Pandemonium (MC Sinners Next Generation #1)

by Bella Jewel

  He turns and walks off. “Lock the doors.”

  Then he’s gone, disappeared into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 21

  THEN – LUCAS

  Jackson stares at me. I hold his gaze.

  I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard stories about the President of the Hell’s Knights MC. He’s fierce, ferocious, and doesn’t take lightly to people messing around with his club, his family, or his lifestyle. I’ve had a few encounters with the club and issues surrounding it, but never directly spoken to Jackson. On a good day, I’d care about being seen here.

  Today, I don’t give a fuck.

  I don’t care what his club is doing. I don’t care about anything but finding Jennifer. Betrayal is strong in my chest, but she’s my wife, and god knows I have to find out where she is and make sure she’s safe and clean. Then, and only then, will I confront the fact that she’s been seeing another man.

  “What’re you doin’ at my club?” Jackson mutters, crossing his big arms.

  “I ain’t here to cause shit,” I grunt. “I’m lookin’ for my wife.”

  “So I heard,” he says, studying me. “Haven’t seen her for two days.”

  “What the fuck was she doin’ hanging around here anyway? You been giving her drugs?”

  His eyes harden. “Accuse me of anything, cop, but don’t you fuckin’ accuse me of giving women drugs. If she got drugs, it wasn’t from me.”

  “Then what fuckin’ reason has she got to hang around your club?”

  “She was unhappy. She liked the company; we gave it to her.”

  I tense. “By letting her fuck around?”

  “Listen,” Jackson snarls, stepping closer. “I don’t want your home problems brought into my fuckin’ life. If your wife was here, it was off her own back.” He leans in even closer. “If she was takin’ dick, it was off her own back. Now, you ask what you gotta ask. I’m givin’ you five minutes before I kick you the fuck out.”

  I want to raise my fist and punch him. Anger is bubbling in my chest, but I don’t act on it. I’m not here to fight; I’m here to find my fucking wife.

  “You sayin’ you haven’t seen her?” I say, my voice hard, icy even.

  “I saw her two days ago; she hasn’t been back since.”

  “And the man she was with?” I say through clenched teeth.

  “He’s here. You wanna speak with him? I’ll let you. You raise a fuckin’ fist? I’ll end you.”

  I grind my jaw. “Not here to fight. I’m here to find my wife.”

  He studies me and then jerks his head in a nod.

  I cross my arms and wait.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Sent her packin’,” the man named Chris mutters, his arms crossed, leather stretched across his shoulders. “Found out she was married. Not up for that. Told her I couldn’t see her no more.”

  I study him. I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or if he’s lying, but I need answers, and any answer is a lead in the right direction.

  “You givin’ her drugs?” I ask.

  He glares at me. “Fuck no.”

  “Then where the fuck was she getting them?” I snap.

  “How the fuck am I s’posed to know? She was just here havin’ fun. We gave her fun. If she was high, it wasn’t from us.”

  “And you’re saying you have no fucking idea where she was sourcing her drugs?”

  He shrugs, lighting a cigarette. “Coulda been anyone.”

  I don’t believe him. The last people to see my wife were those in this club, and they’re trying to tell me they know nothing. I don’t fucking believe them, but I have nothing to go on.

  “I find out you’re fuckin’ lying to me . . .”

  “You’ll do what?” Jackson barks. “We’ve told you what we know. Your woman ain’t here. Time to leave.”

  I cross my arms, holding his intense glare. “I’ve got my fuckin’ eye on you. She doesn’t come home? You can rest assured I’ll come knocking.”

  He says nothing, just keeps his hard expression.

  They know more than they’re saying. I’m nearly sure of it.

  And I plan to find out what.

  CHAPTER 22

  NOW – AVA

  I stare at Lucas as he jerks open my drawer. It’s five a.m. and I’m standing, my blanket wrapped around me, staring at him through bleary eyes. He woke me up by pounding on my door at some ungodly hour, and now he’s going through my clothes, looking for what I do not know. Hell, I don’t even know why he’s here; he’s supposed to be pissed at me.

