Slashes in the Snow: A Baum Squad novel

by Never , M.

  Slashes in the Snow: A Baum Squad novel

  M Never

  Contents

  Slashes in the Snow: A Baum Squad novel

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue - Gerard

  Ky

  Kira

  Afterword

  Sneak Peek at Aces High

  About the Author

  Also by M Never

  Slashes in the Snow: A Baum Squad novel

  Copyright © M. NEVER 2019

  All rights reserved

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from author M. Never.

  Cover Design By:

  Marisa Shor, Cover Me, Darling

  Editing By:

  Candice Royer

  Proofreading By:

  Insight Editing Services

  Elaine York, Terri Fantauzzi

  Cover Photo By:

  Wander Aguiar

  Created with Vellum

  Slashes in the Snow: A Baum Squad novel

  Foreword

  “We were together . . . I forget the rest.” — Walt Whitman

  1

  Kira

  This may be the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had.

  I stand static in the doorway of the most intimidating establishment I have ever stepped foot in. I’m an outcast, and every eye pinned on me knows it. Every steely, sharp, probing pupil glaring in my direction.

  I take a deep breath and talk myself out of running for my life. If I leave now, I may not have much of a life left to run for.

  I take a tentative step forward, and the worn wooden floorboard creaks beneath my foot.

  Ohhhh, you can do this. Just walk. Just walk. One foot in front of the other. Right, left, right, left.

  I balance on a tightrope as I make my way up to the bar. It’s old, wooden, and weathered, much like the bartender behind it. His grey beard is longer than my hair, and half his face is puckered with scars. Holy fuck, he’s scary. And by the way he’s staring at me, he’s not finding any entertainment in my presence.

  “What can I get you, princess?” His voice is raspy as I stand before him, a million tiny stabs of judgment tearing my body apart from the captivated audience around me.

  “I’m looking for Ky Parish,” I announce, placing my hands on the bar’s sticky edge. Ick.

  The old man’s grey, wiry eyebrows shoot up, and a low hush ripples over the patrons. I glance around at the rugged faces sitting at the few tables sprinkled around the room and those paused from shooting pool. If I didn’t have everyone’s attention before, I definitely do now.

  A moment later, two large men with thick beards and leather vests flank me. They’re not as old as the bartender, but definitely just as intimidating.

  “What kind of business you got with him?” The guy on my right leans on the sticky wooden top. He’s way younger than the bartender. Late twenties max, with long, copper-colored hair pulled up in a messy bun, and a pair of the brightest green eyes I have ever seen.

  “It’s personal.” I clear my throat.

  “Personal?” he snorts.

  “Yes.” I square my shoulders, trying to make my five-foot-four frame look as large as possible.

  Agent Orange smiles down at me. It’s a condescending, humor-filled expression that makes me prickly.

  “No one gets an audience with the Prez unless they got one of three things. Drugs, money, or pussy. Which one you offering?”

  I cock my head and stare up at the leather-clad monster. “None of the above.”

  “Then you ain’t got no business with him.”

  “Yes, I do,” I argue. “I need to see him.”

  “We hear lots of women say that,” the dark-haired man on my left snickers as he lifts the hem of my pleated skirt. I smack his hand away and take a step back. There’s a wave of laughter in the room at my expense. Assholes. Every one of them.

  Panty Peeker is just as tall as Agent Orange, not as broad, but still menacing, nonetheless. Yup, this was definitely the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had. Thank you, desperation.

  I continue to backpedal to the door, Agent Orange, Panty Peeker, and a few other men trailing in my direction.

  “Since the Prez is preoccupied, you could always talk to one of us,” Agent Orange offers salaciously.

  “I’ll pass,” I sneer, still backing up. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. Everyone in the bar is staring at the little preppy princess who has no business being here. My heart hammers in my ears as I’m stalked like an animal. Only a few more steps and I’ll be out the front door. As soon as my foot hits the rickety porch, I’m going to make a run for it.

  “Where you going so fast, hot stuff? We were just getting to know each other.” The door is blocked by two more men, and I know I’m fucked.

  Fucked. Fucked. Fucked.

  “I’m not interested in getting to know any of you,” I assert, even though I’m scared out of my mind. I know someone like me doesn’t belong in a place like this, and all the men surrounding me know it, too.

  “We’re interested in getting to know you.” One of them fondles the end of my blonde hair.

  “Yeah, give us a chance.” Another places a hand on my shoulder.

  “You got pretty legs.” Yet another eyes me up like a piece of sugary candy. I smack each advance away, panic clawing at my throat like a terrified cat up a tree.

  “Get away from me,” I hiss.

  My order falls on deaf ears though. I’m no one to men like these. Ruthless, fearless, savage. I’m a new, shiny toy, and it’s clear they want to play.

