing the two reddened marks where the surgical instruments were inserted into my spine, withdrawing the precious fluid inside.

It’s not terrible. I’d seen worse almost daily as an E.R. nurse. Yet, I know I’ll be left with two puncture scars… a permanent reminder of the donation, the sacrifice that spearheaded the downward spiral of my love life.

It was that surgery, that procedure, that essentially sold me out, revealing my secrets to everyone I’d been hiding them from. The true parentage and genetics that linked me to Vince and the rest of the Kingsmen MC was revealed.

For some, like Lil’s, Jay, and surprisingly Jean… it was a welcome surprise. To others, the ones who mattered the most to me, Clink and Brendan, it was the end.

I close my eyes tight and step into the shower, begging myself to quickly move on from thinking of him. I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to remember him, his strong, manly build that would wrap itself around me. The rich tones of his scent that would intoxicate me and blind me.

The wicked tattoos that covered the majority of his body and hypnotized me as I studied them. Each bulging muscle that would call to me, beg to be touched, licked, grabbed….

Why am I doing this to myself?!

I rest my head against the cool tile and feel the water cascade over my skin. I hear the echoing within the shower stall as I gulp deeply, sobbing. The tears sting somehow, burning my eyes as they take over.

I need him. I always told myself that I was strong enough not to need anyone, but I need him right now... and he’s gone.

My chest heaves, shuddering as I let out the pent up emotions that have been stored down deep these last few days, feelings that I’ve been able to avoid by sleeping away my time.

It hurts. Almost as much as I imagine the scalpel hurt as it sliced into my skin, revealing the access to my spine. I was lucky enough to be under anesthesia then. I need something now to numb myself from this, too.

I gather myself enough to begin to wash and scrub at my skin, cleansing myself. My skin is screaming, aching for his touch, knowing that I’ll never feel it again.

I close my eyes and remember the last time his hands were on my body. It was the night before the procedure. I was his woman then, his Ol’ Lady. I was his and he was mine, and our bodies were as much the other’s as our own. Each crevice of every part of me fit into him like a puzzle, locking into place and sealing me to him.

The patches he gave me, the ones that once covered my back… I never wanted them. And now, I feel naked without them.

I clear my mind and think of the patches, the leather of the cut that bore them, imagining it covering my back, my flesh. I felt safe, protected, wanted while I wore them. And now… now I feel none of those things.

If I can’t feel those things, then I don’t want to feel anything.

~*~

“You’re baking cupcakes?”

My eyes widen as I follow the delicious smells coming from the oven of my cramped kitchen. Dana’s busy whipping a metal wire cooking utensil that I’m pretty sure had only served as decoration before, into a large blue bowl of white stuff.

“You didn’t have much in your cabinets. I found some cake mix and thought I should make something so we can at least offer something. I would step out to the store and pick something up, but I didn’t want to leave you here alone.”

Dana whips furiously, determined to get the sugary stuff in the bowl to yield to her command.

I roll my eyes at this domestic Dana in front of me.

“Dana… these are bikers. Pretty sure all they need is beer. Do we have beer?”

Her eyes widen. “Shit! I didn’t think about that! You—you have a few bottles in the back of your fridge. They don’t look all that new though.”

That’s an understatement. They’re probably a few months old. I hadn’t exactly been around enough to clean out the fridge back then. I was too busy playing house with Clink. A whole lotta good that did me.

A little while later, the small electric timer on the range beeps, alerting Dana that the cupcakes are done baking. The heavy metal sounds rattle as the tray is freed from the scorching tomb and placed on the countertop to cool.

Each perfectly rounded chocolatey mound steaming its mocha goodness throughout the room is almost cookbook worthy in its perfection. Of course it is. Dana’s a Grade-A baker, taught by none other than Regina Griffiths herself. They were a famous mother-daughter baking duo back home.

Not a single occasion, church bake sale, school fundraiser, or sometimes just a random weeknight went by without them being solicited to participate by baking one of their claims to fame. I’m pretty damn sure nothing came out of a box back then and I’m positive mom would drop down and faint if she knew Dana had given in to Betty Crocker’s fudge cupcake mix today.

Any normal person walking in on this would salivate and jump on the delicousness being prepared in front of me. My stomach does churn, though… just not in the way you’d think.

~*~

THEN

Dad slowly took the seat next to me.

“They’re at it again, huh?” he asked.

I turned to him, raised my eyebrows and nodded slowly, confirming. He exhaled deeply and we sat in mutual disappointment.

“Hey, hon?” he asked loudly, making sure his voice carried into the busy kitchen on the other side of the dining table. “Not sure if there’s a whole lot of time for you to be doing this right now. You and Charlie should be leaving soon.”

A loud crash rang out as a heavy bowl was dropped into the sink. “There’s plenty of time. I’ve got to get these peanut bars made for Dana’s recital tomorrow.”

Her words had hit hard. Of course she had to make peanut bars for Dana’s show tomorrow. That was a very important occasion, right? Much, much more important than shopping for a prom dress like we had planned to do that afternoon.

Dad clenched his jaw and dropped his head in disappointment when mom let out, “I’ll be done in an hour or so. Maybe two, if I can get the coconut cookies started.”

It was a Sunday. About three weeks before the senior dance that would mark a milestone in my life, and I still hadn’t found a dress. Every gown I had picked out with my friends had been vetoed by my over-conservative mother on the grounds that it was either too slutty (she did actually use that word), the “wrong” color for my skin tone, or made my size 6 hips look “wide”.

Nothing I had picked on my own was good enough to meet her approval, and I had been forced to return each dress purchased. Mom had promised that we’d be able to shop and find a dress in time, even though the longer we waited, the limited supply of prom dresses in our town dwindled.

Mom had bought some poofy, pink satin and lace Disney-princess styled dress from her favorite department store months ago for me, convinced it was the perfect prom dress. The cotton-candy colored mess had left me speechless and pissed. I had refused to wear it, and I had suspected that mom’s lackadaisical attitude toward shopping for another one was some passive-aggressive tactic of hers to force me to submit and agree to wear the dress she had chosen without me.

I bit my lip and tapped relentlessly on the shiny dining room table, frustrated that my mom was putting this off once again.

Dad sat back against the rigid back of the heavy wooden chair, disheartened. He looked at me.

“Grab your things. Let’s go.”

His words confused me. “Go where?” I voiced.

He took a deep breath. “Shopping. I’m taking you shopping and we’re going to find you a prom dress.”

It took only a few moments for me to gather my little baby-doll backpack and the wallet that housed my new driver’s license just in case dad would be gracious enough to let me do the driving.

Mom and Dana were too busy with their pans and ingredients, laughing up a storm while bonding over some traditional feminine dessert-making pastime to even notice that dad and I had jumped ship to hit the mall.

The last thing I remembered as I closed the front door behind me was the wafting smell of their culinary treats that I swore I would never eat again.

~*~

NOW

The front door is knocked upon again. I know Dana hears it. She knows I hear it. We’re having a battle of wills to see who will answer it.

She invited them… I think she should be the one to let them in. If it were up to me, I’d shut the lights off, and hide in the bedroom until they came to the conclusion that no one was home and left.

With the next knock, Dana finally gives up on me and turns into the instant hostess that mom would be proud to call her own. There is a masked awkwardness to the voices I hear. How could there not be? This situation is fucked up in more ways than one.

The first official visit to the bastard daughter of the man they all hold in such high regard. A man they refuse to believe could do the things I’ve been told he had.

The fact that I’d infiltrated them under false pretenses and tricked them all into the relationships we’d formed seems to not matter anymore… not since I’d saved that very same man from being taken from them.

“Hi, Dana,” a familiar voice greets my sister as she welcomes them. This voice is perhaps the most surprising of all that could cross my threshold today. “Thanks so much for arranging this.”

Jean’s words are full of sincerity.

Curiosity gets the best of me and I stand to face the wife of the man I had come here to seek retribution against only to save his life months later. Her casually-tight jeans and black top with perfectly blown-out hair and makeup are her signature style, and more than a stark contrast to my own mother’s usual dress although they are close in age.

“Hiya, darlin’ ” she reaches for me and carefully hugs me close. I submit, but don’t exactly return the embrace. This doesn’t seem to bother her much as she holds me close.

Her hands are careful to avoid my back and she’s more than considerate with the amount of pressure as she squeezes me one last time before releasing me.

“How ya feeling, Charlie?” she asks.

I force a smile. Thankfully I don’t have any time to answer this loaded question, as Lil’s is next to take hold of me.

“She’s fine,” Lil’s answers for me. “She’s a tough cookie. It’s in her blood. She looks like shit right now, but… she’ll be fine.”

Leave it to Lil’s to put it bluntly.

Once my de facto best friend/sister-in-law is through with me the room falls silent. All eyes switch back and forth between me and the man before me.

My brother.

We stare at each other. His eyes are hard to read, just as I’ve been told over the years about my own eyes.

I see his shoulder twitch as his body begins some sort of forward momentum and then stops short. I feel my own body beg to move in some way but fight against it to hold still.

I can see Jean and Lil’s step back out of my periphery. Jay looks like his dad here, tall and broad like Vince. But the eyes… the eyes aren’t hardened like Vince’s yet.

He clears his throat. “We’ve tried to see you for the last couple of days.”

I shove my hands into my pocket like a nervous child. “I know. I—I just needed some time.”

I can see him swallow hard. Men like this… they don’t show emotion easily. The big bad tough biker. He may not be in his element with his club around, but old habits die hard, I guess.

He nods. “Did you have enough time?”

Truthfully? No. But what good will it do to admit it?

