Jaxson (Kinsmen MC Book 1)

by Hazel Parker

  And when I took her home to my Mom… I knew that she was truly the one. They were like best friends within an hour, Mom was sharing secrets about me and I was mortified, but Isabelle loved every minute of it. Same thing with my brothers, they treat her like the little sister they never had.

  We still have our hard times, when she told me about growing up without her dad, getting in trouble at school, and being sent away by her mom, I knew it was hard for her to be honest with me. But nothing can stop me from loving her, nothing.

  “Where are we going?” Isabelle sits on the back of my bike, her plush body hits mine and I melt along with her.

  “You’ll see.”

  I take the short drive from my place to the club. She hasn’t moved in with me, something about not leaving her roommate, but she practically does. She stays over almost every night and waking up next to her every morning is like a blessing.

  I pull around the back of the club, farther down to where Dad is buried. I never go here, but something in me just kept telling me to bring her here, and so I am.

  “This is where my Dad is buried.” I take her hand, feeling her eyes on me as we walk forward. She wraps her arm around mine and holds herself close to me. Even bundled up in her sweater, I can feel her warmth and it is what makes me keep going.

  I still feel that sinking dread when I think of Dad, but it has gotten better.

  “Do you talk to him?” she asks me.

  I shake my head.

  She nods and we stand there together over his grave until I feel like I’ve done my piece. I take her back with me and we stop at my house before dinner with Mom. We have gone every week for a while now.

  “You okay?” she asks me as we sit on my couch.

  I nod, “Yeah.” I turn to her, cupping her soft cheek to kiss her.

  Her lips pillow against mine, so soft and pliable. I take control, dipping my tongue inside to taste her, moving together with her. She sighs against me and runs her nails down my stubble, reaching my neck and twirling in my hair as she pulls. I maneuver her onto my lap, already rock hard for her.

  It doesn’t take much, she is fucking perfect and I’m always ready for her. I started to think I might have an addiction or something, but only for her.

  We get rid of our clothes so fast my head spins, and she opens up her legs so I can sink deep inside her pussy. I groan, as she clenches around me even tighter. Her nails rake down my front as she holds her pace, tearing my dick apart in the best of ways. She has grown accustomed to the way I like to fuck, but sometimes I let her take control, giving her the sweet loving that she needs. What’s even better is the way she sucks me off, all the way down and tight as ever.

  All these thoughts drive me closer to the edge than before. I use one hand to knead her breast and pinch her nipple as the other rubs her clit with my thumb. She pants and moans against my lips as I kiss her, then we fall over the edge together.

  I kiss her harder, releasing her when all of my cum is deep inside her.

  “I want to put a baby in you, Isabelle.” I growl, gripping her hips. I bend to kiss her chest and over her breasts, they sway as she breathes heavily still.

  She smiles wryly, “You’d have to make an honest woman out of me first, Jaxson.” She giggles, as if she doesn’t really mean it.

  But fuck, I do.

  “So marry me then. As soon as possible.”

  Her soft brown eyes widen and I lose myself in them, overcome with happiness. Here I am, buried deep inside of her, asking her to marry me. I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

  Her arms wrap around my neck and she kisses me, clenching around me again as she starts to writhe. I get distracted by her, forgetting that I actually want an answer. It came out of nowhere, and I should probably have a ring, but nothing with us has happened the way it is supposed to.

  “Yes, Jaxson, yes.”

  I smile back at her, growing hard in her again as I kiss her deeply. The woman that saved me, saved my club—she’s mine forever.

  ALSO BY J.C. ALLEN

  (Hey lovelies, Hazel here. J.C. Allen is a good friend of mine and was instrumental in helping me co-write Jaxson! I’ll give him some “air time” to write to you all.)

  Thank you for reading Jaxson! If you loved Jaxson, you’ll love the sensual, dark, and dangerous title also written by me: Savage Mercy. Order Savage Mercy now!

  And to find out about new books, sign up for my newsletter here!

