by Avelyn Paige
ANGELS AND ASHES
Avelyn Paige
Copyright © 2016 Lauren Davis as Avelyn Paige
KINDLE EDITION
Cover Designer: The Final Wrap
Editor and Formatter: Ready, Set, Edit
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.
Table Of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Call Me – Shinedown
Bitch Came Back – Theory of a Deadman
Call Your Name – Daughtry
Things My Father Said – Black Stone Cherry
Drunk Enough – Angel’s Fall
All The Same – Sick Puppies
Trying Not to Love You - Nickelback
Hollow Man – Rev Theory
Thing for You – Hinder
Save Yourself – My Darkest Days
Broken Pieces – Apocalytpica
Familiar Taste of Poison – Halestorm
F*cked Up Situation – My Darkest Days
Careless Whisper – Seether
Monster – Skillet
Nikki
Raze is yours. Roman is mine.
Who Done It!
P.S. I win!
“Daddy’s home, boys,” I call out from the kitchen as the loud pipes from a Harley nearly shakes the house free of its foundation. “Colt, watch your brother while I go out to help your dad bring in his gear.”
Colt’s muted reply echoes from their room just before playful giggles flow out of the door. Giggles typically indicate those two are up to no good, but I’ll let their dad take care of any problems that occur today. It’s his turn anyway after yesterday’s marker incident in the newly-painted bathroom. I may live in a house full of troublemakers, but I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.
Reaching the front hallway, I peer out of the window and find that it’s not my husband’s bike that’s in the drive. His club president, Raze, swings his leg over his black Harley Davidson and begins to walk to our front door. A sense of foreboding rushes around me, causing me to stop dead in the hallway as the door slowly opens and reveals Raze’s large, hard body behind the door. My unease spills into the room when I watch his body shake with each step and his eyes are glued to the floor. Shit. Something’s happened.
“Where’s my husband?” I meekly question. Raze doesn’t even lift his eyes to me—something is definitely wrong. What the hell is going on?
“There’s been an accident, Darcy.”
A gasp escapes my lips as adrenaline pumps into my veins while the mental emergency checklist begins to unfold in my mind. Trips to the hospital with my husband became more of a regular occurrence the longer we’ve been married. I swear the man has a medical chart the size of that clumsy tool guy that was on TV in the 90s. It’s almost like a medical team family reunion when we breeze through the emergency room doors. It’s to the point that I often wonder if they have a frequent visitor express lane for us since we never seem to have to wait long.
“Do I need to get the boys and head to the hospital?” I ask while turning to get my purse from the hallway table. Raze reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling my attention back to him. I tear away from his grasp and glare at him for stopping me. I need to get to my husband, and he’s trying to delay me getting to his side.
“Which hospital did they take him to? Kindred or San Antonio? God, I hope it’s not Kindred during this time of day. It will take hours to get there with the rush-hour traffic.” Turning around once more to grab my purse, Raze’s large form steps in front of me and blocks me from my path—again.
“Darcy, I need you to listen to me. Brent’s not in the hospital. He’s dead, darlin’,” a sorrowful voice repeats to me while I blankly stare at the man in front of me. How is it even possible that my husband is dead? He left this morning with a smile on his face and a promise that he was taking us all out tonight to see that stupid Minion movie the boys have been driving us crazy about for weeks. No, he’s not dead. There’s no way in fucking hell that he’s dead. Lightness begins to fill my body when visions of my husband’s body lying in a casket spill into my mind. I start to stumble, and Raze lunges forward to catch me before I descend to the ground into a sobbing mess.
“Darcy. Darcy. Please, answer me, darlin’. You’re scaring the fuck out of me. Tell me you understand what I’m trying to tell you.”
Strong arms pull me against a hardened, muscular chest in an attempt to comfort me, but even without being in the right mind, I know it’s a futile action. His hands stroke my hair as I finally feel the tears pouring down my face. Shifting my face upward, my eyes connect with his own tear-stained face, seeing that his icy-blue eyes are as mournful as my own. The pain he feels is nothing compared to the pain writhing inside of me. I know he loved my husband in his fucked-up man version of the feeling, but he’ll never fully relate to the pain or hatred that I feel for that fucking club. He may have lost his brother to whatever claimed his life, but I lost the one person on this Earth who understood me and helped me give life to the boys playing in the sunroom next to us.
How do I even begin to tell them about their dad? Colt may comprehend that his dad’s not coming back at six years old, but three-year-old Wesson isn’t going to understand at all. My eyes shift to my stomach as tears well in my eyes. Neither will the small bump growing inside of me. Brent didn’t even know I was pregnant yet; I was going to make the announcement tonight at dinner that our family was going to be growing by one more—my anniversary surprise to him. Brent always wanted more kids, but after the difficulties we had with Wesson, our doctor had warned us our precious little boy would reasonably be our last child.