I shrug my shoulders. “Guess so,” I answer him.

He inhales. I see his shoulders relax a bit. “Good.”

He pulls me in, wrapping his arms around me. I’m taken off guard, but his demeanor and confidence in his action calms me. His grip is tight. I instinctually wrap my arms around his waist and return the hug.

“You kids are gonna make me ruin my makeup,” Jean proclaims.

Jay releases me, embarrassed at the attention our sibling reunion is causing. There’s not a dry eye in the place as I abashedly take stock of our audience. Jean and Lil’s are dabbing at their moist eyes with Kleenex, with the hand-held baby carrier placed between them, a thin pink blanket draped over the frame. Dana is stoically standing back from the three of us, letting us have our moment.

The front door opens once more, with T.J. carrying sacks overflowing with groceries and items. T.J.’s always been one of my favorite Kingsmen, combining a touch of boyish innocence with his toughness.

Dana quickly moves to help him.

“Let me take something.” She tries to get a handle on one of the paper bags before it’s dropped.

T.J. lifts himself up, the bags held a bit more securely. “Nah, I’ve got it. Just show me where I can put them, darlin’ ”

She quickly moves aside showing him the entrance to the kitchen. “Here, I’ll help you unpack.”

The two of them disappear into the depths of the tiny alley kitchen.

“You guy’s didn’t need to do that,” I address the abundance of supplies being delivered.

Jay smiles, walks past me, kisses Lil’s on the cheek as he approaches her, and reaches down to swipe the pastel blanket aside, exposing the greatest of all his joys.

Baby Charlize, recently sleeping, stirs from her rest. She coos and stretches her tiny mitten-covered fingers as her daddy reaches in to take her securely in his hands.

When he lifts her, it’s strikingly obvious how tiny she is compared to his imposing size.

“It’s the least we could do. You’re family. We take care of our own. Until you’re 100% and back on your feet, you only have to ask and we’ll take care of whatever you need.”

He walks forward with his baby girl protectively held in his arms.

“And I’ll be leaving T.J. to watch over you and Dana.”

I swallow hard and protest. “That’s not necessary. I don’t need a babysitter, Jay.”

The daughter in his arms causes him to crack a smile. “No, you don’t need a babysitter… but you’ll have protection.”

I begin to object once more.

His eyes meet mine, assessing me.

“I’m going back to work in a couple of days and Dana’s leaving to go back home soon, so there’s really no point—“

“He stays,” Jay rules. To soften the blow, he hands over the baby. “Spend some time with your goddaughter before we leave. We’re picking Pop up from the hospital later, he’s being released.”

The very last thing I want to be talking about at this point—hell, at any point- is Vince, so I quickly and obviously change the topic.

“How’s Brendan?” I ask aloud to all of them, hoping to get some bit of information of the little boy I have not seen in days.

Jean and Lil’s share a look of discomfort. I’m putting them on the spot, I know… but I have no shame in needing to know about the child I’ve come to care for. Every time I see a commercial with a little boy his age, a small piece of me dies. The unlucky morning I happened to flip channels past the Ninja Turtles cartoon hit me like a punch in the gut.

“He’ll be back soon,” my new brother reassures me. “I’m working on it.”

I turn my attentions to the little girl in my arms. Her long lustrous lashes fluttering and her plump rosy cheeks with tiny little lips that smile as she coos. She’s perfect, just like the first time I saw her in the hospital… but it’s too much, too overwhelming right now as all I can seem to do is have my thoughts wander to the people who aren’t here.

I hand her back to Jay as Lil’s is still healing from her c-section, but I make sure to give her ivory little forehead a kiss first.

“I’m kinda getting tired,” I try to mask my heartache.

“Sure thing, Charlie. We’ll let you rest. Baby steps, you know. Give me a call later, OK?” Lil’s holds me at the shoulders, studying me. “Get some rest and we’ll get out of your hair.”

The baby is securely swaddled and wrapped up into the buckles of her carrier, with Jean holding tight to the handle.

“T.J.! Grab the rest of the things from the truck,” Jay calls out into the kitchen where the rookie club member and my sister haven’t been seen or heard from in quite a few minutes.

Lil’s leads the charge outside, with Jean following. T.J. joins us, carrying a half-eaten cupcake in his hand, and a shit-eating grin on his face. Apparently, according to Jay’s instructions, there’s more than just what came in the paper sacks earlier, and he and T.J. are going to go fetch it all.

The brown-haired younger man turns at the front door to lock eyes with my baby sister across the room. “See ya in a few, cupcake.”

My stomach drops as I witness the blushing of her cheeks and the grin on his face during their little exchange. The men leave and I address my sister for the first time in a little while.

“FUCK. NO.”

CHAPTER THREE

I rummage around in my handbag for my keys. “I’m running to the pharmacy. I’ll be back.”

“Didn’t you just send T.J. to the pharmacy?” Dana asks.

I laugh to myself. “That was to get him out of the house. I’m not stupid enough to leave you alone with a hot guy in my house while I’m not here.”

Dana scoffs at my explanation. “What? You’re the only one who can have a biker all to herself?”

I toss the leather strap of my bag over my shoulder and slip my sunglasses over my ears. “Do you see where that’s gotten me?”

“You, are a cockblock, Charlie.” She’s getting spiteful.

I bite my lip so as to not fall into old habits and start a shouting match with her. “I’m doing you a favor, Dana. Trust me. You should probably start packing.”

I leave her behind, no doubt fuming at my intervening in her possible crush. If only she were mature enough to realize that I’m looking to spare her the same heartache that claimed me.

The sooner and further I get her away from Chisolm, the Kingsmen, and T.J., the better.

~*~

This is most definitely not the pharmacy. The small house before me is anything but where I had planned to drive. Yet, somehow, as if the car was on autopilot of some kind, set to some previous “home” destination I’ve subconsciously navigated to, I’m here.

My car is the only one parked in the drive, with the house sitting vacant before me. The large black Escalade that used to sit where I’m parked now hasn’t been here in days. I hadn’t seen that first hand, due to my recuperation, but I just knew it in my gut.

They’re gone.

The once promising home and family that offered me things I had never thought I’d need were mine… if only for a short while. And then, they were suddenly missing.

My thoughts run over the last moments of that family life again and again. The last night spent in his bed, knowing that his body would most likely never be mine again. The last morning, forcing myself to say goodbye to a sleeping Brendan as if it were a normal morning, yet knowing in my gut that the small boy would feel abandoned once again when I was no longer a part of his life.

I think his trauma, the pain his own mother had inflicted on him, was one of the reasons why I feel so protective of him. I had felt that pain in my own life and wanted to do anything to spare Brendan. The twists in life had other plans, though.

I may have harmed him the most out of all them, and it kills me.

He finally felt safe, he finally felt the unconditional love from a mom he deserved. And then it was lost, a casualty to my stupid, stupid, life choices.

The grumbling motor revving in the distance breaks through my thoughts like a bullet. Those sounds had become such a central part of my life that I’d know them anywhere. The absence of those sounds over the last handful of days left a void, and the sudden presence of the large black bike with custom chrome behind me is a welcome distraction for me… it takes me from the gut-wrenching memories the house has brought to life.

I watch the rider in the rearview mirror as he dismounts, his eyes set on my car. Each bike has its own distinct sound, like a fingerprint or a voice, and I surprised myself by knowing this one by ear.

Blue, one of the Kingsmen brothers, removes his helmet while walking up alongside my Jeep. I’m not sure why he’s here, and I’m pretty damn sure he has no idea why I’m here.

We eye each other.

“Hey, Charlie….” I can tell he’s curiously surprised.

I can hear him fine through my opened window, but begin to gather my bag to join him outside the car.

“Hi, Blue. Fancy meeting you here.”

He steps back to let the car door swing open. “I’m just dropping off some things.”

I feel the need to explain my presence here, where it definitely shouldn’t be.

He nods. “No sweat. I’m just checking on the place for Clink.”

The sound of his name cuts deep. It’s the first time anyone’s spoken it aloud since… well since everything happened. I do my best to hide the reaction that name provokes.

The paper bag in my hand crinkles loudly as I shift. Ever the gentleman, Blue closes the door behind me.

“You got your key?” he asks.

I absentmindedly reach for the cluster of metal trinkets in my pocket. “Yeah. But… I don’t know if it’ll still work.”

We make our way up the path as we speak.

“Charlie… he didn’t change the locks on you. He’s a dick, sure. In fact, he’s acting like a damn bitch with all this, but… he ain’t gonna do something cold like that.” I listen to Blue recap his brother’s behavior.

I feel a surge of anger soar up in my body. “Oh? Leaving me in a hospital I.C.U. wasn’t cold, right?”

Blue holds up his hands. “Not gonna get mixed up in shit between a brother and his Ol’ Lady, Charlie.”

I squint my eyes harshly at the tall biker. “I’m not his Ol’ Lady anymore, Blue. He made that perfectly clear.”

I slip the key into the lock and close my eyes while I prepare myself for the handle not to budge, for the lock to in fact have been changed. To my surprise, the handle moves, opening the entrance to the home.

“I’ll leave you to do your thing, girl. Just lock up and bring in the mail for me? No one will be back this way for another day or so.”

I step inside awkwardly. “Sure, Blue.”

He slides his shades back in place and signals a mock salute to me before departing, leaving me alone.

It’s like a time capsule in here, a frozen picture of when things were perfect. But, I know they aren’t anymore.

As I place my things on the kitchen counter, an image flashes in my mind of Clink bending me over that same counter to where my fingers were clammering and gripping at the edge for dear life as he pounded me relentlessly while I screamed his name in ecstasy.