  Join my Facebook group, J.C. Allen’s Reader Group, for exclusive giveaways and sneak peeks of future books. I hugely appreciate your help in spreading the word about Jaxson, including telling a friend. Reviews help readers find books! Please leave a review on your favorite book site. Turn the page for an excerpt from Savage Mercy…

  DEREK

  PRESENT DAY

  The smell of coffee wafted to my nostrils at an hour well past when most people would have awoken to the smell of their favorite caffeinated drink. A single waitress worked the old, 70’s diner, probably a bit of overkill given that I’d come to this place so many times I could cook their dishes blindfolded. She checked in only once to confirm my meal, once to deliver it, and once to bring the check. She knew me enough, and that’s all I cared about.

  I sat against the back of the booth, looking at the empty seat across from me. I sighed.

  Fuck.

  I had barely slept the night before. The truth was, I hadn’t ever truly fallen asleep. No, such a luxury hadn’t come to me in quite some time, and I didn’t just mean last night. I measured the deepness of my sleep by how quickly I could have bolted up and acted in a moment of need, and that quickness never went beyond a split second’s worth of recognition.

  Life had just changed in that regard. Ever since that fateful day…

  Fuck.

  I wanted to groan, to scream, to roar that curse as I lifted my head. Every day that I woke up, every fucking day…

  How some people started their day with a “good morning” or, hell, just one of those two words felt like a mystery I had once had the answer to but now would have had better luck trying to understand the meaning of life or the Bermuda Triangle.

  Instead, I got to “celebrate” the start of my day with what seemed like a cruel joke to myself.

  I went to the same diner that she and I used to go to every Saturday to truly, really, actually celebrate the good life.

  What a sick joke I played on myself.

  “Fuck.”

  Ahh, at least now I could actually verbalize how I felt. At least now my vocal cords were coming to life.

  With a slightly more alert mind, I knew that the hour had approached something between 2 p.m. and 3 p.m. Like I said, most people didn’t need their breakfast and coffee after when most civilized people had already had lunch. But then again, most people also didn’t need to do the kind of shit I’d undertaken in the past two years.

  I tried to wet my mouth, but even with having just eaten enough bacon and eggs to feed a professional athlete, the foul taste of oil, gas, and tobacco infested it instead. It was a common taste to rise to, but that never made it appetizing like pizza or the sweet scent of Mag…

  I stopped my thoughts in my tracks before I thought about her this goddamn early in the day. To be fair, thinking about her was an inevitable part of the day, as much a part of my life as pissing, shitting, and drinking, but at least if I could delay it some, I could say I had a tolerable day. Never a great one, mind you, but at least a tolerable one.

  But that was the problem with trying to suppress thoughts—the more I tried, the harder it got. And the harder it got, the more I’d try to suppress them. To say it was a vicious cycle would be like saying Las Vegas in the summer was hot. No fucking shit, Sherlock.

  Then again, I supposed that coming to the same diner we had always visited was not helping matters.

  But if I did that, what part of her would remain?

  Nothing. That’s what. She’ll be as dead as the day she actually died f
rom that fucking Falcon.

  Today, to get rid of them, I hacked up and shot a wad of spit out of my throat and onto my plate, hoping to clear the pipes some so the next time I said fuck, it wouldn’t sound like a twenty-year smoker on his death bed from lung cancer. I checked the dimple on my left shoulder, the bruises on my inner legs, and the general wear and tear of my body before I stood up to take a piss.

  And, in doing so, stepped on a sticky piece of gum some asshole had left before I’d never noticed.

  Hilariously enough, I didn’t even think fuck at this moment. Life had a funny way of making me appreciate what was worth a fuck and what I knew I had done to myself. The idea of laughing at myself for such a thing was… well, not going to happen, but the depressed and the cursed could still find dark humor in the shadows of life.

  I looked in the mirror in the bathroom and shit, did I look like hell. The lack of sleep, the stress, the constant nightmares and flashbacks… I didn’t give a fuck, at least not if anyone asked me, but damn was this bad.

  It was, I was sure, a sign of what was to come today.

  Today, like yesterday, like two days ago, like every day before that, was going to suck.

