The Unacceptables Series Box Set Two: Books Five through Nine with Exclusive Bonus Chapters

by Mazzola, Kristen Hope

  “Fuck no.” I didn’t skip a beat. I hadn’t spent more than a couple nights with a woman since I was fifteen, and I always used protection. With how shitty my childhood had been, I didn’t think I would be a good father and didn’t want to risk being a deadbeat dad and ruining some innocent kid’s life.

  “A guy came into the bar today, said you were his daddy. Just thought you needed the heads-up.” Crickett looked over at me with a hallowed stare.

  “What a fucked day.” I pulled in a sharp breath. “How old do you think he was?”

  “Too old to be your kid, that’s for damn sure.” She started laughing a little. “I knew it was weird, but he knew your full name, so I had to ask.”

  Every hair on the back of my neck stood on end. There goes sleeping tonight. Maybe Abel was right about the dude that came into the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time an enemy sent in an infiltrator to try to pinpoint a weakness in our organization and a false claim of paternity would be a clever way to do it.

  “What was his name?” I ask before taking the last swig of my beer.

  She crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Only got a first name—Ryder.”

  “What in the hell kind of name is that?” I chuckled a bit.

  Crickett laughed along with me. “Fuck if I know. I should probably get home before Abel has a shit fit about me being out alone with all this crap going on.”

  “I’ll take you. It’s not smart to be out on the roads alone right now.” Abel would have had my head if I let Crickett out of my sight at that point.

  “You’re sweet, Holt. Thanks.”

  Chapter 3

  I didn’t sleep all night; no surprise there. High alert was an understatement. I cleaned my entire house from top to bottom, did laundry that had needed to be done for over a month and cooked more bacon than I could eat in a week. Finally, I found myself sitting at my kitchen table, staring off into the dew covered back yard with three fingers of whiskey on ice at seven in the morning.

  Fuck it. I’ve done worse.

  Waiting on a call that wasn’t going to come for hours, I didn’t know what else to do. There was no way that we were

  going to get answers overnight, and that fucking killed me.

  I was typically an extremely quiet man and for the most part I kept to myself. I did what I had to do for myself and my club and kept my fucking mouth shut about it. Ever since the day my mother died, the Unacceptables had been my only family and I was extremely grateful to all of them for bringing me out of the ashes, excepting me without question, unwaveringly standing by me—I did the same for all of them. I didn’t know what else there was in the world and couldn’t have cared less about that fact—I was proud of be a one-percenter in every aspect of that title.

  “Holt, you know there is no going back from this one, right?” Rave asked as he helped me load the drug dealer’s limp body into the back of his blacked-out van in the middle of the night.

  “What else was I supposed to do?” I asked as the weight of the corpse made the back axle whine. The cool night air wrapped around me as I sighed, leaning on the back of the vehicle.

  “You should have just let us handle it. We’ve dealt with worse and it would have been better than you getting blood on your hands so young. You’re not alone, kid. We’re a family and we look out for our own. Just remember that the next time you get that nagging twinge of revenge nipping at the back of your brain.” Rave sank down next to me, watching as my hands trembled.

  “I’m sorry.” I looked over to where Abel and Odin were scrubbing the garage floor to get as much of the blood out of the concrete as possible.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. If I were you, I probably would have done the same damn thing. An eye for an eye and all that bullshit.” Rave’s declaration made me feel a heck of a lot better, probably more than it should have.

  “I snapped. I think I blacked out for most of it.” I bowed my head as I wiped my bloody hands on the front of my fading jeans.

  “Get up, kid. We need to get this body out of here before a neighbor calls the cops to report a suspicious vehicle out on the street.” He closed the back doors of the vehicle, handing me my first cigarette. “This will help those nerves a bit.”

  “Thanks.” I choked on my first puff, making Rave laugh.

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Yeah, all in due time, right?” I tried to hold the white cancer stick as comfortably as he did but failed miserably.

  “I don’t mean the smokes, son. I mean all of it. You’ve entered into a dark, unforgiving world today. You need to be prepared for that and keep your head on straight. If you were my kid, I’d kick your ass for even hanging out with Abel in the first place.” He spit on the ground before lighting up another stick.

  “What do you mean? He’s a really good guy.” I felt an overwhelming need to defend my friend.

  “I never said he wasn’t. I love that damn kid like he was my flesh and blood, but he was always going to follow in his old man’s footsteps. I would never want that for any child of mine. It’s too fucked up and far too dangerous.”

  I broke out of my daze of remembrance when knocking thundered through my house. Jumping to my feet, the safety off on my Beretta, I slowly made my way to the front door from the back of the house. I wasn’t taking chances. If someone had the nerve to show up at my place that early in the morning, for any damn reason, they were going to be met with the barrel of my gun no matter what.

  Forcefully, throwing the door open, I looked at the spitting image of a younger me. It was eerie as fuck.

  “Who the hell are you?” I barked with my gun trained right between the kid’s eyes.

  He didn’t flinch. Nonchalantly, he put his hands up a little and looked me dead in the eye. “My name is Ryder Walsh. I think I’m your son.”

  “The fuck you are.” Honestly, looking at him, I was questioning it but to my knowledge, I wasn’t a father. “I don’t have a son.”

  “My mother is Pauline Houser,” he explained.

  Fuck. Of course she is.

  I lowered my weapon, paused and took a deep breath in through gritted teeth.

  “How old are you?” I questioned, sharply.

  “Nineteen.”

  I quickly did the math in my head. Damn it all to hell.

  “Come in,” I reluctantly demanded, holding open the door for him.

  “Want a beer?” Abel asked as he leaned into the fridge in his dank, poorly lit basement, which I was now squatting in.

  “Definitely,” I responded.

  Abel’s girlfriend and her friend were on their way over to listen to the new Led Zeppelin album that I had just lifted. I was nervous as all hell. Colleen had been wanting to hook me up with her friend since she started dating Abel, and I’d finally given in. It wasn’t lost on me that I was a punk fifteen-year-old and I was hanging out with seniors, but for some reason they never treated me like a kid. I was their equal in every sense of the word. Abel had even started teaching me how to drive his bike. I figured part of it was because they felt sorry for me. At first I was a scrawny freshman getting his ass beat on a daily basis, and then I was an orphan with blood on his hands. If I were in their shoes, I would have felt sorry for me and pitty was the worst thing in the damn world.

  Colleen giggled as she bounced down the stairs, hand in hand with her friend. They were both wearing tight bellbottom jeans with strapless, tight fitting tops. The way their clothes hugged their curves and their boobs, it looked like they were about to explode out of the thin fabric.

  “Hi, boys,” Colleen tutted as she pulled her friend onto the couch next to her.

  “What it is, ladies?” Abel sank onto the armrest next to his girl after handing them both cans of beer.

  “Holt, this is the chick I’ve been wanting you to meet, Pauline.” Colleen motioned to her friend.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I was barely able to talk. I was captivated. Ice blue eyes pierced me from across the
room, beaming from a slender, pale face that was framed with jet black, flowing hair. Her smile was adorable. Her body was incredible. I was hooked.

  “Likewise,” she cooed.

  The night went on with Abel and Colleen pawing at each other in the old recliner in the corner of the room.

  “So, what do you think of ‘The Rain Song’?” I asked as Pauline sat staring off into space, engrossed in the music.

  “It’s far out.” She flashed a toothy grin, scooting closer to me.

  “You know, this song was composed at Page’s home studio, including the entire arrangement and the vocal melody. He was inspired to write the song after George Harrison complained that Led Zeppelin never does any ballads.” I wanted to die a thousand deaths. How much more of a fruit could I fucking be?

  “That’s really nifty,” she said with a giggle. “I like a guy that knows his music history.”

  “You’re nifty.” There it is. Now I am the biggest dork to have ever lived.

  “You’re cute.” She slid over even more. Now she was practically sitting on my lap, and I was frozen in place. “Is that your bed over there?”

  I nodded shyly.

  “Wanna show it to me?”

  I poured myself more whiskey, offering some to Ryder, but he declined.

  “So, your momma told you I’m your old man?” I sank into a wooden chair at my kitchen table.

  He sat across from me—broad chested, hardened jaw, narrowed eyes. I felt like I was looking directly into my own damn reflection.

  “Yes. She said you were much younger than her and when her parents sent her away to have me, she didn’t want to ruin your already fucked-up life.” He never broke eye contact while he explained. It felt like a challenge, as if we were playing chess and he was waiting for my countermove. I had to give it to Ryder—he was straight to the point, and that was one thing I could respect the hell out of.

  “Well, she wasn’t wrong. When your mom and I were going steady back in high school, my life was one step away from batshit crazy, and I wasn’t even old enough to drive yet.” I chewed on the inside of my lip as I tried to wrap my head around the reality of the situation. How could I be one of those ne'er-do-well dads who never knew he was a father? I hated people like that. Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach.

  “She said she wrote you a letter telling you about me when I was around ten but you never responded.” He broke this glare, staring at his hands in defeat.

  “Never got it.” I shrugged. It was true. No such letter had ever made it to my doorstep.

  “Figures.” He rolled his eyes. “Mom always did have a knack for lying.”

  “How’s your mom doin’, anyhow?” I honestly had always wondered what happened to her. She was the only woman I’d ever loved, and one day she had just vanished. It was soul crushing to a teenaged boy who was love drunk and pussy whipped.

  “She could be better. We don’t really speak much, to be honest. That’s why I wanted to come find you.” The words rolled easily off his tongue but there was an edge to them that broke my heart.

  “You in some kind of trouble or something?” I scoffed at him.

  “No, sir.” He straightened up quickly, returning his eye contact.

  “Then why all of a sudden, out of the damn blue, did you decide today was the day to come pay a guy you have never met, who may or may not be your father, a damn visit at seven in the fucking morning?”

  “I know I’m your son.” His voice was unwavering as his declaration tainted the heavy air.

  “And how in the fuck are you so positive?”

  “Well, genetics. You can’t tell me I don’t look like you. I’ve seen pictures, and I’m a dead ringer for you in high school. I think that’s part of the reason why Mom hated me so much as I was growing up—I was a reminder of the guy who ruined her life. We both have one dimple in our right cheek, eye color is the exact same, and so is our hair. I’d say it’s a safe bet there’s a cleft in your chin hiding under that graying beard. Genes don’t lie, unless my mom was sleeping with your twin at the same time.”

  Damn, he’s good.

  “So what now?” I asked, staring at my son in disbelief. It was a lot to take in for the amount of alcohol I had consumed over the course of the night and the lack of sleep I was running on.

  “Fuck if I know.”

  Chapter 4

  Trent and Abel sat at the bar on either side of me as Crickett leaned over the oak capivated, listening to me tell them about the son I never knew about.

  “I’ll be damned. So that’s where Pauline ran off to—to have your bastard kid in secret to not shame her family. Fuck the seventies, man. That is some crazy ass shit.” Abel slammed back his shot.

  “Is he going to stick around?” Trent asked as he picked at the corner of the coaster in front of him.

  “Fuck if I know. We talked this morning and then he left the house to go get a part for his bike that was acting up.” I still couldn’t believe how much my life changed in such a short amount of time all over again. Hadn’t I been through enough surprises to last a damn lifetime?

  “You didn’t offer to bring it to our shop?” Abel cocked his head to the side. “That ain’t like you, Holt.”

  “It ain’t like me to have a kid either,” I barked. To be honest, I just didn’t know how much father-son bonding I was ready for at that point. I was already dealing with Rave’s death and planning for sweet revenge—how much more was I supposed to be piling onto my plate at once?

