Forgiveness: A Lords of Carnage MC Christmas

by Loveling, Daphne

  Forgiveness

  A Lords of Carnage MC Christmas

  Daphne Loveling

  Copyright 2019 Daphne Loveling

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Credits

  Mailing List

  Dedication

  1. Jewel

  2. Angel

  3. Jewel

  4. Angel

  5. Jewel

  6. Angel

  7. Angel

  8. Angel

  9. Angel

  10. Jewel

  Epilogue

  Daphne Talks Out Her Ass About Forgiveness

  More from Daphne

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  About Daphne Loveling

  Books by Daphne Loveling

  Cover design by Coverlüv

  One of my favorite things about writing is the relationships I build with readers. I occasionally send newsletters with details on new releases, special offerings, and exclusive bonus material to readers who subscribe to my mailing list.

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  To my amazing readers. Merry Christmas.

  1

  Jewel

  “Well, damn.”

  I eye the pregnancy test, trying to move past the sinking feeling in my gut.

  There goes my idea for the perfect Christmas present for Angel.

  It’s not until I’m actually staring down at the single lonely pink line in the little window that I realize how much I was counting on the test being positive this time. I’m only a few days late with my period, sure. But I was so certain that the waves of nausea I was having yesterday were a sign. Plus, Angel and I were fucking like bunnies all last month, especially while I was ovulating.

  It just doesn’t seem fair somehow. I got pregnant so easily with Timothy. Why is this time so much harder?

  Swearing softly, I shove the test back in the box and tuck it inside my purse. I’ll throw it away later — someplace where I won’t risk having it seen by one of the other women in the clubhouse. The old ladies are all well-intentioned, and I consider every one them to be close friends. But sometimes, it feels like everyone is a little too much up in everyone else’s business around here.

  And this?

  Is not business I want to share with anyone right now.

  “Well,” I sigh out loud, gazing at the mirror at my reflection. “I guess this means I’ll actually have to spring for an actual present for him now.”

  My attempt at humor is meant to make me feel a little better. A little pep talk to myself, I guess.

  But it doesn’t really work.

  “Jewel!” A familiar female voice calls from the other side of the door. “Do you know where the silver garland is?”

  “Coming!” I call back,. I unlock the door and pushing it open. Outside, Samantha and Jenna are standing in the hallway.

  “Everything okay?” Samantha asks as I emerge. “You were in there for a bit.”

  “Fine,” I reply, pushing down a tiny surge of irritation. I know Sam only means well, but I just don’t want to talk about this right now. “The garland’s in the back of my SUV. I actually got silver and red both. Enough to go all the way around the main room of the clubhouse. I was thinking we could alternate colors.”

  “Ooh, good idea,” Jenna grins, eyes gleaming. “This place is going to look like Santa shit out the entire North Pole all over it.”

  “God, the men are going to kill us!” Sam chuckles. “Did you even ask Angel if we could do this, Jenna?”

  Jenna rolls her eyes. “Please. I know my brother well enough to know he never would have agreed to it. I figure it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?” She gives me a wink. “Besides, Angel should have known better than to leave the clubhouse mostly unattended this close to Christmas.”

  “They’ll think twice next time about going out on a run in December, that’s for sure,” Sam chuckles. Instinctively, she rubs her very pregnant belly, on full display in a Christmassy ruby-colored sweater. She looks like a giant red ornament. I wince, but try to cover it up, hoping she won’t notice.

  Turning away, I plaster a smile on my face and start walking down the hall. “I’ll go grab the box of stuff I brought,” I announce.

  “You need any help?” Sam calls after me.

  “No, I’ve got it!” I move quickly through the main room of the clubhouse toward the front door, staring straight ahead so I won’t make eye contact with any of the other old ladies. I need a few moments to myself.

  I push open the door and rush outside. The cold blast of mid-December air hits me, bracing and welcome. I suck in a deep lungful, then let it out, watching the cloud of vapor in front of me. At my SUV, I lean against the side. It’s only now that I realize I’ve come out here without a coat.

  Unexpected tears prick at my eyes. Dammit. I brush them away and tell myself not to be ridiculous.

  I know I’m being unfair that Sam’s pregnancy is getting to me. It’s not her fault that I seem to be having trouble conceiving this time around. And it’s not like she’s flaunting her baby bump in my face — even though sometimes it seems that way lately. Heck, none of the old ladies even know that Angel and I are trying again. I’m being silly and petty. Letting my emotions get the better of me.

  And frankly, if I’m completely honest with myself, I’m being selfish, too. I’ve already been so blessed in motherhood. I have my beautiful, perfect baby boy Timothy. He is the spitting image of his father — right down to the rambunctious spirit and the devil-may-care gleam in his flashing eyes. I have no right to feel sorry for myself. After all, Isabel and Thorn have been trying to get pregnant practically since they first got together. Iz doesn’t talk about it much, but I know it’s been hard on both of them.