  Every day alone, without her, sucked.

  Fuck.

  Shit.

  Damnit!

  Well, at least I’m waking up. My obscenities are evolving bit by bit.

  I headed back to the booth to slowly sip on my cup of coffee, as if someday, somehow, I would have a revelation that would change my life.

  Hahahahahahahahahahahaha you fucking idiot.

  A flashing light in the corner of my room caught my eye, as if something was fighting with the forces of nature to remain on. I lazily grabbed my phone. No one important is calling right now. Probably some bill collector.

  Or…

  I looked at the name on the caller ID and rolled my eyes. Fuck, seriously?

  I would have thought that ignoring the previous half-dozen voicemails would have gotten the hint through, but then again, I thought a lot of things about the world that no one else seemed to agree with. It was just part of the odd balance between abiding by just enough of the rules that I wouldn’t wind up six feet under or in the slammer and also calling a bitch a bitch.

  Then again, some days might be worth going six feet deep…

  Still, bemused curiosity got the better of me. And what was I supposed to do, keep trying to play Jesus and resurrect the dead in my head? I pressed play and mentally prepared to strain my eyes with the amount of ensuring eyerolls.

  “Derek? Gooooood afternoon, it’s George…”

  “Again,” I said, finishing his words.

  I didn’t smirk—it was too damn early for that—but a sense like a smirk washed over me. The guy was just too damn predictable. In a way, it was nice to have this comedic relief right now.

  “… again,” the message echoed. “Listen, if I’m an honest man, and Lord knows I hope I am, I know you probably won’t respond. I would guess you’re just going to ignore this message like all the others…”

  “Then why the fuck you calling me,” I mumbled as I pulled out some clothes for the day.

  “… but darn it, Derek, no matter how crazy it sounds, I’m still holding onto hope that you’ll come back to us. Call me crazy, but… well…”

  I blurted out a single laugh, something of a miracle for being fully awake only so recently—or, really, my entire life. “Darn it, Derek, I’m still holding out hope,” sounded like exactly the kind of thing George would have felt so uncomfortable saying he would have begged forgiveness from God as soon as he said it.

  “What’s wrong, George” I said, my voice more of a gruff statement than an empathic question. “New guys not worth a shit, huh.”

  “It’s these new guys, Derek,” George said in what was so predictable, I would have bet on that more than on the sun rising the next day. “They’re just not working out. They’ve got half the work ethic and demand twice the pay. It’s so hard and we’re trying our best, but… oh, heavens, we need you back. Lord look favorably upon me please.”

  “And you assume that I just can’t wait to play the part of the chump and come back to work twice as hard for half the pay, that right?” I groused. “That’s your problem, George. Talk nice and think you’re being polite.”

  “My boss is going to think I’m insane, but I can’t help it, Derek. I’m willing to take you back at twice your original salary.”

  I’m sure some how-to book in the self-help section from some guru wearing a mic, a tie, and a fake smile would have stated how such an offer was a sign that you, empowered individual, had finally arrived.

  And I was just as sure that the only thing I had arrived at was the conclusion that I wanted nothing to do with that job ever again. I sincerely had a better chance of sending an olive branch to the Black Falcons than going back to that job—and I had a better chance of begging for Satan’s cock than doing that.

  “Way I see it, if I can get you back by getting rid of two of these lazy, money-grubbing… uhh… guys, then I’m willing to—”

  “Still a dipshit, I see,” I grumbled, turning back and stabbing my finger against the machine, deleting the message.

  The funny thing, deleting that message, was it wasn’t like I had moved on to “bigger and better” things. I didn’t even just mean in the traditional sense. I couldn’t really say that I personally felt like I had moved on to bigger and better things. What part of “widowed, hunted, and hated” was “bigger and better?”

  Granted, my life was a lot more exotic and, I supposed when I wasn’t in the midst of feeling pissed off, “exciting” compared to replacing shingles and yanking out old wiring in houses that should have been demolished instead of trying to power a stereo like mine, let alone an entire system.

  And, to be fair, I also had a lot more horny housewives waiting for me to “catch” them, oh so conveniently standing by their bayside windows with nothing but their bathrobes on, “accidentally” untied and open, their desperate, lonesome fuck-me eyes staring at me, telling me that their husbands, men like George, hadn’t given them a good lay in twenty years.

  But I had really never given a shit about that. Some young buck, some idiot, some fresh meat might have gotten off at just the thought of a woman, not some ditzy co-ed idiot, showing him how to fuck. But I just didn’t have any interest.

  Not when I had had the best a woman could offer. And not just any woman, but…

  Really not helping your cause here, thinking like this, Derek.

  I tossed my phone back to the ground and grabbed my coffee when my phone rang unexpectedly, nearly causing me to capsize the cup and drop the hot, burning drink onto my hands. Cuz that’s what I need, right?

  Startled, I turned suddenly to the still-going device. I shook my head, mumbled “motherfucker” and picked it up. I stared at the name.

  “Matty Rooster Rose.”

  Ah, fuck.

  “What,” I muttered before I’d even brought the phone to my ear, hoping that Roost didn’t have to fill my ears with a soliloquy so early in the day.

  “And a chipper ‘hello’ to you from the rest of the functioning world, as well, ya moody shithead!” Matty’s voice sang back to me, perhaps the starkest contrast I could have asked for at this hour. “What the fuck is goin’ on?!? You actually awake at this normal hour?”

  “Rooster?” I asked, then rolled my eyes at myself. Of course it was fucking Roost, I’d even looked at the damn caller ID before I’d picked up the phone!

  Like I said, I needed something.

  “Heh! The fuck else would it be?” he said. “‘Less ya got some other side fag running the books for ya. And tracking the jobs… and calling the shots… and tracking your transports… and—”

  “I get it, I get it!” I groaned, combing my fingers through my hair. One way or the other, Roost was going to wake me up. “You’re my everything, aww, how cute. You want a fucking raise or something?”

 
; Every so often, the sole waitress would give me a stern look for swearing, but it wasn’t condescending—it was more like my mother telling me to wash my mouth with soap. I always felt guilty swearing around her, but I’d ingrained myself too much in the life to not do it.

  “Nah,” Roost said with a drawled, drawn-out chuckle. “Just yer word that ya ain’t got any other fags working this hard for yer ungrateful ass. Ya know I couldn’t handle that.”

  I scoffed at that and shook my head even though there was no one there to see it. I was many terrible things, and anyone who wanted anything resembling a normal life stayed far the fuck away, but I swore loyalty above my own health. So long as Roost ran with me, I was monogamously working with him.

  Just not… well, monogamously anything else.

  “No, Roost, you’re the only fag in my life.”

  “Aww, well don’t be so certain, Derek,” he said, dropping his voice to a playful cautionary level. “Ain’t’cha been watching the news? We’s got agendas ‘gainst all arrows. Agendas!”

  I laughed at that, still wondering why he insisted on calling all straight people “arrows.” Wasn’t it just easier…

  Never mind that. Just, fucking…

  “Noted. So what’s up?” I asked, hoping the calm in my voice would steady the storm in my head.

  “Wanted to know when we could expect yer company,” he answered. “But then ya answered the call like an angsty bitch, so now’s I gotta know who put a pricker-bush up yer poop-chute! Who ya seeing, Derek? Who’s the lucky fag? C’mon, tell me the truth!”

  “Nobody,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes at the man’s too-keen senses, although I came as close as I had all morning to giving more than a one-off laugh. If anyone could pull it off, it was Roost.

  That ended, though, when my mind came back to what my eyes saw in that moment—or, rather, what my eyes thought they saw.

  And just like that… whatever glimmer of genuine laughter, whatever real hope I had for some hilarity, disappeared as quickly as she had.

  “I just… well, my stereo croaked this morning. Fucking outage blew a fuse or something, and to make matters worse my CD was still in the damn tray—can’t get it out. Want to know what it’s like? You’d be pissed out of your damn mind if one of your boys had his mouth sewn shut.”