I shake my head hard to rid myself of the thoughts, but I’m not fast enough. Just the mere memory of that encounter has my body reeling in a conflicted web of emotion. I hate him on one hand, while I crave him on the other. I turn from the counter as if that will somehow leave the memory in its place.

Next, I move along to the living room where the extensive set-up of electronics is displayed. I rest my hand on the back of the tall, leather man’s chair and instantly, I flashback to Clink sitting in this chair with his legs spread as I sat between them, kneeling on the floor, dragging his attention from the large screen on the wall with my teasing tongue, until I was the center of his focus and the football game forgotten.

I close my eyes and curse myself for revisiting the night that introduced me to the surefire way to steal my man’s attention… let’s just say it involved my mouth, an ice cube, and the eleven inches of his body that succumbed to my command.

The hallway is darkened, with only the sunlight from either end offering light. I trace my fingers along the flattened walls and remember being hoisted up against them, his body filling me and pushing higher and higher as I held on, scratching my marks deep into his back as he delivered intense orgasm after orgasm, never tiring as his strong muscles supported us both for what must have been an hour or more.

I picture the imaginary trail of clothes left behind as if they are actually still there, ripped into shreds as he impatiently tore them from my body.

I step over each of those ghosts as I make my way further down, past all of the closed doors to the one at the end. The one that he savagely kicked down during one of our blowout fights.

It was stupid. I don’t even remember what we had fought about. Sometimes, I think we egged each other on, to fight about something inconsequential just to get to the making up. And that night, boy did we make up. Over and over until we were both apologizing for pissing the other off.

Well, that might be a stretch. Clink had a way of apologizing without ever having to admit fault. I guess it was the stubborn, macho, caveman in him that taught him how to be able to do that over the years.

The door was fixed the next day, but I couldn’t help but think of that raw masculinity he had oozed while kicking it in after I had locked him out every single time I passed through the doorframe. I won’t lie. Each time I walked through it, I tingled down where he staked ownership.

He knew it, too. He would just follow me into the bedroom and find me well lubed and ready for him to take me without any foreplay or even a dirty word. The door was enough of a turn-on in its own right.

The bed is made, the carpet recently vacuumed. It’s clear that the prospects are watching over the place while Clink’s out of town. There were years where those prospects were the main caregivers of this place while Clink had written it off and essentially left it to rot after his ex had taken off with baby Brendan.

I’ll never forget the first night he brought me here, shared this place with me. I was scared as hell. He might have been, too, but he never let on. That first night came out of nowhere, and it marked the turning point for us.

That was the first night, the beginning, and I hadn’t spent more than a single night back at my own place… that was until after I was released from the hospital. I didn’t even think to come back here after that, it just simply wasn’t an option in my mind.

I knew he wouldn’t be here. I knew he would have taken Brendan with him, and without the two of them, this place is nothing more than a tomb of painful memories.

The bed is what begs my attention next. I find myself walking against my better judgment toward it. I collapse into it and crawl up in a ball, hugging my knees close, a small twinge of pain radiating from the incision in my back from the movement. I wince, but accept the pain as some sort of cosmic punishment for all my sins.

The tears begin to pool, and then explode like a dam being burst into the pillow as I sob so hard the shaking ripples violently through my body until I’ve spent every tear I have.

~*~

I feel his hand snake up under my shirt, warm, hot even, harshly pushing aside the fabric of my top. His roughened skin is powerfully moving, splayed out over my flattened belly and kneading its way upward.

It doesn’t take long for his fingertips to find the peaked tips of my breasts, rolling them between the long extensions of his hand. I moan, stirring from the sleep he’s torn me from.

“How was the run?” I ask sleepily through the dark as his lips find the skin of my shoulder, his teeth latching onto the thin strap of my tank top, pulling the string-like apparatus down.

“Long,” he answers in a single syllable, his lips quickly returning to the flesh he craves. He’s been gone for three days, leaving me alone here in his home although he reprimands me whenever I refer to it as that.

The last time I called it “his home” he pulled me across his knee and spanked my bare ass until I gave in and admitted it was my home now, too, before rewarding me with his finger, deep inside, preparing me for where his dick would soon settle.

I roll over, my breast bouncing free from the thin, poor excuse of a tank top. “Welcome home, baby.”

His lips take mine, deep, demanding, making up for the lost nights while he was gone.

“Miss me?” he asks.

He doesn’t give me an opportunity to answer, though, as my mouth is taken in his. His hands snake down to my hips, gripping and pulling hard to move me down under him, his body settling in between my knees, spreading them to fit perfectly on either side of him.

He’s naked, wearing nothing but his tats as I feel every inch of his bare skin on mine, rubbing furiously against each other like feral animals in heat. My hands grip around his muscles, urging him on, as his body reacquaints itself with mine.

I push the covers aside and away from us, our bodies heating up the space, causing tiny beads of sweat to break out on my brow, matching the moisture that builds on his back, slipping under my hands as they stroke the indent of his spine.

I find myself growing anxious, needing his body as much as I need the air I breath. The pent-up frustrations over the last few days are escaping, adding fervor to my movements. I bite his tongue with just enough pressure for him to understand the need I feel.

“Oh yeah?” he asks. “It’s gonna be like that, hmmm?”

His hands disappear down between my thighs, pushing the tiny strip of fabric covering my opening aside, and his body thrusts inside harshly. I squeal in delight, clapping my hands down to the flesh of his ass clenching tightly as he buries himself.

He pauses just long enough for us to both take in the moment, that second where you get what you’ve been wanting, been lusting for while apart. He doesn’t linger long, gathering himself for the hard work he executes so perfectly. The headboard bangs loudly against the wall behind us, marking each thrust with a loud bang that adds to the excitement.

His powerful shoulders flex above me, supporting his weight as I lie underneath, vulnerable to his size. His hands snake into my hair holding my head where he wants it, while his kisses bore deeply.

“Yes!” I call out loudly as he’s gotten me close enough, to almost touch the prize.

My words prove to have power over him, causing his actions to double in intensity, knowing that he’s about to give me what only he can. And I take it, I take every inch, every thrust, every ounce of his body that he gives and let it work its magic over me.

I quickly place my knuckle between my teeth, using it to stifle my screams as he throws me over the edge, exploding around him.

He takes my hand in his, weaving our fingers into each other’s and away from my mouth.

“I want to hear you, baby. I want the whole fucking world to hear you. To hear how your man takes care of business when he gets home.”

And I’m damn sure the whole fucking world heard me.

~*~

I waken harshly, jetting upright while panting furiously.

It was a dream. A fucking dream, no more real than the title he had once given me.

I feel sick to my stomach at the first moment of peace I’ve felt in days, only to know that it was no more than the wishful thinking of my subconscious. And, it worked, too.

The skin on my arms prickle in gooseflesh as it felt his imaginary touch. The crotch of my panties soaked from his imaginary body having his way with me. But what hurts the most? My heart. Because for one split second, it felt the love I’m certain it will never feel again.

Disgusted with myself, I quickly leave our old bed, his bed behind and close the bedroom door, sealing those memories inside where I pray they’ll rest in peace and no longer haunt me.

I almost run past the closed door to my left. Brendan’s room. I can’t even bring myself to open it, to look about at the small boy’s things. It will wreck me. I’m smart enough to know that if I enter that room, I won’t be able to leave of my own volition.

Dashing into the kitchen where I had placed my things earlier, I rummage around in my purse for my key ring and clumsily work the key fob detaching the metal key Clink had given me.

Once it’s free from my collection, I place it in the middle of the table, with the hollow thudding of the steel ringing through me, signaling some type of finality to all this.

The one other possession I have that, for my own sanity, must not leave this place with me… is the leather cut with his patch on it.

It was mine for such a short while, and truth be told, I never thought I’d grow attached to what I had initially seen as a title of degrading oppression.

PROPERTY OF….

I’ve always been fiercely independent. The thought of being someone’s property, was not something someone like me could tolerate. That’s what I thought… but then I grew to understand the meaning of the words. In his world, that was the strongest of a declaration that a man could make to a woman.

It was his word. And now, his word was as good as shit with his taking off and abandoning me. A sudden rage takes hold of me and I blindly reach into the butcher block for the shears, using them to cut my way through the vest, almost exactly in half, from seam to seam, breaking the patches in two.

There. Now it’s truly fitting.

Broken.

Just like his words, his promises.

Broken.

Just like me.

Grabbing my bag, I escape the house and all that was once precious to me, pulling the locked door handle behind me, the remnants of the leather cut left on the table.

My car is my only refuge right now. I seal myself inside and start the engine, eager to leave this place and never return. Before I place my bag on the passenger seat, I find the one thing I know will help numb the pain.

I twist off the cap and pour two of the little magic pills into my palm, before swallowing them dry. Looking into the hollow orange plastic cave that was once full, I tell myself that I need to get more.

CHAPTER FOUR

CLINK

“More turtles, daddy! More turtles!”

I laugh to myself as I adjust the steering wheel in one hand while sifting through the loose DVD’s in the center console to find one that he hasn’t watched a bazillion fucking times already. I’m careful as I switch out the movies inside the dash, pushing the buttons to begin another couple hours of entertainment for my boy.

He has his little earphones on listening to the cartoons, allowing me peace and quiet. Normally, I think any parent would welcome that. But… on this trip it’s gotta be the worst thing for me. All it does is leave me alone with the thoughts in my head. Thoughts I try like hell to avoid, but, I just can’t help but punish myself.

Nothing helps.

I know if I were on my bike, it would be different. The wind whipping in my face, the loud noise of the road, I’d be able to think of anything except her. Anything except Sugar.