“How?” I quietly croak out. “I want to know how.”
Raze releases me from his grasp and pulls me into the living room by my wrist, sitti
ng me on the couch. His hand falls from my wrist while he settles in beside me, his large frame causing the couch to dip under his weight. He sighs loudly and grabs for my hand again as he begins to stroke his rough thumb against my palm.
“He came by the clubhouse this morning to drop off some payroll checks for the guys and for Church. A couple of the guys needed some help putting an engine back into its mount, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to him before he left. I was out in the shop working with Slider when Voodoo got a call about an hour ago from the local PD. They’d found his bike wrecked about five miles from here on Mountain Avenue. By the time the ambulance got to the scene, he was already gone. We’d have never known until the hospital called you if one of Voodoo’s cop buddies hadn’t been working the scene. I didn’t want one of the cops coming to the house to tell you and scare the boys, so I waited until I had gotten confirmation and came to tell you myself. I’m so sorry, darlin’. I know he wasn’t ready to lose his family like this. He had too much to live for to die so young.”
My hand instantly flies out of his grasp and slaps him hard across the face. Raze doesn’t even flinch or react as a red imprint of my hand begins to materialize on his flesh.
“Too much to live for? Brent would have died to protect our family, and for you and that fucking brotherhood. You must think I’m stupid to not realize that you are such a fucking liar, Raze. I damn well know he wasn’t headed toward the club this morning. He told me that he had some business to take care of in San Diego and that he’d be home early since we had plans tonight. Tell me what really killed my husband, and stop sugarcoating your bullshit to me.”
Raze shakes his head at my blunt response and shifts uncomfortably next to me before standing up in complete and utter silence. He stalks toward the door, and just as I open my mouth to berate him further, he stops abruptly and pivots back toward me with his eyes locked intensely onto mine. “I know you’re hurting, darlin’, but getting pissed at me isn’t going to bring him back, as much as I wish it fucking could. He died on his fucking bike, and that’s all you need to know.”
“You son-of-a-bitch,” I screech, leaping from the couch with such force that I reach him in just a few broad steps. My hand again flies toward his already-red cheek when he catches it tightly within his large hands. His eyes narrow when he roughly throws my hand down as his left hand grabs me by the chin, forcing me to look at him once more.
“I let you hit me the first time because I knew you were in pain, but I can’t let you do that again. Darcy, I know you loved the old bastard and he loved you back, but he wouldn’t want you acting like this. You need to focus on your boys right now and how the fuck you’re going to handle telling them. Once the funeral’s over, if you want to hate me or any of the guys for the rest of your life, that’s your prerogative, but for the next few days, you need to put on a brave face for Brent. He wouldn’t want you at odds with us while we all mourn since you and those boys are the only piece of him we have left.”
“I don’t give a shit about your club or your feelings,” I spit back at him. “As soon as my husband is buried, I never want to see you or that fucking club anywhere near my family again.”
A grim and anger-laced expression briefly crosses Raze’s face before his calm, but stern, everyday grimace settles. His face is usually unreadable, untouched by emotion-driven gestures, but even in my grief, I can tell that he’s seething at me now. I don’t care about any of the feelings he may have.
“If that’s what you want, so fucking be it, Darcy. But until that man is buried, you will let us take care of his family. Morton’s already has his body and he’s waiting for your call to set up arrangements. The club will be handling the procession to the cemetery along with me as his president officiating the graveside service. You can have your religious shit or whatever you want at the funeral home, but the cemetery is ours.”
“How dare you—” I reply before he’s hushing me with his thumb pressing tightly against my lips.
“Tell the boys, and call the funeral home, Darcy. I’ll have Maj come by later to get the information from you. If you need anything, contact me directly,” Raze replies as he coldly releases his grip and stalks out of the house, slamming the door behind him. The shuffling footsteps of Wesson and Colt grow louder in the hallway as the sounds of his bike grow quieter. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I watch as my two young sons walk into the room.
“What's wrong, Mama?” Wesson asks. “Why did Uncle ‘aze make you cry? Was he mean to my mama?”
Holding out my arms to them, I watch as they both rush toward me and encompass their little arms around my neck and torso. The tears begin to heavily flow again as I work up the courage to tell them. I know I’m only delaying the inevitable by stalling their questions with a hug, but I can’t help it; I need to feel them and the piece of their father that lies inside of their little bodies. As soon as I tell them, their worlds will shatter, and I’m not ready to see their hearts break. Wesson begins to wiggle to break free of my grasp, forcing me to pull away from their little bodies. I look at their beautiful faces while I wait for the right words to form on my lips. How did we get so lucky to have such handsome boys? As Wesson’s cold little hand caresses my face, I am snapped back to reality.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” Colt questions.