  I become claustrophobic as the circle tightens around me and hands touch me from every direction. Just before I scream in terror, a deep voice bellows, “Enough.”

  I jump sky high as the men scatter around me.

  Holy fuck.

  I take one more panicked step back and hit the wall. There’s nowhere left to go. I wipe my watery eyes and try to calm my hammering heart as the apparition stares me down. He appeared literally out of thin air. I stare back, straight into his arresting blue eyes. They’re on fire, burning with indignation. I’ve only heard stories of the infamous Ky Parish. Tales of a man who was fearless, loyal, and a tad bit reckless. A man who survived the travesties of war as a Marine and emerged a hero. I don’t know how biased these stories are since the man telling them was Ky’s father, but they all sounded sincere. Gerard Parish, my stepfather, is incredibly proud of his son, which is why I’m here. Everything I’ve been told about the man led me to believe he’s someone I could turn to, possibly even trust. But the person standing before me is a stark contrast to the image I had in my head. He looks . . . pissed. No humanity in his eyes, just hatred. Hatred direc
ted right at me. I don’t understand where the feeling stems from. I’ve never met him before. He has no reason to dislike me. Does he?

  “You know who I am?” I ask meekly. I wanted to have this conversation in private, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.

  “I believe I do.” His voice is low, raspy. Sort of sexy. I shouldn’t even be thinking that. But I can’t help it. The only time I’ve ever seen Ky was in his boot camp graduation picture Gerard keeps in his wallet. And that person — the cute boy with immense life twinkling in his eyes and a suppressed smirk that concealed trouble — and the one standing in front of me are starkly different. The person in front of me is stormy, hard, and intimidating. Hot as fuck, and definitely not a boy, but a man. A man who’s seen a lot of this world and wears his scars predominantly on his face. Namely across his left eye where a long, angry slash stands out.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my bar?” Ky cuts right to the quick.

  “I needed to speak to you.” I try to keep my voice even.

  “About what?” He crosses his arms and glares. “My dad?”

  “No.” I notice all the attention this conversation is garnishing. “Is there somewhere private we can go and talk?”

  Ky’s lips twist up sinisterly, and I shiver. “Sure, out-fucking-side. You can wait . . . forever.” He all but kicks me out of the bar. “Beat it. I’m not interested in anything my deserter father or one of his princess pussies has to say.”

  I jerk my head back from the blatant insult. I knew Ky Parish was rough around the edges. I didn’t know he was a complete and total dickhead.

  “I need your help,” I whisper, pleading.

  “I don’t give a crap what you or your family needs.” His tone rumbles with animosity. “Now — Get. The. Fuck. Out.” He punches every word.

  I feel my eyes round and my lip pout. This was not what I was expecting. I don’t really know what I was expecting when I came face to face with Ky Parish, but a repeated backhand of insults was definitely not it. I know Ky and Gerard are not on the best terms, but I didn’t realize it was this bad, or that he had such ill will toward my mother and me.

  I stand up straight, the wall helping me stay horizontal. “You know, I’ve heard Gerard call you a lot of things. Fucking jerk-off was never one of them.” I sidestep to the right, and I’m out the front door. Dashing to my little red BMW parked on the gravel lot, I try to slam the driver’s side door as fast I can, but my arm is nearly ripped out of its socket as it hitches on something. I look up to find a dark figure blocking out the sun, holding my car door hostage.

  Fuck. I pissed him off. Not the objective for today’s visit.

  “What exactly has my father told you about me?” he demands.

  “Why do you care? I believe your exact words just were, and I quote, ‘I don’t give a crap about you or your family,’”

  I spit.

  “You’re mistaken. What I said is, ‘I don’t give a crap about what you or your family needs,’” he corrects. “If you’re going to quote someone, at least make it accurate.”

  I bristle. Is he being serious right now?

  “Can I go, please?” I yank on the door handle. “This was a huge fucking mistake. I see that now.”

  The door doesn’t budge though. He clearly isn’t letting me leave that easily.

  “Not until you tell me exactly why you’re here. Is my dad okay?”

  “He’s fine.” I fight against his stronghold on the door. I just want to go. Disappear and forget I was ever here. I’d like Ky Parish to do exactly the same. “He’s in Paris with my mother.”

  Ky scoffs, “Of course he is. Living the highlife with his high-profile fucking princess.”

  “Huge fan of my family, I see,” I rip on him as I continually tug.

  “Huge is a bit of an exaggeration.” Ky moves slightly, and I go flying across the front seat as the force of my fight slingshots me back, the door slamming closed with an absurdly loud crash.

  Fucker.