I haven’t seen her in days, having left the very night after I confronted her in the hospital recovery room. But that doesn’t make her any less real to me. The conversations I have in my head are almost as if she were sitting right here next to me, answering for her crimes.

It’s all my fucking fault.

I knew there was something up with her from the moment I laid eyes on her. She was carrying some heavy shit on those shoulders. I could see it in her eyes. All the little clues I convinced myself to overlook… Jay catching her snooping at the clubhouse, lying about where she came from, her ma, Dana… I should have known better.

I didn’t want to, though. It’s as plain and simple as that.

I didn’t want her to be anything other than what I had convinced myself she was… my Sugar.

I could have saved us both, not to mention everybody else involved, especially my boy, a whole lot of fucking heartbreak if I had just looked further into it. Who knows? If I had found out the truth early on, maybe it would have been something I could have gotten over.

Fucking with the Prez’s daughter isn’t something you just jump into, but it could have worked, she would have been worth it. But, finding out at this late stage in the game?

She made a fool of me. She weaseled her way into my home, my life, my heart, only to carry out some sick fucking twisted part of her plan.

I play devil’s advocate with myself and argue that it can’t be true.

If she were simply here to use me and destroy her pop, then she never would have done some of the things she did. She wouldn’t have risked her nursing license to help Lil’s when Jay was in deep shit, not for a brother she barely knew and probably hated.

She wouldn’t have donated her marrow to Vince to save his life.

And she wouldn’t have taken to my boy like she did.

It just… it doesn’t fit.

On the one hand she’s an evil, self-serving, conniving, lying bitch… but on the other, she’s a fucking saint.

Women are fucking crazy. And she’s making me crazy right along with her.

~*~

THEN

“You understand what I’m telling you, son?”

Looking back now, I know I didn’t understand the full weight of his words, but back then, I thought I did.

“How long will you be away for?” I ask my pop.

My dad was the strongest, bravest guy I knew. If he was asking me to step up and be the man around the house while he was gone, I knew I had only one answer for him. I’d done it before. But, it helped to know just how long he was going away for each time.

He lifted his hand, pushing back on the faded grey bandana that was serving as a cap, and ran his fingers through his reddish hair. That’s how he got his road name, Rusty. Because of his hair.

“Don’t know, kiddo. A year, ten months with good behavior, maybe.”

If it were true, then that would be one of his longest stretches behind bars.

“You take care of your momma. See to it that she don’t worry herself sick. You don’t give her no reason to make this harder than it has to be. She don’t need to worry about you, too, you hear?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He play punched me in the arm. “Thatta boy. You go to school, get good grades, do your chores around here… and don’t give your momma no lip. I may be going away, but I hear one bit about you acting up, you best believe it won’t take long for that shit to get straightened out.”

Didn’t I know it. My pop may not be around, but that didn’t mean the rest of his brothers wouldn’t step in in a heartbeat to beat my ass if he gave the OK. Hell, sometimes, they didn’t even wait for the directive. They were all my defacto-uncles and if I was getting out of line and they saw it… let’s just say, it wasn’t fun.

“When do you have to turn in?” I asked him.

“Tomorrow. Gonna ride up tomorrow afternoon.”

Whenever a brother turned-in to the pen, the entire club rode out with him, one last run, with the soon to be inmate taking the lead, regardless of his position in the club. For that trip, there were no titles. President, Vice-Prez, enforcer, road captain… they had no place there.

It was simply life-long friends, brothers, supporting their own before he’s taken from them. I knew we would all see them off, meeting at the clubhouse and gathering around as they left for the ride. I’d say my goodbye then, with my ma, even though I wanted so bad to be on one of those bikes.

I was nearly old enough, but not quite. Soon, though… soon I would be one of them, able to make that last ride to say goodbye at the end, at the gate, like a man, in those last few moments when the reality of the shit sets in. When a man is faced with the true consequences he’s about to face. That’s when he’d need the support of his club the most. I can’t be there for him like that tomorrow, but it wasn’t too far off.

The night before my dad began to serve his time was always quiet around the house, with the club leaving us to ourselves to savor each moment with him. That night, I remember I had given my parents privacy by hiding out in my room, listening to the newest Metallica album while fantasizing about when I would be able to ride with my own patches on my back.

I had slipped out to grab a soda from the kitchen, but stopped when I saw my ma and pop slow dancing in the living room. There wasn’t any music playing. There weren’t any lights on. They weren’t saying any words.

In that moment, they weren’t just my parents… it was a man and his Ol’ Lady. She was resting her head on his shoulder, crying silently, and he was resting his chin against her hair. His eyes were closed. I could see his lips moving just the tiniest bit, whispering things in her ear. Things only meant to be shared between them.

His hand was rubbing her back, calming her.

And then I saw the one thing that I remember most about my pop. Right there, in that living room, during his last night with us as he was saying goodbye to his wife, the mother of his son, and the Ol’ Lady that had his back… I saw the glimmer of a tear in the inner corner of his closed eye.

It never fell.

It just stayed there as I watched them from the shadows dancing their last dance together, though neither of them knew it. Looking back I knew that I would settle for nothing less than what they had.

~*~

NOW

My ma’s place up by the lake is peaceful and quiet, just as she likes it. Years after my pop passed, and I was busy with the club and my own life, she decided to pack up and move out here away from the chaos.

Pop had left her with plenty of cash, and she gets a pretty healthy income from his stake in club investments… but I pick up the tab for whatever I can.

She’s made enough sacrifices in her life, and I know my pop wouldn’t have wanted her to do without.

It’s getting late, with the sun setting hours ago. I pull into the familiar drive as it winds through the woods and up to the cabin. My headlights are bright against the deep colors of night that paint the house.

The lights are on inside, though, even at this late hour, and the car isn’t even fully turned off before my ma comes flying out in her bathrobe and slippers with her arms outstretched.

“Finally!” she calls across the lawn as she draws closer. “I thought you’d never get here!”

I’m careful to close the car door softly, as Brendan was sleeping in the backseat last time I checked.

“Hey, ma.” I scoop her small frame up and twirl her around as I hug tight. I haven’t seen her in about four months or so, and it feels good to be here. “Sorry. We had to make a few more stops than I thought. The boy’s always hungry.”

She laughs and slaps my shoulder playfully to put her down. “ ‘Course he is! He’s just like his daddy and his granddaddy! Never could feed you boys enough. Where is he?”

I lift my chin over to the truck, signaling the back seat.

She smiles broadly and leaves me, her only child and son, to go get my boy. Because of the nasty shit that went down when Brendan was a baby, his momma didn’t let me or my ma see him much.

Ma hasn’t seen her grandson in nearly two years. I step back and watch the reunion as it unfolds.

“Come ‘ere, darlin’. Gram’s here now.”

She scoops Brendan up in her arms and masterfully works the confusion of buckles and straps to free him from his seat. She’s petite but manages to balance him well as she steps forth to carry him into the house. I stay close by just in case.

The cabin is just as I remember, with the old brown carpeting and wood-paneled walls. Ma moves right passed the furniture and carries her only grandchild down the hall to the guestroom, settling him on one of the two twin beds that occupy the space.

I make a movement to turn on the light switch but she quickly reprimands me with a harsh look. “You’ll wake him,” she whispers.

Brendan’s almost as deep of a sleeper as I am. I doubt anything will wake him up, but I appease her and let her work in the dark to remove his little sneakers. I had changed him into his pajamas a few hours ago at our last stop, so he’s comfortable enough to leave be until morning.

My ma kisses him on the forehead and steps back carefully, watching over him. I shut the door behind us and we tiptoe back to the main room. Now that my boy has been seen to, she finally turns her attention back to me with another hug.

“I swear, you’ve gotten bigger since I saw you last, Bri.”

My mother refuses to call me Clink, as the rest of the world does. Yet, she doesn’t call me Brian much, either.

“Nah,” I joke. “I think you’re just getting a little bit shorter.”

She slaps me half-heartedly on the bicep.

“Go put those muscles to good use and get your bags. I’ll heat up a plate for you, we’ll talk when you get done.”

I move to leave to follow her direction, when she pulls me in close once more. “It’s good to see you, son.”

I kiss the top of her head. “You too, Ma.”

~*~

“Have you spoken to her since?” ma asks me as she sits back in her chair. I’ve just unloaded the whole story on her.

I shake my head, no. “There’s nothing left to say.”

Ma looks me hard in the eyes. “That’s one way to look at it. Kind of a sad way to approach life, though, son.”

I take another sip of my beer. “She lied to me. Over and over again.”

Needing to do something, she takes my empty plate from in front of me and carries it off to the kitchen, placing it in the sink and grabbing two more beers from the fridge. She gives me one and helps herself to the other.

“Ain’t no love perfect, Bri. You should know that.” She swigs long on the drink. My ma’s not usually a drinker, but gives in every once in a while. “Anyone can love someone when it’s easy. It takes balls to love someone when it’s not.”

I scoff. “That’s not how it works in this life.”

“I lived ‘this life’ far longer than you have, son. I don’t need you telling me how it works. Your daddy and me… it took some real hard work to hold that together. I don’t know of one single relationship that don’t work the same way.”

I defend myself. “That’s just it. Not everyone’s cut out to be an Ol’ Lady, Ma. All those sacrifices you made to make it work--”

“Right there’s your problem. It’s not just one person who makes the sacrifices. Those patches ain’t a one-way street where a woman is held up high on some Goddamned pedestal to not fuck up and her man gets a get outta jail free card whenever he needs it.”

“That’s not how it was with you and pop,” I quickly retort.

