UnKiss Me

by Dawn Martens

  Copyright © 2015 Dawn Martens

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Published 2015

  Photography and Cover Design by: Sara Eirew

  Edited by: Crystal Sosa, Kendra Gaither, and Jennifer Finch

  Proofed by: Laura Frasher and Jessica Johnson

  Formatted by: IndieVention Designs

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  UnKiss Me – Angels Warriors MC, is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offence to the content, as it is FICTION.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders, the author acknowledges the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  G-baby, Crystal, Corinne, Kendra, Connie, Laura, Sara, Tabby, Amanda, Silla, Mo, Stacy, Pamela, AC, Jordan, Emily Snow, Lila – there are way more, and I’m sorry if I missed you, but because of you all, your words of encouragement, just everything. All you’ve done. Thank you so much!

  After spending years suffering abuse at the hands of her father and protecting her baby sister, Eden Blake takes a chance. She calls on the Angels Warriors MC, asking for protection just months before her father is to be released from prison. She never expected that call would bring her face to face with her past.

  Jasper ‘Angel’ Hughes, President of the Angels Warriors MC, battled his way to the top. He fought his way through hell, cleaning up the mess that was once Satan’s Law MC. Wanting to serve a better purpose in life, he took on the role of child protector, protecting them from their hellish lives and getting them away from their abusers. When he gets the call to protect Eden, the first girl he ever loved, he vows to win her back and never let her go again.

  But when a new secret comes to light that Eden was hiding, will they get their Happily Ever After?

  I hear the heavy wooden front door open and slam shut, hard enough to rattle the walls of the laundry room located at the back of our house. My little sister’s been helping me fold laundry. It makes her feel like a big girl. I bet she won’t feel the same once she’s older. “Eden Garden Blake, where the fuck are you?” I hear Dad shout, his words slurring. The sound of his boots stomping loudly across the hardwood floor reminds me of how much larger than me he really is.

  I’m not sure what my parents were thinking when naming me Eden Garden; maybe they were high at the time? I have no clue. I got teased a lot in school for it, asking me if I was forbidden fruit. Kids can be ruthless. I developed a tough outer shell because of it. Nevertheless, nothing could toughen me enough to face my father’s wrath. He makes me feel about the size of my pinky toe. Nothing’s ever good enough for him—ever. He’s the stuff nightmares are made of, the kind of man you pray to never meet in a dark alley because he makes you quake in the knees in the sunlight. I wouldn’t be surprised if flowers wilted when he walked passed them.

  Whispering, I warn my four-year-old sister, “Glenna, you need to go hide in your room.” She takes off, dressed in her bibbed overalls, her blonde pigtails swinging as she scurries off. I follow her, watching as she hides under her bed. I bend down and make sure she’s under far enough, lying right against the wall. I take the pink fuzzy bear that’s lying on top of her bed and slide him across the floor to her for comfort; anything to keep her safe and as secure as possible when he’s in one of his moods.

  I’m twenty four years old, but I stay here in this hell because of my sister. I don’t even want to imagine what he would do to her if I weren’t here. My father—our father is not a nice man. I was safe for years but always kept my ear to the ground by calling my friend Lilly; it was how I found out about Glenna. I knew there was no way I could leave an innocent baby at his mercy.

  When Glenna was ten months old, some woman dropped her off with my bastard father. Being here, in this town, with the asshole sperm donor, it’s all for her. I knew what he was like, so I came to protect her the minute I heard about her. She was an abandoned baby. She needed me. How her mother could just leave her with my ruthless old man, I’ll never understand.

  The first few months were almost unbearable. The beatings were worse than I ever got before when I was growing up. I’m what some might call dainty, short in stature, with blonde hair cut in a short stylish bob, and blue eyes, so taking a beating from my father isn’t easy on my small frame.

  Coming back to him was the hardest choice I have ever made. I’ve given up a lot to protect my sister, but I’ll do anything to keep her safe. When I was seventeen, my mother was murdered. I watched it happen at the hands of the man who was supposed to be my protector, so when dad said I was next if I opened my mouth, I didn’t mutter a single word. He somehow got it cleaned up and disposed of her body with no one the wiser. But the second I could, I ran. And I never looked back, not until I was forced to. I still don’t know where my mother is buried. The pain of her loss cuts deep. I miss her so much. My mom was the best. She didn’t deserve what my father did to her. How she ever loved him, I’ll never understand.

  “I’m coming, Dad,” I say, my voice wobbling slightly as I walk out of Glenna’s room to find him.

  Going into the living room, I see him. My body tightens, and I stiffen at the sight. He has his pants off, belt in hand, as he towers over me. His beer gut is protruding, and the smell of alcohol assaults my nose. He disgusts me.

  I should have left before he got home, taken Glenna and ran once again. I took her and tried last year. We were caught because of my one mistake. He managed to track me down because I paid the daycare bill with my credit card when money got tight. I knew better but was desperate and hoping I could slip one by him. I was wrong. As he dragged us back home, I knew I was in for it. The beating I got that time wasn’t near as bad as the first one I got when I came back to live with him for Glenna’s sake, though none of them are pretty. The first one was constant, lasting several days. My body has the scars to remind me of my mistakes.