  I punch the engine on, but he reopens the door before I can pull away.

  “Why did you come here?” he leans over me and asks with all seriousness. I get a perfect look at him. All the hard yet soft lines of his face. The golden five o’ clock shadow that matches the messy mop on top of his head. And his eyes. Damn those arresting eyes. They’re almost turquoise from the way the light is hitting them.

  I have to remind myself to breathe. Ky Parish has to be one of the most striking men I have ever encountered, slash across his face and all.

  “I need help,” I answer honestly, lost in the taxing moment. Lost from the proximity of our faces and the strange attraction to this man. This man I don’t even know, who’s technically my stepbrother, even though we are more strangers than siblings.

  “What kind of help?” he entertains me.

  I swallow hard. “I think someone is following me. Maybe . . . stalking me?”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Because I’m not sure.” Ky regards me like I’m crazy. At the moment, I feel exactly that.

  “You aren’t sure if someone is stalking you?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know,” I scramble. “I just know weird things have been happening.”

  “Like what?”

  “I feel like someone is watching me. When I’m sleeping. When I leave the house. It’s just a creepy feeling.”

  “Why come to me? Why not just go to the police?” Ky straightens up, folding his muscled arms across his chest. All the colorful tattoos peeking out from the hem of his short sleeves bulge and ripple as if animated for a short second. The serpent around his forearm eyeing me makes me inwardly shudder. I despise snakes.

  “I went to the police. But I have no hard evidence. Just a feeling. They can’t do anything about that.”

  I know it sounds insane, but it’s true. Someone is watching me. I feel it every time I walk into my house. It’s freaking me out. And I’m scared. Scared to be alone. Scared to sleep. Scared to walk in and out of my own home from fear of the unknown. Someone, I’m convinced, is fucking with my head.

  “Why aren’t you in Paris?”

  “With my mom and Gerard? I’m supposed to go at the end of the month. After finals. I’m in grad school.”

  “I see,” he muses. “So, what is it that you want from me?”

  “I’m not sure, honestly. Help?”

  “What kind of help? A bodyguard?”

  I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just . . . just . . .”

  “Just what?” Ky presses. The weight of his stare feels like a thousand pounds of sand being poured on top of me. I suffocate under it.

  “Scared, okay,” I exasperate. “I’m scared.” I hate admitting that, but it’s the truth.

  Ky continues to gaze down at me in all his menacing glory. I wish I knew what he was thinking. He’s more stoic than a Roman statue.

  “I’m nobody's bodyguard, Snow.”

  Snow?

  “Please,” the word springs from my mouth. “I have money. I can pay you.”

  Ky actually laughs. “I don’t need your money.”

  “Then there must be something. Something I can trade or give you?”

  His humor dies, and the cold, calculating man from earlier reappears.

  Ky is skin-tinglingly silent for way too long. I wait on pins and needles for a response, and finally, he gives me one. “You don’t have a goddamn thing I need.” With that, he slams my car door shut. Conversation over. I watch him head back into the bar, boots kicking up dirt as he strides away. He walks with so much confidence and authority. So much hostility, too.

  My last resort disappears into the bar called The Lion’s Den, which is aptly named since it feels like I just narrowly escaped from one.

  2

  Ky

  “Scared, okay . . . I’m scared.”

  Those fucking words. I can’t get them out of my head. Or her. I can’t get her out of my fucking head either. Those wide, e
arnest eyes, long blonde hair more beautiful than spun gold, and her body. Goddamn, just as perfect as fucking perfect could be. I’d never laid eyes on anyone so angelic. Almost like a living work of art. A doll or Disney princess come to life.

  Snow White, I dubbed her in my head — purer than the freshly fallen snow. A wide-eyed doe in a lair of wolves. And if anyone was going to devour her, it was going to be me. The Alpha.

  Kira Kendrick clearly had no idea what she was walking into. It was written all over her gorgeous face.

  My estranged father’s stepdaughter. My stepsister, if you really want to get down to the nitty-gritty. She’s no more family to me than a field mouse in the basement, though.

  I haven’t spoken to Gerard “Gambit” Parish in over two years. Ever since he walked away from me and our club for a woman no one knew. He just turned on a dime one day, renouncing his presidency and all ties to the Baum Squad Mafia. An MC club my great-grandfather, Alfred Baum, helped found. This club is a family tradition, and he just turned his back on it, and me, for an expensive piece of fucking ass.

  My father became a stranger virtually overnight, leaving me to fend for myself and take care of a club way before my time. But I did it. I stepped up and kept it going. Filling his shoes better than I thought I was even capable of. This club is my life, the members my brothers. I could never do what he did. Just walk away. What kind of leader, friend, father, does that? Not me. Not ever. Not for no one.