  “What exactly are you doing in my drawers?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. He’s wearing loose basketball-type shorts with a tight black tee and sneakers. He looks like he’s going running. His hair is fresh, his clothes tight and fit, and his body pumped, slightly sleeked in sweat. He probably ran here. I don’t even know where he lives.

  My eyes travel down his body and stop on his bare calf muscles. I’ve never seen his legs, but there, right there on his body, is a picture of the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen in my life.

  My eyes widen.

  I didn’t know Lucas had a daughter.

  “You . . . is that your daughter?”

  He stops, his entire body turning to stone. “Was,” comes his reply, broken, dead and empty.

  I open my mouth, close it, and then just stare. Lucas Black had a beautiful, sweet daughter and now he doesn’t. She’s gone. I don’t know how she’s gone but from the way he just said that, she is. Maybe the wife ran away and he simply hasn’t seen her, but from the emptiness in his eyes, I think it’s worse, far, far worse.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Such a simple, common answer, an answer that probably means nothing to people who have lost so much, but it’s the only thing I can come up with. The only words I can force to the surface. Lucas doesn’t answer me.

  He pulls out an old pair of running pants and a tank and turns around, his face impassive as he extends his arm. “Get dressed.”

  My eyes drop to the clothes in his hands. I haven’t seen them for years—hell, I don’t even know why I still have them. I went through a stage. I was going to get healthy—I swore it to myself. I put them on, went running for a whole of thirty seconds before deciding that was never going to happen, and I stashed them away and haven’t seen them since.

  “What exactly do you want me to do with those?”

  “Put. Them. On,” he says, his voice hard and clipped.

  “Look, Lucas, I get you’re angry at me, but this isn’t going to help anything.”

  He steps forward, thrusting the clothes at me. I catch them in my hands and watch as he leans forward. “I’ve given you comfort. I’ve let you cry. I’ve been there for you. I’ve done what I thought was right, but the past and something you said to me last night made me realize I’m doing it all fuckin’ wrong. If you trust me, if you believe I can help you, then you’ll put those clothes on and meet me downstairs.”

  Leaving me with that, he turns and walks out.

  I stare down at the clothes. Do I trust him? God, I don’t even know him. Seeing that tattoo on his leg proves that. I don’t know where he lives. I don’t know if he has any family, an ex-wife, a girlfriend, kids . . . There is nothing—nothing at all, and yet I know without a doubt that Lucas Black would never do anything to hurt me. So, I get dressed and I go downstairs.

  Because I believe what he says.

  Mostly, I believe in him.

  ~*~*~*~

  I stare at the punching bag swinging in front of me. I adjust the tight pants around my hips and glance quickly around the busy gym. This isn’t what I had in mind. I thought perhaps he’d take me for a run, maybe he’d take me to a class of some sort, but I didn’t expect a gym and certainly not a punching bag.

  “Crying helps, talking helps, but as you know, even with all those things, sometimes it just isn’t enough. You need more. You need to vent. To get out the anger, the rage and the frustration. I wi
sh I’d known what I’m about to show you. I wish I’d figured this out when I needed it most.”

  “You want me to punch the bag?” I whisper, my eyes wide.

  “I want you to do whatever you need to get that desperate empty hole from gaping in your chest. I want you to have something to turn to when the need to drink takes over.”

  I blink. “You want me to beat . . . this bag?”

  He steps up behind me, one hand falling to my hip, the other taking my wrist and raising it up. “I want you to beat this bag.”

  I stop breathing. The feeling of his massive body behind mine sends a strange and unusual feeling through me. A feeling I’m not used to having. It feels like coming alive. It feels like rain. It feels like breathing. My skin prickles, and I try to concentrate as Lucas gently guides me forward.

  “When you hit,” he says, raising my fist, “never close your thumb in your fist; it should always go on the outside.” He positions my thumb outside of my now balled fist.

  “When you hit, try to line it up so your first two knuckles”—he touches my pointer finger and my rude finger—“hit the bag.” He extends my hand forward, touching my knuckles on the punching bag. “Punch with your body; gently flex your elbow so as not to strain it.”

  He pulls my fist back and pushes it forward again, his other hand tightening on my hip as he twists my body to the side to show me the correct position to punch the bag. Then, much to my dismay, he steps back, leaving me feeling empty.

  “Now hit it.”

  I take a breath and hit the bag. It barely moves.

  “Hit it, Ava,” he says, his voice firmer. “Hit it like it’s the man who took that girl’s life; hit it like it’s all the pain trapped in your chest bottled in one space; hit it like your damned life depends on it.”

  I stare at the bag, remembering Bethy, remembering the man who took her life in front of me, remembering my father’s broken face, and remembering how god damned hard my life has been in the last month. I stare at the bag and see it all mixed in one. My throat gets tight, my skin prickles, and pain explodes in my chest.

  My fist lashes out without thought, slamming into the bag.

  It feels incredible.

  I do it again and again, until my fists are pounding the bag, and I’m expelling every ounce of pain that’s built up in my body, in my heart, and in my broken, shattered soul. I cry out, hitting it harder and harder until tears roll down my cheeks. I’m panting and crying with every connection of my fist to the plastic covered bag.

  Big arms go around my waist, hauling me back, then I’m turned and crushed into Lucas’s big, hard chest. I clutch his shirt, my knuckles sore and bruised, and I cry. I cry for what seems like the thousandth time, but as always, he lets me do it. He always lets me do it. “It’ll get easier. Every time you hit that bag and find a way to vent, it’ll get easier.”

  “T-t-t-thank you,” I croak into his chest.

  “Don’t thank me. Just keep fighting.”

  I pull back and look up at him. His eyes meet mine and we just stare at each other. A rush of warmth spreads through my chest and something flutters low in my belly. His eyes flicker over my face before he lets me go and looks down at my hands. “You should get some ice on those. Next time, I’ll get you gloves.”

  I stare at my hands all red and puffy. “The pain kind of helps.”

  “Yeah,” he says quietly, stroking a thumb over my knuckles.

  “Lucas?” I say.

  He keeps staring down at my hands, but murmurs, “Hmmm?”

  “What happened to you?”

  He stops stroking.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I blurt out. “It’s just . . . I feel like you’re helping me because you’ve felt pain, and you asked me to trust you, and I do, but I don’t know you and . . . well . . . I want to.”

  He looks up to me again. “I lost my daughter. I lost my life. I’m just doing what I can to survive. There’s nothing to know.”

  “I’m so sorry about your daughter,” I whisper. “It makes my problems seem . . . pathetic in comparison.”

  He starts stroking my knuckles again. “No problems are pathetic, kid. Pain is pain, no matter the form. There isn’t a person in the world who deserves to be judged for feeling it, nor should they play it down because there’s another worse out there.”

  “What was her name?” I say quietly.

  “Shylie.”

  “That’s pretty.”

  He doesn’t reply, and I don’t push. He’s not ready to tell me more, and I understand that.

  I understand him more than he thinks.

  CHAPTER 23

  THEN – LUCAS

  My feet pound on the pavement as I finish my run, turning towards my house. It’s been three months. Three months since I’ve seen my wife. Three months since I heard her voice. Three months since she slept with another man and left me. I don’t know where she is; I don’t know if she’s even alive, but she’s gone, and I’m doing everything in my power to find out where she’s gone to.

  The Hell’s Knights club knows where she is, of that I’m sure, so I’ve started investigating them. I’ve been following them, tracking them, finding out what mess they’ve been getting themselves into and piecing together what happened to Jennifer. They’re starting to clue in, and things are becoming heated. I don’t give a fuck what they want. I need closure, and the only way to get that is to find my wife.