  “You don’t have this pigsty cleaned up. I told you I wanted it cleaned before I got home,” Dad says, growling at me, his voice laced with rage. His greying beard could use a shave, and his greasy shoulder length hair could use a cut. He used to take better care of himself, but these past six years or so, he’s turned into a nasty son of a bitch.

  “I know, Daddy, but Glenna needed me. I had to take care of her first,” I say timidly, knowing no matter what I say he’ll do what he always does. The house isn’t even dirty—rundown, yeah. It could use some fixing up. The carpet is old and stained. The wallpaper is peeling from the corners. The hardwood flooring could use some TLC as well. However, I keep it clean, considering how gross my dad is. He never cleans up after himself. Whenever he finishes with something, he leaves it lying wherever he’s sitting for me to clean up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him even put his dirty clothes in a hamper, just leaves them lying wherever he strips them off.

  He storms tow
ard me. Rearing his arm back, his belt comes down, whipping through the air and snapping me in my arm. I cry out in pain as the metal buckle catches. “I don’t give a fuck,” he roars. “I tell you to do something, you fucking do it.” He continues beating me with the belt relentlessly. Smack after smack, my skin reddens as the blood rushes to the sensitive surface, the burn building greater with each hit as the welts split open.

  I fall to the floor in pain, crying quietly and trying to contain my sobs. If I cry loudly, he will kick, so I know not to make a noticeable sound. The belt keeps coming down, one hit after another pounding into my skin. It hurts, but the stinging pain turns into a burning numb sensation.

  Minutes later, after I feel the blood streaming down my arms and legs, he stops and crawls over my body. Fear takes over. I can’t stop the screams that rip from my throat. He clamps his large, rough hand over my nose and my mouth. I can’t breathe. Terror fills me as I fight to stay awake for Glenna. His grip tightens. I can’t hold on any longer as I drift off into an empty black pit of despair.

  Present

  It’s been two years since my father was arrested. Apparently, the neighbors heard my screams. Honestly, I don’t remember much after the screaming, only pain. Blacking out from the excruciating agony, that’s my memory. The cops arrived and found blood everywhere and me on the floor. I was severely beaten. Glenna was found shortly after, crying from under her bed—terrified. Once released from the hospital, I fought with everything I had to keep custody of Glenna. Since social services couldn’t find her birth mother, I was all she had left. Being that I was over eighteen, they finally relented, but not without regular visits, calls, and surprise checks to ensure everything was okay. Needing to feel secure, I moved us back to my hometown, into my childhood home. I didn’t especially want to go there; however, according to my friend Lilly, the house was there, vacant, and I would be a fool not to take it. We moved into the house about six months ago and did it quietly, slowly, to not make it noticeable, considering I was sure Mrs. Shepard would be watching out her window constantly. I didn’t need to be thrown back into the center of the town gossip then. I still don’t. Mrs. Shepard might be an amazing woman, but her mouth can run rampant.

  Moving back here was hard, but I didn’t know what else to do at the time. Besides, this place has always been home, and despite all that’s happened, I feel close to my mom being here; it’s the last place we were together. The house hasn’t changed much. The black shudders still beat against the house when the wind blows; I can’t believe they haven’t fallen off yet. The walls are still painted the same pale shade of blue. This place isn’t huge, but it isn’t small either. It could use some work, but for now, it’ll have to do. I figure this is the last place anyone would expect to find me.

  Finally feeling halfway settled, I find out my father will be up for parole in just three months, and I’m terrified. Our justice system isn’t all that great. Just last year, in the news, I saw where some man stabbed his girlfriend and was let out of prison in just six months. If Dad gets out, I know he’ll kill me, and then Glenna will be next to suffer his wrath.

  After watching the news last night, I was tempted to pick up the phone. I stopped, but the urge was there. Bikers are scary, even though they say they’re all about protecting children. Sometimes, though, they have a hidden agenda, just like the old club, Satan’s Law did, so I hesitated. I kept the number, though, just in case.

  “Eden?” I hear a tiny voice call out. I get off the leather couch, pausing the DVR to go find her. I don’t ever get to kick back and watch TV until she goes to bed.

  “Hey, Glenna, sweetie, are you okay?” I ask her, hoping she isn’t coming down with something.

  She nods her head and jumps out of bed, gripping her pink fuzzy teddy bear, running to hug me. “Had a bad dream about Dad,” she says softly in a sad tone, rubbing the sleep from her green eyes. Looking at her, she looks like any other six-year-old dressed in her Monster High pajamas, but inside, she is a tough kid who has been through a lot.

  “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. Maybe we should lay off the sugar before bed, huh?” I say, smiling at her as she hugs me tighter. I don’t often let her eat sweets, but if she does before bed, she always has nightmares.