She sets her beer down, hard. “How do you know? My marriage was not an arena sport for people to sit back and watch the bloodshed, but trust me, there were blows on both sides. Your daddy and I worked hard to learn to forgive each other and work towards something, together. Your dad was an honorable man and never aired our dirty laundry in the streets. So it may appear that I was the only one who had to sacrifice, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”

I study her as she tells me of this new twist to my parents’ relationship. There’s pain behind some of her words, pain I’ve never heard before.

“You want to see what a one-sided marriage looks like? Look at Butch and Marie. They fell apart because the two of them couldn’t work together. Even Vince and Jean were close to splitting before they figured it all out,” she recounts a list of club relationships.

I nearly spit out my beer. “Vince and Jean? What are you talking about? They never split.”

Ma rests forward on her forearms. “See how naïve you are about how it works? Your lady, Charlie, how old is she?”

I tell her.

I can see her doing the quick calculations in her head. “Yup. That’s about right.”

“What are you talking about, Mom?”

She grins that familiar grin that moms have when they know something you don’t. “When Jay was about two years old, Jean and Vince got into a terrible time. They split. Vince stayed on the road most of the time, working for the club, doing runs back and forth between Atlanta. Rumor had it that he found himself a little rebound comfort in some college girl. Nobody thought anything of it at first, thinking it was just a fling, you know, some goody-goody, preppy girl from the right side of town meeting a bad-boy biker. Soon enough, though, as we all predicted, Jean came to her senses and agreed to work it out with her Ol’ Man. The girl showed up at the clubhouse one night looking for Vince. She ran into a couple of the Ol’ Ladies instead and was pretty much told how it was gonna be. I was there that night. I saw the look in her eyes when she figured out that she and Vince were never going to be together. Jean found out about the girl and told Vince the only way it was gonna work between them was if he never went back to Atlanta again, never saw the girl again. He agreed.”

Wow. So that’s how it happened? I think back to my lunch date with Charlie and her family, where I had personally met this now-grown college girl. I can’t picture Regina with her sophisticated demeanor and respectable appearance ever getting with a biker, but it must have been so.

“Things must be getting pretty interesting down in Chisolm these days,” Mom sips on her almost-emptied beer. “It’s getting late, son. If that boy of yours is anything like you as a kid, he’ll be up at the crack of dawn with the roosters. I’ll need my rest to keep up with him.” She stands and kisses me on my cheek. “You think about what I said, now. Ain’t no use throwing a perfectly good relationship away because you got your pride hurt.”

~*~

Fuck… could this couch be any more uncomfortable?

The cabin’s been quiet for hours, with both ma and Brendan sleeping in their rooms. I know there’s an extra bed in there with Brendan, but I have a feeling this is gonna be a restless night… I don’t need to ruin Brendan’s sleep just because my own is shot to shit.

I haven’t gotten more than a few passing moments of actual sleep since we left Chisolm. It just don’t feel right to sleep without her by my side.

My skin actually aches without hers touching it. My dick throbs without her body around it. It shouldn’t be like this… I mean, it wasn’t the last time, with Brendan’s ma.

Back then, I remember I celebrated my freedom by plowing my way through a clubhouse full of pussy.

But not this time.

Somehow, I just know I’ll never get another night of sleep alone again. And yet, I have no desire to find another to warm the space and try to take her place.

Why can’t it just be like last time? I ask myself the rhetorical question, when I already know the answer.

It’s not the same because she’s not the same.

She’s like poison in my fucking veins, cursing me, and it’ll never be the same again.

CHAPTER FIVE

THEN

“You’re not taking my boy.” I threw my words at her.

I’d been on a run for the last few days and came home to a moving van in my driveway and a shitload of boxes in my house.

“What did you expect, Clink?” she paused in her packing, dropping the stack of dishtowels into the empty box, before placing her hands on her hips. “For me to just stay put and shut up while you’re out fucking your way through the east coast?”

I rubbed my chin, taking in her words. “You know the deal. I said I’d take care of you, of both of you. I’ve been holding up my end of the bargain.”

She laughed bitterly. “Well, maybe that’s not good enough for me anymore. You come home and play daddy whenever it’s convenient. You plop me on the back of your bike whenever you need to put on some little show for your club and you fuck me whenever you’re too tired to go find some club whore.”

“So? It’s not like you have it bad! You have it better than most women could hope for.” I knew I had a losing argument.

She was right. I did whatever necessary to keep busy outside the house, and the main reason I came home at all was for Brendan. He was only a baby and didn’t really understand when I was around or not, but I knew he needed his pop.

“You don’t love me anymore, Clink.” She relaxed her shoulders and lowered her voice. “I don’t know if you ever really did. But,” she swallowed hard, “I deserve that much. And so do you. I want you to be happy. I want you to let me go.”

I bit hard, clenching my teeth together. “My boy….”

Beth stepped closer. “He’ll still be your son. You can see him whenever you want. I’ll even have him come stay with you when he gets older. But…” she shook her head, “you know he belongs with me. We could do this the hard way—you know a judge would give me that. Your life isn’t for kids, Clink. He’ll be better off with me.”

She was right on one point. A judge would probably have given him to her, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make it damn hard for her. I had enough resources at my disposal to tie her up in court for years. I could have bankrupted her and made her life a living hell.

Part of me wanted to do that, to hurt her the way she was hurting me. I had tried my best to do right by her. She was nothing but a little wannabe Sweet Butt when I gave her a few nights of my time. She told me she was pregnant and I promised to take care of her.

I moved her into my place and set her up so she wanted for nothing. I even tried to love her. For my kid’s sake, I tried to love her, but it just wasn’t there. She knew something was off, and was itching for me to put a ring on her finger… even tried to trick me into knocking her up again to get the job done.

When she finally figured out that wasn’t gonna happen, she started to get damn bitter about it. Coming home to her was no fucking picnic, and I did whatever I needed to do to avoid it.

“I don’t know what to say.” It was true. I didn’t know what to say.

She taped up the box and began working on the next. “I’m not looking for you to say anything. I’m leaving. I’m not asking for your permission.”

“When?”

She looked me dead in the eye. “Two hours. I left my new address and number on the fridge.”

Fuck. This is really happening.

“Where’s my boy?”

For the very first time since I stepped through that door tonight, she actually had the decency to show some hint of emotion. “He’s napping.”

I didn’t stick around long enough for the temporary bit of humanity in her to affect me. The path was littered with boxes and shipping containers, but I managed to sidestep them quickly and opened the shut door to the nursery as quietly as I could. I shut it behind me to ensure that the next few moments were private.

Brendan was the soundest sleeper I’d ever met, especially since everyone had warned me what a nightmare babies could be in the that department. He could sleep through the night at a month old and was never one to wake easily.

I knew I shouldn’t stir him, but instinct took over and I needed to hold him once more. I needed to protect him and comfort him as best I could for those last few moments.

I remembered my own dad, how I idolized him, how he could do nothing wrong in my eyes. Looking down at the small child in my arms with his chubby little cheeks all flushed from sleep, and his round legs dangling from my arms, my heart was bursting with so much emotion.

The rocking chair over in the corner by the window was comfortable enough, as we moved back and forth. I stared at my son. I could see my nose, which was in fact my ma’s nose. The pointed little peak of hair by his brow was just like my own grandad’s. The shape of his tiny fingernails were boxy like mine, too.

He was of my flesh, my bone. He was the greatest gift the universe had ever given me, and I didn’t deserve him… I knew that now just as I had known it then.

I had failed him.

I could have tried harder. I could have done a million and one fucking things different, I’m sure.

“Hey, bud,” I whispered into the dark to the sleeping child in my arms. “I know you’re not going to remember all the things I’m gonna tell you. The first moment I saw you, screaming your lungs out in the doctor’s hands, I knew you were my boy. That night, when we brought you home, I sat with you in my arms in this very chair and I talked to you just like this. I told you all the things we were gonna do, all the ways I was gonna be the dad to you that my own pop was to me. I was gonna make you proud to call me your dad. You were gonna grow up with everything you needed to become whatever you chose. I promised you that, and I’m still gonna keep those promises. But, it’s just gonna be a little different now.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m not gonna be there every day. I won’t get to know you the way I wanted, the way you deserve. But I swear, I will never let anything bad happen to you. And all you have to do… is call me and I’ll be there for you in a flash. I know this isn’t goodbye—it’ll never be goodbye for us.”

I lift him to kiss his warm little forehead. “We’ll be together again, I swear it to you. And until then, I’m going to work every single day to deserve to be the guy you call pop.”

~*~

NOW

I step over to make room for Ma to reach into the wooden drawer I had been unintentionally blocking. She rummages through it with the metal clanking echoing from the boxy space.

“No cwusts, Gwam,” Brendan calls out from the round kitchen table where Ma and I had our little heart-to-heart last night.

The pink rollers in her hair make me smirk as we lock eyes, laughing silently at his request. I never liked crusts myself as a kid, and would just stare at the sandwich on the plate until the situation was fixed. My boy is getting a head start by specifying his preference early.

Smart kid.

I leave Ma to her cutting, turning to the little wooden key rack on the wall nearest the phone. The single silver key hanging on an old, worn, black leather Harley Davidson key ring calls to me.

Ma sees my look from the corner of her eye. “Be safe,” she says.

I kiss her on the temple, under the largest of her plastic hair rollers, and clasp my fingers around the cold metal. Brendan wiggles anxiously for his egg sandwich in fresh clothes and damp hair from his bath.

I thread my fingers through his cold, shaggy hair and shake them around. “Be good for your Gram, son.”

I know the two of them have a lot of catching up to do, so I leave them to it. Ma’s gonna spoil that kid something fierce.

