by Gypsy Reed
Tru Murphy
Knights of Mayhem MC Book I
Gypsy Reed
Published by Gypsy Reed, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
TRU MURPHY Knights of Mayhem MC Book I
First edition. May 1, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Gypsy Reed. All rights reserved.
Written by Gypsy Reed.
Cover design by Gypsy Reed & RJ
Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language, violence, and sexual situations intended for mature readers, 18+.
Table of Contents
Introduction. v
Dedication. ix
Sara Jane. 1
Alexander 8
Sara Jane. 11
Alexander 16
Tru. 21
Alexander 25
Sara. 32
Sara. 55
Tru. 68
Alexander 79
Sara Jane. 91
Tru. 105
Garrett 111
Tru. 116
Sara Jane. 126
Tru. 129
Mitch. 145
Sara Jane. 154
Tru. 157
Mitch. 166
Sara Jane. 175
KC.. 180
Tru. 185
Butch. 189
Thanks. 194
Blurb
Sara Jane has a broken brain.
Where no memories remain.
Confusion replaces pain.
But who was to blame?
Tru lives with demons who tell him lies.
Long ago cut his family ties.
Until the night he meets Sara Jane.
And finds his life irrevocably changed.
The ramifications of the events in this prequel will affect the brotherhood of outlaws known as the Knights of Mayhem MC for years to come. A brother is found after years of being presumed dead, while another is lost...forever?
Adult Content Warning:
This novella contains graphic violence, intense language and strong sexual themes, it is only appropriate for readers 18+.
Introduction
I HAVE LONG BEEN A fan of MC romance novels since their debut. I consumed all iterations, be they indie-published or traditional, with a voracious appetite. Some I absolutely adored while others left me wanting…
All the characters for this series started popping into my head a few years ago. They were unlike any of the characters in my other stories. They were outlaws; they lived by a different code. Oddly enough, Sara Jane and Tru Murphy came to me later, but I knew they were the beginning of my unique take on an MC series.
While writing another series, I couldn’t forget this idea. I’m a fan of letting ideas percolate for quite a while. Slowly this entire story unfolded, so I sat down and thought this is too big for me. The whole story encompasses roughly twenty years! Can I write this and do it justice?
I couldn’t stop thinking about these characters, everything that happens to them. Shocking often heartbreaking, sometimes exhilarating events and how they were all seemingly not connected on the surface, yet they were from my viewpoint. I thought this would be an exciting story to tell at the very least. I’ve read nothing like it before. So I guess that’s my justification for why this series exists. I wanted to see if I could write it, and I also wanted to read it. Purely, selfish, and hopefully fans of this genre will enjoy it.
If you are under the age of a legal adult or sensitive at all to emotional triggers, do not read this book. It’s not for the faint of heart, and I do not want readers angry with me, I have warned you. This series will only get darker, more gritty and rawer. While this first book is tame by the standards set by the remaining books in this series, it’s not a fairy tale, it’s an outlaw tale.
This novella is told in non-chronological order(a before & after style), multiple 1st person POV. If that bothers you, perhaps give it a pass. But to be clear, Sara Jane and Sara are the same woman. Sara is who she was before the trauma, and Sara Jane is who she became after she survived it.
Dedication
Everyone’s an outlaw until it’s time to do outlaw shit…
Sara Jane
…Now
THE LIGHT HURT THERE was lots of sounds; an antiseptic chemical smell. I listened to the sounds for a long time, eyes aching until they opened, then immediately shut again.
Too bright, it hurt my head a lot. I heard a sped up beeping noise followed by the sound of a door opening. I sensed someone.
“Hurts.”
The light dimmed. A nurse stood over me checking my vitals, and the levels on all the surrounding machines. I was in a hospital room? Why? It confused me. I tried to think; I found nothing; it made my head pound.
A short time later a doctor entered, “Do you know where you are?”
He looked friendly, kind.
“Hospital.” my voice shocked me. Did I really sound like that?
He checked my eyes, then asked, “What is your last memory?”
My head hurt, felt like razors in my brain. Jesus, I don’t know. Why am I here? What happened?
Seeing my blank, confused look, his tone gentled. “Do you know your name?”
I thought about that, but I couldn’t remember, “What happened? Why am I here?”
“You came into the ER with skull and facial fractures. There was significant brain swelling. We operated immediately in hopes to lessen the severity of any permanent damage. We didn’t know of your condition until we were operating and we received the results of your blood work. We reset your facial fractures. You may still need or want additional plastic surgery. We can’t be certain what lasting effects there may be. The brain is a tricky organ. Amnesia is not unusual with injuries like yours. It may be temporary or permanent. It is too soon to tell what lasting effects there may be.”