  I have no excuse to feel anything but blessed.

  But somehow, that doesn’t change the fact that I can almost feel my uterus clench whenever I look at Sam lately.

  I take a few minutes to give myself a severe talking to. Then I take one last deep breath, pull out the box of Christmas decorations I brought, and head back in with the same smile re-plastered on my face.

  When I get back inside the clubhouse, I’m immediately struck by how much progress the other old ladies have made in my few minutes of absence. The place is almost unrecognizable. We’ve never decorated for Christmas before, except for me putting up a tiny table-sized Christmas tree on the bar back when I was the bartender here. I don’t know if it’s because I’m the president’s old lady now, but Jenna got a wild hair up her ass this year and decided we were going to go full-bore transforming the clubhouse into a chrome and metal winter wonderland — complete with a blowout Christmas party on Christmas Eve, for all the Lords and their families.

  These decorations are the cheesiest thing I think I’ve ever seen. Bearded skulls in Santa hats decorate the walls. Black and silver Harley Davidson garlands are strewn across every available surface. The giant fake tree in the corner by the pool tables is so loaded down with ornaments and artificial snow, it looks like it’s going to fall over.

  Brooke, Beast’s old lady, is puttin
g up a life-sized velour poster of a skull-faced Santa on a Harley as I walk over with my box. Setting it down, I straighten and read the words on the poster: Oh what fun it is to ride.

  “Funny, huh?” Brooke says, chuckling. “I love this thing. Cracks me up.”

  “How in the world did Jenna get all of these ideas?” I marvel. “And also, how much money did all this cost?”

  “It wasn’t so bad. And it wasn’t just her. Jenna enlisted me, too. It’s amazing the ideas you can find on Pinterest. Believe me, we could have gone way more overboard than we did.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I gape as I take in the row of stockings lining the wall next to the bar. Each one of them has the name of one of the Lords written on it in glitter glue. “Are you seriously gonna give all the men stocking stuffers?”

  Brooke snorts. “Mini-bottles of booze. Irish whisky for Thorn. Jack Daniels for Angel and a bunch of the others.”

  Huh. “That’s… actually a pretty good idea,” I admit. “Hey, what are you doing here, though? Aren’t you usually at Super Girls at this time of day?” Brooke owns and operates a gym and self-defense center for women and girls in Tanner Springs.

  “I took the afternoon off,” she replies, waving a hand. Brooke pushes a strand of hair off her face. “The staff can handle things without me. It’s a slow day anyway. Before Christmas, attendance tapers off. It’ll kick back up after New Years.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Hey, when are the guys supposed to be back from their run, do you know?”

  “About an hour or so at the earliest, I’d say,” I reply, glancing at my watch. “Shoot, we’d probably better get a move-on getting the rest of these decorations up. It’ll be harder for them to make us take them down if we’re already done when they get back.”

  “You think the men will really be angry?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Probably. But they’ll also probably be too lazy to take them down themselves, so... we win!” I grin.

  Brooke bursts into her characteristic melodic laughter. “You sound like Jenna.”

  “Yeah, I guess my sister-in-law has rubbed off on me,” I admit.

  I’ve never been much of a one for Christmas myself, actually. At least, not before this year. My brother Jude and I grew up with immigrant parents who seemed to think of the holiday as just another example of silly American excess. That, plus the fact that they had never really wanted to be parents in the first place — which they made sure we knew, in no uncertain terms. But now that I’m part of the Lords of Carnage family — and also, now that I’m a mother — I admit that I feel a little differently about the whole thing.

  Maybe this Christmas will be the first one in my life that will be calm and happy. Untroubled with drama.

  Suddenly feeling more cheerful, I resolve not to think about getting pregnant anymore until after the holidays, and to just count the blessings I already have. I take out the first strand of silver garland from my box of goodies and get to work hanging. The time flies by quickly as I let myself enjoy the preparations and the comforting presence of the other old ladies.

  Jenna, as the official mastermind of the Christmas committee, flits around checking on us all. She’s popped a Santa hat on her head, giving her the look of a sprightly female elf. But even so, underneath her bright eyes and quick smile, I start to notice she seems a little preoccupied. As the afternoon goes on, she keeps glancing at the door when she thinks no one’s looking. It happens often enough that I stop my garland-hanging and go over to ask her about it.

  “You waiting for someone, Jen?”

  Jenna startles, swinging her eyes to mine before looking quickly away. “Oh, no,” she laughs, but it sounds a little forced. “It’s just that Sydney said she’ll be bringing us treats from the coffee shop. I guess I’m just in the mood for some sugary goodness.”