The late morning sun is bright and warm on my skin. The light breeze picks up around me and brings with it all the scents of what makes this place great. The freshly mowed grass, the colorful flowers in Ma’s garden, and the wild ones further away. There’s a small fishing pond just down the road, and you never think the natural scent of it would travel this far, but I swear I smell it.

I breathe it all in deep, the freshness and simplicity of it that I want my boy to soak up while we’re here.

The old wood of the barn even has its own unique smell to it. I swing open one of the large doors and let the old, worn hinges do the rest. They creak and moan as the aged door is stretched wide. The gravel crunches under the foot of my riding boots as I slowly step forward.

The blue tarp hugging the curves and contours of the machine in the middle of the space grabs my attention. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds in my memory. The first time I heard the engine of this bike start, I remember the thrill it shot through me.

I had practically known since birth that I would be a biker like my pop. The first time I heard the deep grumbling of this bike was the first time I actually felt the need to ride deep in my soul.

Pop upgraded to this bike when I was about six. He brought it home late one night, and I can still remember the look of pride on his face when he’d shown it to me.

He’d worked hard, bought the bike new, and treated it like his sultry mistress. She was bathed, stroked, caressed and whispered to on a regular basis. He even gave it a name. It was Marilyn, after Marilyn Monroe, the second sexiest woman alive according to pop.

The first, he always made sure to add, was Ma.

I pinch the center of the material and pull hard, whipping the cloth tarp away, exposing the old bike. I get an instant hard-on.

I haven’t ridden in days, and the need is strong. My own bike and I are like one, but this bike, my pop’s old bike…. it’s like the epitomy of riding experiences. I grab the choke, press hard and kick start the bike until those familiar grumbles rattle through me, making me feel alive.

The bike has been sitting for a couple of weeks untouched, but it’s as ready as a virgin on prom night. I pay one of the local kids to pop over every few weeks to check on it. This bike is my pop’s legacy. It’s kept like a shrine and one day long after I’m gone, I hope Brendan will care for it just as I do.

I take a deep breath, rev the engine, filling the old cavernous barn with the grumbling and let go, taking off down the drive to clear my head.

The only protection from the whipping wind against my skin are my shades and my black t-shirt. It feels good, though, the stinging scratching against the flesh of my arms, my neck, my forehead.

I feel the strength and the power of the of engine as I open the throttle and let the bike have the freedom it’s been deprived of for too long. Each turn, each swerve, the tires hug the asphalt, making love to it in its own way.

There are some things that are meant for one another, things that are simply not complete alone. Things like the cut I wear and the tat that mirrors it underneath, on my flesh. The power of the bike between my thighs and the open road below, each specifically built for the other. My cock and….

No.

How is it that I can’t even manage to get through this ride without my thoughts finding their way back to her?

I’ve always kept a separation between the man I am on this bike and the man I am off it. They never mix, they never cross. Yet today, right now, she’s seeping in and shattering that.

I’ve gotten as far away as I can, both in body and, I thought, in mind, but it’s not enough. I’m miles and miles away from her, yet in some ways, closer than ever… because I can’t escape her.

The softness of her voice as it soothes me, lies or truth, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s her that speaks them. The light that flickers in her eyes when she watches me fuck her, taking every inch and every ounce like air needed to live. She needed me as much as I needed her to need me.

The first time I brought her to the clubhouse, no matter her underlying reasons, she somehow found her way into my soul. She didn’t know it then, neither did I, because it was the smallest and most subtle of things that did it. It was just something I felt, something I needed more of… like a drug.

I was sitting at the bar, high on a stool. She sauntered out from the back, helping Lil’s recover after we had gotten her back from the Slayers. Her hair was bouncing with each step her gorgeous legs took in my direction. Those same legs that were wrapped around me just hours before in the dark.

Her pink, plump lips were pouted, composing herself as she strutted through the crowd like a pro, aware that they all knew what she and I had done in my bed. Those were the same lips that were wrapped around my cock and that kissed my mouth, talked dirty in my ear, and screamed my name loud enough for the whole clubhouse (sleeping or not) to hear.

Her tits were pointed up, her shoulders back, holding her head high and not giving one shit what any of those other eyes watching her might think. She was only watching me.

It was supposed to be a one-night stand. That’s all I was looking for, all I wanted, but it was just a small exchange of words that somehow sealed our fate. I told her I’d give her a ride and to just sit tight until I was good and ready to leave after having a beer with my boys.

She looked me square in the eyes and told me no. She might have actually been the first woman to ever actually say no to me.

And it was a fucking turn-on.

She didn’t want me in that moment, didn’t need me, yet it triggered something in me. It made me want to make her want me. To make her need me. It never even occurred to me then that it would have the same effect on me. I would need her. I would want her.

I pull over harshly to the side of the road, jump off the bike and storm off into the waist high weeds, kicking at the dirt in anger. My hands fly up to my head, holding the sides, pulling at the hair in fury. My voice screams out into the emptiness around me as I drop to me knees.

I’m never going to be able to get away from this. I don’t even know if I want to. I’m mad at her, angry as hell at what she’s done, but even more pissed off at what’s become of me because of it.

I had my moment, let off some steam, said some shit to hurt her as much as she hurt me. I’m not the type of man to run from his shit. I needed my space, and it did me no good.

It’s time to face this storm head-on and to stop running away like a little pussy.

EPILOGUE

CHARLIE

I leave Dana and T.J. to answer the door.

I thought she was here to help me? Some help she is. I feel like I’m babysitting a pair of horny teenagers, trying to keep them from molesting each other. I notice movement out of my peripheral and hear the confirmation from the creaking leather sounds, that as soon as I get up, they both readjust to fill my empty seat and gain closer proximity to each other.

“I’m coming!” I yell at the knocking door. Give me a minute, already.

I pull the handle hard.

And then I stop breathing.

I’m not ready to see him. Not now, maybe not ever. I look like shit, I feel like shit, and I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk to this man right now.

“Um… we’ll go grab some lunch,” T.J. is on foot, grabbing Dana’s hand and pulling her up to follow.

“I need some more things, so we’ll hit some stores, too,” Dana adds.

I manage to somehow speak. “Dana, you’re going home later today. You don’t need to buy more things to have to pack.”

She smiles. “Actually, I’m not leaving, But, you have more important things to deal with right now.” She glances at the leather-vested man who just walked through the door. “We’ll talk later, sis.”

She quickly leans in to give me a peck on the cheek in passing before I can object to her new change in travel plans.

With the two of them gone, it’s just him and me now.

Holy-fucking-shit.

“How you doing, kid?” he asks. He looks tired, worn, worried.

I don’t answer.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Let’s have a little father-daughter talk.”

My words spit themselves out harshly at him. “You’re not my father. I had a father. A real dad. He died. You’re just a cheap imitation in a leather vest.”

He flinches, hurt. I don’t care.

It doesn’t matter what some fucking DNA test can prove.

Vince Cauley will never be my father.

He sits at the table regardless of my answer, apparently resigned to have this chat anyway. He folds his hands atop one another and waits patiently.

Fuck.

I’m not getting out of this short of kicking him out of my place, and even then, I doubt he’ll leave.

“I need a minute,” I call behind me as I grab my handbag and head into the bathroom.

I search quickly and find the recently filled bottle I picked up at the pharmacy on my way home yesterday. The doc was a little hesitant to give me a refill but I’m a nurse. I knew the trigger words to use to convince him.

I work the cap clumsily, nervously, but finally get it open.

I pour two pills into my palm and slam them down my throat quickly, using the tap water from the faucet to swallow them down with. I move to put the bottle away, but think twice about it and grab another pill to make the upcoming conversation a little easier.

I watch myself in the mirror and breathe deep. I know it will be better soon. The pills will work their magic.

TO BE CONTINUED IN

THE 6TH AND FINAL BOOK

OF THE KINGSMEN MC SERIES,

THE FULL LENGTH NOVEL,

BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS

SEPTEMBER 13, 2015

ALSO BY TARA OAKES

MY SOUL TO WAKE

Book one, STAIN available now

** Warning: this novel is intended for those over 18 years of age due to its erotic nature and mature content. ***

Witchcraft.

Reincarnation.

True love.

These are the things of legend. Unexplained, some even say impossible… but nonetheless prevalent in stories and tales from all cultures and in every land from the beginning of time. What if there’s something to it? What if there is an explanation behind the mysteries and bedtime stories? Something beyond words?

SALEM, MASSACHUSETTES 1692

She was taken from him in the cruelest way... condemned, sentenced and punished out of fear of the unknown. How is he supposed to live without her? How can he go on knowing that in this life, they will never be one again? There's only one thing to do... only one option that will bring them together again.

SALEM , MASSACHUSETTES TODAY

Leah is taken on a weekend excursion with her best girlfriends to let loose, relax and have a little fun. What harm is there in a little vacation? It's not like the legends, the haunted history of the place can scare them away. It's all harmless fun.

Or so she thought.

Something seems familiar about the town. The trees, the winds, the feel of everything. Her ever present nightmares have become more intense within the limits of the old historical setting. She's prepared to write off the whole trip as nothing more than a case of her mind running away with the sensationalized magic here. When she meets a handsome stranger who's eager to know her in a way no one else can, she begins to think there just may be something more to this place, something more to him.

Will has been waiting, biding his time, and praying that she'll come back. He's broken the natural order of things to possibly find her again, weaving their way through the years until they can be together again. He knows he may never find her, but he can't risk not trying. This place calls to her, just as it did to him. It will bring her back home. It will bring her back to him.