“Mama’s got some bad news, boys. Daddy had an accident.”
Colt remains silent as Wesson’s confusion sets in. “Is Daddy at the ‘ospital with the pretty nurses?” Holding up his bandaged finger, he looks at me with hope. “Daddy can have one of my batman bandy-aids, but only if he doesn’t cry when you put the magic meddy on, Mama. Big boys don’t cry.”
Wesson’s sweet words shatter my heart even more.
“No, baby, Daddy doesn’t need a bandy-aid where he is.”
Colt’s face instantly reflects in recognition that he knows what I am about to say isn’t good news. He grabs for his brother, and I pull them both into my embrace once more. “Daddy’s with the angels now, isn’t he, Mama?” Colt’s tiny voice asks with just a whisper against my chest.
It’s all I can do to stop from wailing as I simply reply, “Yes, baby. Daddy’s with the angels now.”
The boys sob in my arms for what seems like hours before their bodies succumb to their grief-stricken exhaustion. Carrying each boy one by one, I settle them down into their rooms before making the necessary phone calls to my parents and to the funeral home. Morton’s continuous barrage of questions cut me down further and further until I have nothing left inside of me. The last few minutes of the call blurs through time as my soul shatters away, knowing that the only person who can fix my broken heart is the one who I will be burying in a few short days. This isn’t fair to me and especially not to the boys to lose their dad so early in their life.
Hours later, I sit in complete darkness in the room I once shared with my husband and remember our time together as a family. The sadness begins to formulate not only in rage, but in a revengeful plea to the Heavens to bring him back to me no matter the costs. They say that there are five stages to grief, but to me there is only one. Revenge. I silently swear on my unborn child’s life to find out what really happened to his or her father. I may be just a former biker’s bitch, but they’ll pay for what they took from me with every drop of blood that falls from their bodies as I crush their heart in my hands. I just have to bide my time to bring this little one in the world and make sure the boys will be safe from the backlash that might come from what I am planning to do. My husband may have been a Heaven’s Reject, but I will be the right hand of the devil. All that will be left after I scour the Earth for the person whose hands are stained with my husband’s blood will be angels and ashes.
I knew from the moment I saw the blood dripping from his veins that the darkness that I’ve kept at bay for so long would soon be unleashed. Watching Jagger’s lifeless body swing from the rafters of my own shed on fucking clubhouse property fueled the rage inside of me. No one comes onto ou
r property, murders one of my brothers in cold blood, and lives to old age. Even days later, I still feel the demon inside of me screaming for fucking vengeance just like the rest of the club. As much as I want to light the fire under these motherfuckers, I know it’s not the right time. We don’t have a plan or even know where their hidey-hole of a clubhouse is at the moment. I’ve got the feelers out there trying to track them down, but they’ve come up with jack shit so far. The time for revenge will come soon enough for those Tribe bastards.
While the planning and slow action of avenging Jagger is causing tension with my brothers, today is the day we lay our brother to rest and mourn alongside his wife and sons. Just thinking about his funeral today puts knots in my stomach. His boys are too fucking young to lose their old man, and it eats me alive knowing that Jagger will miss out on their entire lives. I had twenty years’ worth of memories with my own father before his lifestyle finally claimed his life, but Wesson and Colt will only have a few short memories, if they can even remember him at all as the years go on.
Some people might say that he is watching down on them, but guys like us don’t get the pearly fucking gates. Nah, guys like us end up in Hell’s furnace paying for each and every last sin we’ve ever committed. Just thinking about the shit I’ve dealt with over the years with Jagger by my side just cements the idea in my head that there’s no fucking Heaven for a Heaven’s Reject. His family needs to think that they’ll see him again someday in the afterlife. And that’s what I am going to tell them in his eulogy today. Their old man was a good man, and that’s the only side of him they need to know about.
I couldn’t sleep last night knowing that I would have to say goodbye to Jagger today. I tossed and turned for hours until I finally dragged my ass into my office to think about what the fuck I’m going to say to those attending the funeral in a few hours. Even as I tried to find the right words, all I could picture was Darcy’s face as I told her the news. I’ve gotta admit that watching the smile fall from Darcy’s face when I pulled up in her drive felt like a forty-five caliber shot to the heart. Just looking at me she had to have known that it wasn’t good news I was delivering, and I sure as hell wasn’t Publisher’s Clearing House bringing her a check for a million dollars.