I might never know what I forgot? That terrified me. Why had I suffered facial cranial trauma? What kind of accident was it? Was anyone else hurt?
“What happened to me?”
Panic like an old familiar friend rose inside my chest. My head hurt so much.
“You suffered a serious head injury, brought to the ER over a week ago. Actually, I’m surprised you regained consciousness so quickly considering the amount of brain swelling you had. It’s imperative you rest now and heal.”
That panic I felt didn’t recede at all. Brain swelling? “Am I going to die? What happened?”
“You’re all right, Jane. Calm down. Don’t force yourself to remember, just rest. That’s best for you both.”
Why did he call me Jane? “Is that my name?” I’m scared and confused as fuck.
“You had no ID on you when the ER admitted you. Jane Doe is the name we give all unidentified patients. Now get some rest, and I’ll be back to check on you before too long.”
“Okay. I’m tired, and my head hurts.”
“I’ll have the nurse administer something to ease it.” The doctor gracefully left with a sad smile.
That sounded wonderful. It felt like a foot kicking me in the head. Thump, thump, thump. What happened? Who is Jane? Why is she me? Wait, is that right? I don’t know, it’s terrifying. My brain’s working, I am capable of thoughts, but it’s not, it’s not…
Ugh, I don’t know that word. I’m straining to remember anything, even if the doctor advised me not to.
The nurse has a sympathetic look as she places something in my IV. “You get some rest now, both of you.” She smiles.
What does that even mean? Do I have two heads? The pain hurts like that could be the case. I blink twice, my eyelids heavy. Yeah, okay.
Alexander
IT HAD BEEN OVER 3 months since Sara vanished off the planet. Garrett had gone t
o the ends of the earth to find her.
She’s just gone, and it’s killing me. I think I was mistaken in believing she betrayed me. I think something terrible happened to my wife, and I never saw it coming. I never protected her when she needed me to. What did I miss?
I think she died because I was never a good enough husband for her. I don’t think she ever cheated on me; I needed that to be true, to justify my own actions. I’m an idiot, I should have questioned everything that happened sooner instead of being so angry with her.
The events and deception that landed my father in federal prison, cheating with my brother Shayne, it’s so out of character for Sara. I was so destroyed by it, so furious and indignant that I never allowed myself to think about how it made no sense at all.
I think I lost the only woman I have ever loved. Her absence is like a hole in my soul, in my heart, sucking all the life out of me. I hurt her when I swore I never would. The worst part is not knowing. I don’t even care anymore if she did the things she did or why she lied to me.
I don’t know which parts of our life were real or deception. But I know this, I won’t stop until I find out what happened to Sara.
Sara Jane
I DIDN’T HAVE ANY LOSS of fine motor skills, that’s what the doctor called it. My speech was excellent, which was a blessing, though I paused to think of words sometimes. That didn’t feel normal to me. I found out what my ‘condition’ is. It was astoundingly weird to be pregnant, not knowing who the father is or what happened the night they assaulted me. Initially, I had been afraid I’d endured a sexual assault too. The gestation time of the growing fetus made that impossible.
The doctors said it was a miracle that we both survived the trauma. Women miscarry from far less than my body suffered. I had a survivor inside me, a strong one.
My doctor wanted me to stay in the hospital until I gave birth, but they considered me a transient. As soon as I was better, the doctor discharged me from the hospital ward. I still didn’t know who I was. The police didn’t have my fingerprints on file, nobody filed a missing person’s report. I assumed I had no family, none that missed me.
I had nowhere to go, but the nurse who was so kind to me took me to social services who helped me. They provided me with temporary shelter.
That was when I encountered the first person even vaguely familiar to me. He was a transient like me; I felt I should have a memory of him. You know how when you see someone; you know them, but you can’t place how you do.
When he saw me, then freaked out. So much they escorted him to the county psych ward via two uniformed officers. I guessed by everyone’s reaction that it wasn’t the first time. They gave him a wide birth before he started ranting about necklaces and Lotto. So many things that made no sense, really. Then again, I made no sense.
I don’t know if he was dangerous enough for that to be necessary. I doubted it; he seemed to know me, and if that was the case, then I had questions. They were basically unanswered, ignored until now. Well known on the streets, a crazy junkie. Everyone called him Tru.
That’s a weird name, like Jane Doe. What the hell is a junkie? He didn’t look very dirty or unkempt.
I’m lost. But he recognized me. He must know me, or who I am. Was? I doubt I’m her anymore. This man called Tru had answers, and I was going to get them.
I didn’t socialize much, because I hated people staring at me. What could I possibly offer to any conversation? I don’t even know my name, where I’m from, who hurt me, anything. It was so frustrating.
My lack of social skills didn’t prevent me from inquiring about this odd stranger named Tru. The response was unilaterally the same. He’s crazy, don’t get involved with him, he’s dangerous. One brief story, I had difficulty believing, was factual, it was too preposterous really. It didn’t matter; he knew something about me, and I needed that information. I was going to get it, crazy, dangerous, or not, tall tales be damned.
Alexander
I REWOUND THE VIDEO of my baby, Sara was smiling at me with the sun shining on her hair, making it look like sunbeams “Come on Alex, put the camera down and join me.”
My voice “I will god damn you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, you know that Sara?”
She blushed, “Come swim with me I can’t go out deep unless you’re with me. I need you, Alex, come on now.” she smiled again. My breath caught again just watching, as it had that day and any time I watched this video of our vacation to Fiji.
I rewound, “I need you, Alex.”- again “I need you, Alex.” My eyes burned, my heart empty, devastated. I paused it on her smile, that perfect face, the look in her eyes. “Oh god, Sara,” I spoke to her ghost-like she was there to hear me. “I’m sorry, fuck, please forgive me.” I was supposed to protect her and trust her. She was my life, my love, my wife, and I let him ruin it all. When I found my brother, he was dead. He had vanished. Even Garrett couldn’t locate him, and he was far-reaching in his resources. Relentless, even.
Garrett rushed inside my den and grabbed the Maker’s Mark from my hand, “I found her Alex. I found Sara, she has brain damage.”
Wait, what did he just say? “Sara is alive?”
He nodded “It was stupid never putting two plus two together. Sara’s the Jane Doe, the woman with amnesia in the papers a few weeks ago. The doctors did some reconstruction on her face, so I didn’t recognize her immediately. I retrieved her medical files from her hospital stay. She’s got the same birthmark, same blood type. It’s her, she’s alive.”
“She has amnesia?” I asked him, shocked but trembling with rage.
“She’s lucky to have lived, but she has no memory of her life, she’s a blank page. And there’s something else I just learned when I saw her at the shelter.” He added far too calmly.
I couldn’t fathom it. What type of amnesia? Was it permanent? Shelter? “What? Fucking spit it out, Garrett?”
“She’s pregnant, and well you can do that math.”
I couldn’t wrap my mind around that “Did you get a picture?”
He nodded “It’s her, just look past her surgical scars.”
I winced as I looked at the pic, but her eyes killed me “What happened to her face Garrett?” I cried, that wasn’t my wife.
It was Sara’s eyes, but not her perfect face.
“He destroyed her face!”
“Shayne went too far,” he answered.
“I want you to get her and bring her home right now right this fucking minute, you bring her back to me Garrett.”
“No.”
Tru
I FUCKING HATE THIS fucking place! It’s not a hospital, it’s a place where sadists get their rocks off. There are crazy fucks in here. Not just my type of crazy either. The truly bat shit insane, the kind that paints their walls in shit murals. I would never hurt her. I was trying to warn her. That man that night, the fancy-dressed motherfucker, he ran like a coward when he saw what I did to his men. That meant he was still out there and she was still in danger.
These fucks won’t listen to me. The irony in this situation is that for the past ten years I’ve just wanted to be left the fuck alone and ignored, but I never achieved it. People were always asking me for shit or wanted me to do shit with them. They were still trying to chat me up.
I think she remembered me; she was pregnant. It’s not rational, the strong need I have to protect her. But nobody else is doing it, and she’s still out there, and he is too. I’ll never forget the way she looked that night, both times I saw her. So, I fought them when they brought me here.
I don’t deserve this shit. I had what alcoholics call a moment of clarity; I didn’t enjoy it. But it’s here, I have a purpose, and it does not involve being locked up in the psych ward indefinitely.
I know how to get out of this place, it won’t be as quick as I want. It involves conformity, which I loathe to hell and back, and a lot of acting convincingly. I must go back on those meds that I fucking hate. They make the voice in my head quiet,
sure, but they numb me the fuck out. I’d rather feel bad than feel nothing. Besides, since that night that voice, which is more like Satan on my shoulder than a friend, has gained focus. A new purpose, Sara. I’ll do what I have to because she doesn’t even know who she is. She doesn’t know it yet, but she needs me. No one else can protect her, because they wouldn’t know who to protect her from. But I do, and I will. Just as soon as I get out of this fucking shit show, they call the psych ward. Those idiots running the shelter were calling her Jane. But I know her real name is Sara.
Alexander
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN shocked when Shayne walked into my house like he owned it. My poor illegitimate brother, always doing the dirty work for our father. He loved it; we worked well together, and he shoved the knife in my back so deep its handle was irretrievable. He should get an academy award for his acting. He deserved a knife in his back to match the one he put in mine and our fathers.