  Sure enough, Sydney does arrive a few minutes later, with a fragrant box of cookies and pastries in her mittened hands. She’s an amazing baker — so much so that it’s amazing we all don’t look as jolly as Santa by now. The women immediately swarm around Sydney, and devour the tasty treats in record time. But I notice that even after the treats are gone, Jenna still keeps casting the occasional glance toward the front door, a pensive look in her eyes. I shrug it off, telling myself she’s probably just wanting to make sure all the decorations are hung by the time the men get back.

  We’re just finishing the final touches when Sam’s voice rings out through the room. “They’re back! Places, everyone!”

  A couple of the women squeal as we race over to the low couches in the corner of the room. We fling ourselves down on them, giggling like children. Jenna turns up the volume of the Christmas playlist playing on the speakers, and we all do our best to pretend we’ve just been sitting here chatting.

  The rumble of motors increases outside, then dies out as the men kill their engines one by one. The women titter as we glance at each other with merriment.

  The door scrapes open. Boots sound on the floorboards.

  “Oh, fucking Christ,” Angel’s voice booms out into the room.

  “Jaysus, will you look at what they’ve gone and done,” Thorn echoes in disgust.

  “Holy shit,” Ghost mutters.

  “Merry Christmas!” all of us women shout, as we stand up in unison and fling up our arms.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Angel shakes his head as he strides toward me. He grabs me around the waist and pulls me roughly to him. “You behind this?” he growls. His tone is meant to sound angry, but I hear the softness behind it.

  “Your sister,” I correct. “Though I’ll admit, I gave her permission. I take full responsibility as the president’s wife.”

  “You’re pushin’ your luck, darlin’.” He leans down to nip my bottom lip between his teeth.

  “Maybe I was hoping you’d punish me,” I retort, hearing the hitch in my voice.

  “Oh, you’ll be punished, all right,” he murmurs against my ear. “Jesus, how can I be so pissed off at you and so fuckin’ hot for you at the same time?”

  “It’s part of my unique charm?” I giggle, as heat pools at my core.

  “Dammit, woman, you will be the death of me.”

  I lean back and lock eyes with him. “You can do your worst with me later,” I breathe. “I promise to be contrite. But honestly, Angel, look around. It’s kind of nice, isn’t it? And what’s a Christmas party without decorations?”

  He grunts, skepticism etched on his handsome features. “Well, I guess it’s done now,” he grumbles.

  “Exactly,” I nod. “So you may as well just sit back and enjoy our first Christmas party of the season at the clubhouse.”

  He sighs. “All right. You women have tricked us into it.”

  “Oh, and Angel?”

  “Yeah?”

  I bite my lip. “Any chance we could get one of the Lords to dress up like Santa for the kids on Christmas Eve?”

  “Jewel…” he begins in a warning tone.

  “You just think about it,” I squeal, pulling away from him and dancing off before he can slap me on the ass. “No need to decide now. I’ll get you a beer. You must be tired from the road.”

  “You’re playin’ me, aren’t you?” he calls after me.

  “Damn straight!” I call back with a grin. I put a little wiggle in my walk as I shimmy my way over to the bar. I ask the prospect to give me a beer for Angel and a Coke for me. I’ll slide some rum into that Coke in a little while.

  It’s funny to hear the men grouse about the Christmas decorations, but I think a lot of them are just putting on a manly show. I mean, come on, don’t most people like celebrating, and presents, and all of that stuff? I can’t believe we never did this before. But when Rock Anthony was president, back in the day, he forbid it. And his old lady Trudy wasn’t around the clubhouse much, anyhow. Then, when Angel took over as prez, he just kind of ignored the holiday altogether.

  But now that Angel and I are together, and h
is sister is married to his Sergeant at Arms, things feel different. And with Beast as VP and Brooke as his old lady, it feels like a new beginning, in a way. I feel like maybe this is the start to a new holiday tradition. Even if we have to drag the men kicking and screaming into it.

  Chuckling, I tell the prospect to pour that rum into my Coke after all. Time to get this holiday officially started.

  I take Angel’s beer over to him. Despite their grousing about the Christmas transformation of their clubhouse, the men are all cheerful from being back from their run. And the women are giddy from their decorating coup. The noise level starts to go up. Laughter and shouts ring throughout the room.

  I’m sitting on Angel’s lap, laughing at something or other that Thorn is saying, when over toward the front door, there’s a commotion. Suddenly, all of the talking and laughing stops, the only sound left being the blaring of music over the speakers.

  Angel stiffens, then lets out a loud expletive.

  Frowning, I follow his gaze to see what all the fuss is about.

  And what I see almost makes me drop my rum and Coke.

  Holy shit. I can’t believe my eyes. I’m seeing a ghost. I must be.

  Because the person standing in the doorway is dead.

  It’s Abe Abbott. Jenna and Angel’s father.

  2

  Angel

  I stare at the man who calls himself my father.

  A man I haven’t seen in years. A man who’s been as good as dead to me all this time.