  I hit my front drive and see Jackson standing on my porch, his arms crossed over his chest. I slow down, ripping my earplugs from my ears and tucking them into my pocket as I jog up the front steps. I stop right in front of him, panting, my muscles straining. His face is tight; his body is rigid. He’s pissed off. I knew he would be. I knew he’d come my way after what I just discovered.

  “I wondered when you’d show up,” I mutter, swiping sweat off my brow.

  “You’re stickin’ your nose into my shit, investigating something I have no fuckin’ idea about, and I don’t like it.”

  I step up closer. “But you do know, Jackson. Tell me, how long have you been supervising the drugs coming in and out of this town?”

  He flinches. The only answer I need.

  “No fuckin’ idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Oh.” I laugh bitterly. “You fuckin’ know, but you don’t need me to tell you that. Any other time, I’d care what you fuckers were up to in my town, but right now I only have one goal—to find my wife.”

  “And I told you,” he barks, “I don’t fuckin’ know where she is.”

  “Your club got her back into drugs, into trouble, so don’t you fuckin’ tell me you can’t get the information I need to find her.”

  “I fuckin’ can’t, and even if I could”—he clenches his fists—“I’d never help a fuckin’ cop.”

  “You got a kid, Jackson?”

  He flinches.

  “’Cause if you do, you’d understand exactly why I’m doing what I’m doing. I lost everything. My daughter died, and I couldn’t save her; now my wife is gone, and I can’t find her. I had no control over my daughter, but I can control what happens here, and I’m going to find my fucking wife, even if it kills me.”

  Jackson holds my gaze. “You’re barking up the wrong fuckin’ tree,” he snarls before stepping past me and disappearing down the road.

  Yeah, we’ll see.

  ~*~*~*~

  “So you haven’t heard anything?” Jennifer’s sister sobs, clutching my shirt.

  I try to comfort her, but comfort doesn’t come easily to me these days. I stiffly hold her in my arms, staring above her head and over at the wall. I know she’s worried. I know she wants answers, but I don’t have answers for her. I have nothing but a blank fucking hole to try and fill.

  “No,” I mutter, running my fingers tensely down her back.

  “Oh Luke,” she sobs, and I flinch. “I just want to know where she is.”

  “I’m doin’ everything I can to find her, Kasey. It isn�
��t easy.”

  “I know; I know you are. You love her so much.”

  I clench my jaw. Do I love her anymore? I don’t know. Hell, I don’t even know what love feels like. I just know lately, I can’t feel anything but determination to get answers. I don’t know that I’m finding her because I want her back, or if I even want to help her, or instead because I need to get the closure of knowing she’s okay.

  “I’ll find her,” I say, stepping back.

  Kasey looks up at me, so much like her sister, yet so different. Kasey is prettier than Jennifer in a more petite, softer kind of way. Jenn had the good looks that made her stunning to men, but Kasey makes them want to lift her into their arms and hold her.

  “I know you will. I’m just so worried.”

  “As always, if you hear anything, you just need to call me.”

  “I haven’t heard anything—not a single thing. She’s my sister and she hasn’t called me. We were close, you know? I was with her through it all, and she hasn’t called me.”

  That is alarming in itself, but I don’t say so. “We’ll get answers.”

  I just hope I’m right.

  CHAPTER 24

  NOW – AVA

  I carry two handfuls of groceries to my car, feeling light, energetic even. After my intense gym session with Lucas, I went home, cleaned and strapped my hands, and decided for the first time since it all happened to get out of the house for something other than work or drinking. I didn’t go far, just to the store to get some food to make myself a nice dinner, but it was a start, and it felt good to do something productive.

  I think about Lucas as I walk and how incredible it felt to be with him. I didn’t realize until that moment in the gym that I have feelings for the broody, mysterious detective. I don’t know when they started. I don’t know how they formed, but they were there and they felt amazing. I haven’t experienced anything like it, and it scares the hell out of me.

  Lucas and I . . . we’re from two different worlds.

  I juggle my bags as I lift my purse to get my keys. I reach in and find them, pulling them out.

  “Ava, how wonderful to see you.”