What's 300 years when it comes to true love? He's prepared to wait an eternity if he has to, just to see her, hold her, make her his and to help her remember what was stolen from them so long ago. He’ll stop at nothing to make her remember who she is, the power she possesses, and the love they swore to each other.

PLEASE ENJOY THIS SAMPLE OF

MY SOUL TO WAKE

Book one, STAIN

PROLOGUE

The crackling of the nearby torches pop and singe. I can smell the burning flame as the wind catches the wafting smoke, swirling and weaving into the night air around me. I can’t see them. I can’t feel their heat… but I know they’re there.

Each of my senses is heightened, on high alert. My lack of sight has seemed to innately trigger my other faculties, kicking them into overdrive to compensate. I can taste the sweet, metallic tinge of blood in my mouth from biting my lower lip. Fear will do that to you.

Biting my lip was the only way to keep my teeth from chattering… or to call out and beg for mercy. I somehow know it would do no good, other than to bolster their frenzy. My fate is sealed.

The roughness of the cloth that scratches against my cheeks is harsh. I try not to move, so as to keep it from abrading my skin. The quivering of my muscles does little to help that.

I swallow hard but feel a tightness around my throat, a constriction that offers no forgiveness. I breathe in deep, savoring each breath, knowing that it may be my last. My lungs are confined, though, unable to expand far enough.

I muffle my sobs. The tears that fall are not for them. I will not give them anything, let alone my tears, though I know they are wanting something else.

They want my words.

Words that would betray the very essence of my being. Those words could spare my life, but they would also condemn others. Others who may still manage to escape this fate.

I will not give them my tears OR my words. Those are for me alone. They have already taken enough from me, are still going to take more from me before they are through.

Although there is naught but darkness around me, I close my eyes. I clear my mind and remember the things that bring peace and calmness.

Delicate fresh flowers in my memories, swaying in the tiniest of breezes. The beautiful petals each rippling in their own direction, dancing with the wind. The dewey aroma they give off after a cooling rain storm. The grand power they harness to cure ailments and maladies.

My fingers twitch, imagining the feeling of running the tips of them over those wild flowers. My heart breaks knowing that I will never run through the fields of beautifully-colored blooms again. It’s one more thing they’ll take from me.

But it’s nothing compared to the greatest of all punishments they are condemning unto me.

Fresh tears sprinkle my warm cheeks as I finally face the worst of their punishment.

I won’t ever see him again.

I’ll never catch his beautiful brown eyes staring at me. I’ll never again feel the heavy weight of those eyes as I pretend not to notice. I’ll never feel the flush of my concealed skin as I bask in his gaze.

The soft touch of his hand on mine was everything and more that I could have ever prayed for. It was unexpected and gentle and exhilarating. I remember the moment I first felt his caress and knew for sure that I had finally found that which I didn’t even know I had longed for.

The only thing more exquisite than his touch were his words. Words that stirred deep in me to awaken something only he could harness.

I feel the charged energy from those gathered round. He and I connect, something powerful, drawing us to each other. I don’t feel him now. It’s some small mercy in all of this that my last moments won’t be of suffering with him near. I couldn’t bear that.

I want him to remember me as I was. The carefree girl he fell in love with. Those are the memories we shall keep of each other.

Those are the memories I will replay during the next few moments. I know then, that I will die happy.

The crowd now draws silent. The time has come. I think of his smile, just as I had planned. My shallowed breathing is fast, the air coming quick and hard.

The time passes both brisk and slow, measured against the thudding heartbeats strumming in my ears.

I think of his tender caress, and of the lost promise of our wedding night never to be fulfilled.

I feel the ledged platform underfoot begin to rattle, the vibration unlocking the hidden despair in my being.

I think of his pooling eyes, searching deep into my own.

Wood begins to scrape against wood, sliding against the grain, offering a terrible screech that sends a chill up my spine. A weightlessness takes hold as I drop, and the once abundant air is no longer available to me. I feel my feet dangle, my hands confined at the wrist unable to relieve the tortuous burning around my throat.

I think of his smile….

CHAPTER ONE

I awaken startled, gasping deep breaths that have proven through experience to help me regain some sense of composure. The first seconds immediately after I wake are always the worst, full of terror. It’s hard to distinguish dream from reality in those first few seconds.

The details of the nightmare are vivid at first, all encompassing, as I remember the sounds, the smells, the feelings. Almost instantly, they begin to fade, leaving nothing but an evaporating impression behind. Before long, there is nothing left but fear and heartbreak, all elements of the dream having been forgotten… until the next time.

Although the nightly ritual has plagued me since childhood, there are times when I am free from its spell. In some ways, those absences are much more cruel than the nightmares themselves.

Those are the times when I convince myself I am just like everybody else, that some phase of all-too realistic night terrors has been outgrown. That, finally, I can close my eyes at night and not dread the darkness.

But then after some time, whether it be a night, a week, or in the longest stretch five months, the dream returns, serving as evidence that I am not like everyone else. All the “normal” things that most everyone else does in life aren’t possible for me.

The feeling of a good night’s sleep, rejuvenated and well rested… those feelings don’t come for me. In the rare nights when the nightmare is kept at bay, I sleep with unease somehow, waiting for it.

I’m young, twenty-three years old, but the lack of sleep seems to have aged me. I feel it. I don’t have that same carefree, whimsical manner that my contemporaries seem to effortlessly radiate. One more example of how I am different somehow. But it isn’t only in these later years that my affliction is a barrier to what I yearn for most.

When I was a child, the dreams plagued me, causing screaming fits and endless tears. I didn’t know that I was the only one to have these nighttime fantasies. I thought everyone did. It was a second-grade assignment where we were asked to write a small page about our favorite dream that I realized I was different.

The kitty cats and unicorns that my classmates spoke of were foreign to me. My mom helped me with that homework assignment, convinced she could ensure a good grade. Though, I suspect she wanted to save me the embarrassment and ridicule that the truth would have brought.

For however upsetting the dreams made me, I know my parents were equally affected. There were endless doctor appointments, specialist referrals and testing to determine what ailed their little girl. When no cause could be found, and a corresponding cure no longer a possibility, the diagnosis given was psychological.

There were weekly therapy appointments, nightly melatonin treatments, and finally an arsenal of prescription elixirs to mask the symptoms.

They never worked, though. Short of sedation, there was no barrier that could be put in place to keep the dreams at bay.

I am the only girl I know who has never had the right of passage sleepovers that pre-teen girls subject themselves to. The risk was too high. Mom went to great lengths to keep my torment hidden. Other than relatives, there were never overnight guests in our home, and when there were, creative excuses were given to the rare witness to my calamity.

It’s amazing how adaptive children can be. It became my normal… the girl who had to sleep at home, never inviting her friends to spend the night.

It was successful though. The careful plan than mom and dad had constructed when I was young had helped me to navigate those awkward teen years without any ridicule for my hidden disorder. It was our little family secret.

That privacy and secrecy paved the way for my approach to many things in life. My college years were spent living at home, commuting to and from daily classes at Easton University, while my closest friends dormed in the coed living quarters on campus.

After a long night of studying, partying, or trying to act like your normal college undergrad, I would then take the forty-minute drive back home to the safety of my own bed.

Those habits die hard. I still sleep alone, although now as a young adult I have the luxury of my own little apartment, carefully chosen with only a nearly deaf little old lady as a wall-sharing neighbor.

The curse has other lasting consequences. Besides my two best friends, no one knows about the nightly visits to hell I endure. To keep that from changing, I take great pains to keep others at bay, a safe distance where my secret will remain secure.

The possibility of sharing time with a boy is not even an option to me. Because of that fear, I rarely accept anything beyond a second date. It’s easier to make random excuses, however untruthful, to avoid the type of affection that will lead to sharing my life with another. It would only lead to their discovering my secret and then hightailing it out of there, far away from the mentally unstable freak that has nightly panic attacks.

I convinced myself long ago that I was only protecting myself and my heart from the inevitable.

So now, lying here, awaiting the calmness that will eventually overtake me as the episode passes, I struggle to remember the details as they once again fade.

The damp sweat beading on my skin has long since chilled, slowly drying and disappearing along with the cause of its outbreak. I sigh loudly, thankful it has passed, relieved that the rest of the night will pass uneventfully.

I sip from the glass of water set out on my nightstand just hours before. My throat is raw from the effects of the dream, and so the liquid works some sort of magic on the aching flesh as I swallow.

My breathing has slowed. My pulse evens. I take the ribboned hair tie from the bedside drawer and clumsily tie back my thick wavy hair from the sweat-moistened nape of my neck. A chill has taken over, and I slip my feet back under the crumpled blankets that had been strewn about in my fit.

I smooth the crisp linens, straightening the bedding before settling back into the well broken-in pillows. It’ll be easier now. The threat of dark shadows no longer lingers over my sleep.

~*~

No!

Ring all you want. I will not answer.

I toss over onto my stomach to easily pull up at the sides of my oversized down-filled pillow, covering my head like earmuffs. Another ring. Another swear word is mumbled under my breath into the thick fluffy pillow.

Four more rings to go as I silently count down to when the answering machine will automatically trigger itself to end the torturous sound. I have to remember to change the ringer settings-- three rings should be enough, I think.

The last of the mechanical tolls chime before the listener hears my generic yet specific greeting to leave a message. The possibilities are pretty limited as to who’s listening to my pre-recorded missive.

Mom and dad don’t call before nine unless it’s an emergency. I’m not scheduled to work today, so the chances that anyone at the coffee house is ringing me are slim. I stopped seeing Paul weeks ago. I think it’s pretty safe to say that he won’t be calling after the way I left things between us.

I put my money on Courtney or Nina.