  “Hold on, I think I have an idea. We could use him,” Trent said under his breath. “That’s it—this is how we’re going to get to the bottom of what happened to Rave.”

  “What in the hell are you muttering about over there, Tre?” Abel barked.

  “Who is the most likely to have done this to Rave?” Trent looked at both of us as the light bulb going off in his brain got brighter.

  “The Sinners, or someone they paid off,” I responded without hesitation. Our biggest rivals’ fingerprints were all over the damn hit if any wanted my opinion on it.

  “Exactly.” He pointed at me sharply. “We’ve known for a while that they have been actively recruiting new blood. We get the kid to pose as a potential prospect, and he can sniff out the dirt we need so we can make those bastards pay.”

  “Fuck no.” I slammed my fist onto the counter. “I don’t know if I can even trust this kid with knowing where I live, let alone club business like this. He could get all of us killed.”

  “I think I’m with Trent on this one, brother. It’s a pretty fucking brilliant idea. Kind of pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” Abel pulled a blue Fun Dip out of the inside pocket of his cut and ripped it open.

  “Crickett, you’re quiet.” I looked up at her as she just stared at me.

  “Just taking it all in.” She waved me off. “Pretending like I didn’t just hear the stupidest fucking idea on the planet. It isn’t any of my business.”

  Abel winked at his wife. “Babe, you know you can weigh in. If this was something I didn’t want you to hear, you wouldn’t be.”

  Crickett smiled sweetly. “Honey, it’s dumb. Holt is right, and I cannot for the life of me believe you’re not warier of this entire situation. It all still feels so freaky, if you ask me. The timing is either fucking fate, or something is very wrong here. Either way, y’all need to keep your guard up around this kid. We don’t know him, and we can’t trust him farther than I can throw him.”

  “Yeah, but this might be our best shot. Frankly, it seems like the only true way to know the truth. If we want to outsmart them, we need an inside man.” Abel shot me a knowing stare, one that said, It’s my call and you’re going to have to go along with this. I hated that look.

  I hated that he was right. Trent could go fuck himself for coming up with the asinine idea but it was the only idea we had.

  I scratched under my chin, clenching my jaw. I didn’t want to give in, but I had to. “I’ll make the call.”
/>   “Good. See you at the garage in a few.” Abel got up, kissed his wife, and headed to work with Trent.

  Crickett shook her head while she counted the drawer to get ready to open the bar. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asked, not looking up from the stack of five-dollar bills in her hand.

  I threw my hands up. “No, but do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice, Holt.” Her voice was callous as she glared at me.

  I couldn’t take her disapproval. Out of everyone in that damn place, Crickett was always the voice of reason and never wavered on her resolve to make us better men. She was tough and smart—the perfect wife for an outlaw, the perfect matriarch for the band of hooligans we had become.

  I made my way into the back office, staring at the picture on Abel’s desk from the day I patched in. Rave was in the middle of us, arms hooked around our necks. We were all grinning like it was Christmas morning.

  “It’s official.” Rave beamed with pride as he watched me sew the Unacceptables rocker onto the back of my leather.

  “Did you ever doubt I would make it?” I teased as I tied off the string.

  He shook his head subtly. “I knew this day was coming for a while, just didn’t think you’d become the youngest member in the history of the organization.”

  It was my eighteenth birthday; they’d made me wait until that milestone.

  “It’s an honor.” I threw my cut onto my back.

  “You’re going to do great things for this club, Holt, mark my words. You’ve really come into your own, and I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become.” The pride that puffed Rave’s chest made me even more excited for my new undertaking.

  Over the years, our lives had shifted and altered so much, but one constant remained: Rave was like the father I never had. He took both Abel and me under his wing, did his best to show us what it truly meant to be part of a brotherhood. I stood up for what was right and lived by our code daily.