  Laying her back down in bed, I climb in next to her, stroking her long blonde hair as I read her a story about a princess. Too bad one day she’ll know fairy tales don’t come true; we live in a cruel world, full of bad men like our father. When she’s out, I kiss her forehead softly, placing her storybook on her desk and closing her door.

  Sighing, I lean my back against the wall in the narrow hallway just outside her room. I decide I need help. I’ll do anything to keep my sister safe—anything to protect her from knowing the hurt I’ve endured.

  I remember back to when I ran away with Glenna, the year before he went to prison for almost killing me. I never want my sister to go through that. I thought for sure I was going to die and leave my sister all alone.

  Maybe calling those bikers I saw on TV is a good idea. Walking back into the living room, I flop back onto the couch and try to get back into watching my show. I’ll call them tomorrow. My mind is racing with all sorts of scenarios; I give up on my show and try to force myself to get some sleep.

  It has taken me years to clean what used to be a piss poor excuse of a club up. It’s been fucking brutal, but my boys and I have accomplished the unthinkable. After the reputation we had, it was hard getting known for something better. Since my father ran this club before me, it was all about pussy, guns, and drugs. My boys and I didn’t want that shit. Once Dad went away and got shanked in prison, we started cleaning up the hell he’d built.

  We even changed our club name. Instead of Satan’s Law, we’re now known as the Angels Warriors. It’s also a spin on the Untamed Angels that have a charter just a few hours from us—those bastards are as evil as they come. They have no boundaries—killing, raping women. It doesn’t matter to them.

  When people first heard of the Angels Warriors, they were hesitant because Angels is also associated with the Untamed, but it eventually caught on and people were good with us. When I first found out about the Untamed Angels, while we were looking into other club names, I figured it would be perfect- the good and the bad. It took two long years to change everything around.

  We do charity runs and protect the innocent. We don’t fuck with that shady shit anymore. Our days of gun running and dealing drugs are long in the past. Now, we all have our own jobs, and the club is secondary.

  “Angel!” I hear Zippo shout through the shop. “Got a call, brother.”

  I put down the socket wrench and wipe the grease off of my hands, taking the cordless phone from him. “Yo,” I say into the phone, trying not to sound annoyed. I don’t normally deal with calls. I let Zippo handle that shit, so I’m not sure why he’s passing the phone off to me.

  “Um, yeah, hi. Uh, not sure if I have the right number, but the, uh, guy before said it was,” she says weakly into the phone.

  “Who you callin’ for, darlin’?” I ask her kindly.

  “Angels Warriors,” she says hesitantly. “I saw this thing on the news last night. I wasn’t going to call, because I heard about the stuff you all did before you changed things up, but I don’t have a choice now,” she says, rambling. Usually, we get calls from the courts asking us to watch over someone until a court date. Other times, we get calls from relatives asking us to please step in.

  “I’m Angel, sweetheart. What you need?” She sounds young, and normally, I don’t watch my language, but when I’m dealing with kids, I do. They don’t need to hear that crude shit.

  What we do is protect children. We still have a few members from the old way things were run, though a few left when they realized things were changing in a way that they didn’t like and couldn’t fight it. We even have female members, something that a few of the boys had problems with, but this ain’t a regular MC. When they started giving lip about that shit, t
hey got cut out. We have four charters around Canada, with about two hundred members in each club.

  “My father, he’s due up for parole soon, and I need protection for my little sister,” she says all in one rushed breath.

  I flick my wrist at Zippo, who is standing there with his fists and jaw clenched tight, to get me a pen and paper.

  “Let’s set up a meeting first, okay, darlin’? I need your number, name, and address.”

  She gives it all out, hesitantly, and I’m fucking shocked as shit with the information she gives me as I write it down. She doesn’t recognize my voice; although it has been a few years. I can’t believe it’s Eden—my Eden. I can tell in her tone she almost wants to change her mind. Holy fuck, I can’t believe she’s back and needs my help after all these years. Fucking unreal. I try to rein my shock in and keep the rest of our talk professional, but on the inside, I am screaming. Why did you leave me? Where the fuck did you go? Why are you here now? I have so many unanswered questions rushing through my head right now.

  “A few boys and I will come by after work,” I tell her, feeling anxious to see her. Is she still the same girl I once knew? My mind flashes to the girl I used to know.

  I walked out into the backyard, looking for Eden. Martha let me come over whenever her husband wasn’t home. Eden’s younger than me, but she was fun to hang out with sometimes. “Eden? Where are you?” I shouted into the yard.

  I didn’t see her anywhere. As I turned around, a body jumped on me from behind. “Ha! Got you, sucker!” Eden said, toppling me to the ground. Sitting on my chest, she pinned my arms with her knees. “Eat dirt!” she yelled, prying my mouth open with her left hand and shoving dirt into it with her right.

  I gagged on the dirt.

  “Eden, you get off Jasper right this minute. Tell him you’re sorry. I don’t want to see that again. It’s mean,” Martha scolded her.