The rumbled clicking makes way through the plastic speaker of the nearby phone base on my nightstand.

“Wake up sleepyhead!”

Yup, it’s Court.

“We’re leaving my place now. That gives you less than thirty minutes to get out of that bed before I drag you out of it myself.”

Ugh. I drop the pillowed corners from the sides of my face. I know her well enough not to underestimate her threat. I do recall a specific morning about six months ago when she did just that… dragged me out of my bed.

We had impulsively signed up for some boot camp-styled workout course together during a moment of bloated weakness. I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of sweating my pants off by some over-muscled, over-proteined, two-bit drill instructor with a thirst for making women so sick from exercise that they vomit outside on the sidewalk. No, thank you. I chose to sleep, instead.

Courtney literally rolled me out of bed at 5AM to tumble on my hard wooden floor in order to make sure we got to the class on time. I suffered through the ninety-minute obstacle course and bull horned commands only to stop by the Dunkin Donuts on my way home and officially withdraw from the class on their website later that day.

All it took to convince Court to join me in my boot camp mutiny escape plan was an iced coffee and a jelly doughnut.

“We’ll bring a thermos of coffee for the road. Thirty minutes, Leah!” she warns through my answering machine.

I flip onto my back and exhale deeply into the feathered pillowcase before me. Even if I pretend I didn’t hear the message, I know it will be no use. She has a key to my front door, and the last time she threw me from my bed my knee was bruised for weeks. I might as well face this head on.

Especially if she’s got coffee.

~*~

“We were supposed to be on the road ten minutes ago, Leah. How much longer?” Nina calls to me while I’m half buried under my bed, searching in vain for my old broken-in baseball hat.

The morning sun is rising higher through the bedroom windows offering a fair amount of light, but the far depths of this narrow space escape that benefit, leaving only my blind fingers to do the searching.

I flatten my palm and clap it against the smooth wood as my wrist moves about. “Got it!” I call out in echoed victory.

Carefully, I squirm back from under the wooden bedframe and dust myself off before my two friends.

“Fabulous! If we leave now, we can make up those last ten minutes by skipping the third bathroom break at two fifteen.” Nina doesn’t wait for a sign of agreement from either Courtney or myself before she stalks out of the room, fiddling with her mini iPad.

I have no doubt that she’s reworking our entire trip itinerary on that thing, to compensate for my tardiness. She takes the type-A personality thing to a whole new level, that girl. I’m sure every meal, gas, and bathroom break is scheduled with no less than two alternatives apiece.

She and I couldn’t be more opposite in that regard. Where I can just sit back and roll with the punches, she needs to have everything planned out in great detail. If it isn’t, she becomes a mess to deal with… a certifiable basket-case on the edge of a breakdown. For all of our sakes, it’s just easier to let her have her little bit (well actually, a lot!) of control, than to have to be around her when she’s in a tailspin.

Court and I are left behind in her dust as she makes a beeline for the front door, as if that will somehow encourage us to follow. All it manages to do is cause Courtney and me to roll our eyes at each other.

“What else?” my best friend asks, looking around the room for any other pieces of luggage.

I pull up the extendable handle from the small roll-along tote.

“Nope. This is it.”

She casts her eyes down and onto the black rectangular suitcase in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Leah. For real?”

My eyes widen. “Yes... why?”

She shakes her head. “We’ll be gone for five days. Five whole days and four whole nights. How is this possibly big enough for that amount of clothing?”

For however different Nina and are I in our organizational skills, Courtney and I are just as different in our sense of style. I had thought by now she would have given up on trying to transform me into her little clone. But, every once in a while a little comment like what she just said will pop out.

“Court, this isn’t makeover time. I promise I won’t embarrass you. Just… just don’t start in on my clothes.” I plead with her. I don’t have the energy to fight her off when she gets all fashion police on me.

She thinks long and hard on my request.

“We’ll take it day by day. What you’ve got on now isn’t terrible. Besides,” she reaches over to the long dresser and scoops up the handles of my carrycase of toiletries. “I hear they have great little shops in downtown Salem. We can always buy you some new things.”

I smile, thankful for the moment’s reprieve, and turn to follow Nina’s exit.

“Or… maybe even a whole new wardrobe,” Court suggests.

“Not a chance.” I tuck a few loose strands of hair that have escaped the confines of my navy blue baseball cap behind my ear.

The sound of the front door opening once again draws our attention although the bedroom wall blocks our view.

“We are now sixteen minutes behind schedule! If we don’t leave in the next three minutes, we’ll have to skip the first rest stop. And I won’t care how much coffee you’ve drunk. We will not stop.” Nina’s authoritative voice booms.

Courtney laughs to herself and I let her pass to appease our friend. I look around once more to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything in my rushed packing. Nope. I think I’ve got it all.

The wheels of the pull-along are stiff, having sat unused for months. It takes a little effort to get them rolling smoothly. As I move through the narrow hallway, I pass the opened door to the bathroom. With Court now safely out of range, I take the opportunity to make an inspection. It’s true my cap hides most of my light brown waves, but I think it looks all right. I mean, it may not be perfectly styled like Courtney’s but it’s not even seven in the morning yet and we’re driving in a convertible. I’d like to see what her long layered red hair looks like after the wind has had its way with it. Especially the extensions. That’s gonna be a mess to comb through.

The rest of what I’ve got going on looks decent enough. A pair of light-wash skinny jeans, a white V-neck t-shirt with a thin purple gauze scarf and a pair of dark brown leather strappy sandals.

I’m sure Court would pick this apart and start to foam at the mouth if I let her be my personal stylist, but she’ll have to learn to get over it.

This is as good as it gets, I tell myself as I nod one last time to the mirrored image of my half-asleep reflection.

I pull the door closed behind me and lock the deadbolt. I nod to Mr. Alderson, the middle-aged man from the second floor as he leaves for work dressed in his suit. He and I aren’t usually on the same schedule, so I don’t get to see him often.

His thinning hair and weathered skin show their wear. I know he commutes to work and is one of the first people to leave the lobby every morning.

“Hiya there, Leah! Kind of early for you this morning, hmm? Early shift?” He’s more than cordial. I’m surprised he remembers my name. I recall his calling me Lisa on more than one occasion.

I smile warmly to the man as we match strides through the aging lobby.

“Hi, Mr. Alderson. No… I’m going away with some friends for a girls’ trip.”

He notices my small suitcase and shows an expression of understanding as the information comes together. Once we reach the heavy front doors of the building, having passed the wall of metal mailboxes, he takes pity on me as I struggle to pull the stiff-wheeled luggage, and holds the large wooden-framed entranceway open for me.

The girls have pulled the navy blue convertible up front and center, waiting for me to join them. I can see Nina sitting in the front passenger seat checking her watch, probably making a mental tally of how many minutes my sluggishness has cost our estimated time of arrival in Salem.

“Well, have a safe trip,” Mr. Alderson calls out as he shifts the worn, weathered briefcase in his hands, letting the weight of the door swing shut behind us. He quickens his pace to the parking lot.

Courtney has left the trunk open for my suitcase to join theirs. She’s already added my other carry-on to the pile and I have to maneuver the bags around to ensure that mine will fit. Courtney is applying a thick layer of lip gloss in the rearview mirror and sees my lack of enthusiasm for the seating arrangement.

“First come, first serve, sweetheart. You’re rocking the back seat this time.” She smacks her lips together after her words to evenly spread her gloss.

Nina exits the car in order to lift her seat forward so I can crawl into the cramped back seat. If this is based on promptness, then my butt will be parked in the back of Court’s Infiniti every time. Especially if always-on-time Nina is my competition.

Once I’m semi-settled and moved over to behind Court’s own seat, Nina pushes her seat back and pulls out her trusty iPad to bring up our carefully laid-out travel plans.

Courtney turns the ignition and slowly pulls us out into the building traffic of early morning rush hour. We haven’t been able to pick up much speed yet, but it won’t be long before we hit the main highway from Abingdon.

Nina takes an old-fashioned styled handkerchief from her handbag and uses it to cover her hair, tying it under her chin like a 1960’s style woman out for a Sunday drive. All she needs now is a pair of white gloves and she’ll be as en vogue as Jackie O. Maybe some cat-eye sunglasses, too.

I shift to bring my knees up, snuggling into the leather of the bench seat. Let them keep the front seat. At least I’ll be able to stretch out and catch some of the sleep that they helped to interrupt this morning.

I gently place one and then the second ear bud in, swipe my finger across the screen of my phone, selecting something that I know will help lull me into a calmed daydream if not actual sleep.

I pull the well worn brim of my ancient Baltimore Orioles cap down over my eyes, cross my arms over my chest to add a little extra warmth to the early morning chill, and let the soft purr of the engine work its magic.

IF YOU ENJOYED THIS SAMPLE,

SEE FOR YOURSELF WHAT’S BEING HAILED AS THE

“MUST READ BOOK OF 2015”

http://www.amazon.com/STAIN-My-Soul-Wake-Book-ebook/dp/B00XUCJB4Q/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1433683399&sr=8-1&keywords=my+soul+to+wake

About the Author

Tara Oakes is a new author from Long Island, N.Y. She lives with her husband and their little pet family. She is an avid reader, a DIY'er and writer of all things romance. With several completed works, A Lil' Less Broken marks her debut into e-publishing.

When not writing or reading, Tara enjoys gardening (without much success) and all things Real Housewives related. Please feel free to contact her as all feedback and fan interaction is much welcomed and highly appreciated.

http://www.authortaraoakes.com

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tara-Oakes/1468537190061965?ref=hl

@Lil_oakes

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE