Desolation: Motorcycle Club Romance (Sons of Desolation MC Romance Series Book 1)

by C. C. Davenport

  Desolation

  Sons of Desolation Motorcycle Club Series

  by C. C. Davenport

  Copyright 2014 C. C. Davenport

  All rights reserved.

  All characters engaging in sexual activities are 18 years of age or older.

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  This book is for mature audiences only.

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  I stood standing in the rain on the sidewalk in front of my home, not wanting to enter. I was 19 and old enough to move out but without enough money to afford it. I work hard, but most of what I earn goes to my drunken and abusive father. My mother left when I was 12, not able to take the abuse he bestowed upon her. Cracked ribs, bloody lips, and then the last straw, a broken arm. She left me a note saying she wanted to take me but couldn’t afford to. What a crock. She didn’t want the baggage or the reminder of the past. In a way, I couldn’t blame her for wanting out. But didn’t she know that by leaving me here she had almost certainly left me to take her place with the beast?

  I learned how not to make him mad. Keep him in a drunken stupor. He drank anyway, mainly whiskey and Coke, but I offered to make his drinks and double up on the whiskey and stingy with the cola. He drank quickly and before he could yell and curse at me, he was snoring like a bear in the recliner. I would pull off his shoes and put a blanket over him. Not sure why. Just seemed like the right thing to do.

  But today I stood in the rain, my long dark hair soaked to my scalp. I would rather stand in the cold damp weather than be inside the gloomy old house in front of me. We never had much money since Dad couldn’t hold down a job and Mom worked at the nursing home as an aid. So our home was a ramshackle dump that was drafty in the winter and smothering in the summer. Of course, it didn’t stand out since the neighborhood we lived in was all old dumps so it wasn’t like anyone was envious of the other. I grew accustomed to our difficulties in life and tuned out the arguments of my parents the best I could. Once mom was gone, I learned, sometimes the hard way, what to say and how to act around my father. I suffered verbal abuse, usually about my weight, and some slaps and hits to the stomach, but I never let him defeat my spirit. It was the only thing I had left.

  I walked slowly towards the house, but before I could open the front door, it swung open and my father loomed in the doorway.

  “What the hell took you so long,” he said while grabbing the soaked sack out of my hand. I had been on a mission to the liquor store to buy two Jim Beans whiskey and a 6-pack of Coke, and the master was itching to get his drunk on.

  The soaked sack tore open and the whiskey bottles fell to the floor along with the 6-pack. Fortunately, for me, the bottles didn’t break. Dad scooped them up as if they were gold bricks.

  “Get the Coke,” he yelled as he headed towards the kitchen.

  Our kitchen looked like something out of the 60’s with all ancient appliances, speckled with patches of rust on the fronts and sides. Fortunately, for us, refrigerators and stoves were built tough back in the day so they continued to rattle on although I feared the end was near.

  Here Dad, I’ll get your drink for you,” I said. “Go ahead and sit down.”

  He grunted his usual affirmation and made off for the living room. I poured three times the whiskey this time around, as he seemed particularly agitated today. Hopefully he’d be snoozing away when I got off from my waitress job later tonight. What I didn’t realize at that moment, was I wouldn’t be home that night anyway.

  ****

  I was a waitress at a truck stop out on I-70. Most of the truckers who filled the joint were good guys, but a few could be jerks. Maybe driving 10-hour days would sour anyone’s mood, but they didn’t have to take it out on me. Maybe it was the rainy weather, but it seemed every trucker who came in was in a dark mood that night. Great, I thought, I leave one burly attitude for a dozen others. Most of them didn’t talk, just looked bleakly at the menu and gave their orders.

  It was about an hour before closing time and most of the truckers had left to bunk down in their cabs. A few were left, nursing their coffees and reading the newspaper. I heard the bell tinkle signifying someone either came or left and looked up. I didn’t like what I saw.

  A trucker the size of a refrigerator entered through the front entrance. He had tattoos that snaked up each arm. He looked to be in his 40’s and around the block a few times. A long scar dented his face from the outer corner of his left eye to his jaw. I never saw this trucker before. Most of them were regulars, but he was new.

  He sat down in a booth with a loud thud and grabbed the menu off the table. I walked over to him and asked, “What would you like to drink?”

  “Coffee sweet cheeks and make it hot,” he said with a leer. I turned and headed back to the coffee station and poured his cup. I could tell he was boring holes into my ass with his dull like eyes. I couldn’t wait for this night to be over.

  I brought his cup o’joe back and set it on the table.

  “And what can I get you to eat?” I asked pulling out my pen and pad.

  “What I want isn’t on the menu,” he said looking straight at my breasts.

  “Oh, what did you want, “I said, knowing full well what it was he was after.

  “Well, we could start with one of your perky titties sister.”

  Now I’ve had truckers slap my butt or say crude things to me, but usually there were other truckers around to put them in their place. If one spoke out of turn or placed a hand where it shouldn’t be, one or two of my usual customers would intervene and the hotshot would cool his heels. Except for tonight. They were either warm in their cab bunks or on the road. The two truckers left in the restaurant I didn’t know and they didn’t look like the type to come to a woman’s defense. The cook wasn’t much help either so I knew I was on my own with this jerk.

  “Well, all we have tonight is what’s on the menu so if that doesn’t work you can always go,” I said.

  “Got a cocky attitude don’tcha sister….I like that. Okay, I’ll give you a break. Just give me a slab of ham with eggs over easy and toast. Think you can handle that?”

  “I’ll try,” I said without a smile.

  I put the order in and hoped time would speed up so I could get out of here and home to a snoring father and my warm bed. I was wiping the counter when I saw a shadow loom over me. It was my customer from hell.

  “So what do you say me and you have a little romp in the cab of my truck later?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said as I continued to wipe the counter without looking up.

  Suddenly a beefy hand grabbed the wrist wiping the counter.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he said with a sneer.

  While took the abuse from my father, I was damned if I was going to take it from this ugly fucker.

  I looked him square in the eye and said, “Let go of my wrist and I’ll get your meal, you can eat it, and then leave. Otherwise you’ll leave holding your balls as souvenirs.”

  Now I knew I didn’t have a chance with the scumbag, but I also knew from experience that staring down the bear and not letting on you’re scared works….sometimes.

  Mr. Scumbag decided to back off and let go of my wrist.

  “Boy, you’re a firecracker huh?” He said walking back to his table.

  When I brought h
im his food, I heard rumbling. Two bikers pulled up outside and run in out of the rain. Great, I thought. This night just keeps getting better and better.

  In strode two bikers. They wore leather jackets and jeans but were covered with see through ponchos to keep the rain off. They tore off the ponchos, shook them out over the rug at the front entrance, and hung them on the coat tree near the door. When they finally turned around so I could see them better, my heart jumped.

  The younger of the two was trim but with broad shoulders. He wore his dark unruly hair down his neck where it curled at the ends. He had blue eyes that shown like bright pools of water. His long eyelashes, yes I could tell even from a few yards away, were thick. He had a light complexion, which made his dark hair stand out even more.

  The other biker was older, probably in his 50’s. He was thin with a goatee that was dark, peppered with gray. He wore his brown hair short and but not crew cut style, just shorter than his younger cohort did. Their leather jackets were worn, from long days of riding and splintering sunrays. On the back of their leather jackets were the words:

  Sons of Desolation.

  They slid into a booth and I walked over to take their orders.

  “What can I get you,” I asked.

  The older man said, “Cup of coffee and I’ll have the burger and fries.”

  The younger one was looking at me smiling. I knew I looked a mess with my hair up in a bun and my lousy waitress uniform. Afraid my cheeks were turning red from embarrassment I tried not to look him straight in the eyes. When I turned to him, I dropped my pen on the floor. As I bent to pick it up, he also bent over to retrieve it. This was when Mr. Scumbag decided to make another awkward appearance.

  “Give it up boys…she’s tighter than a camel’s ass in a sand storm,” he said with a mouthful of food. I picked up my pen and looked at the gorgeous hunk in front of me. He gave Mr. Scumbag a death look and then decided to ignore him. Good call.

  “I’ll take the same hon,” he said. His voice was smooth as silk and his smile made me want to melt. I smiled and said, “I’ll be right back with your coffees.”

  I turned and walked to the coffee station. What in the world was wrong with me? I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. There was a giddiness rising up within my chest that felt so foreign. Most of my days were filled with work and making sure I got out of the way of my father when he was in a bad mood. The thought of meeting anyone, especially a gorgeous man like this was the last thing on my mind. Besides, most of the patrons in the truck stop either were old enough to be my father or smelled as if they hadn’t taken a bath in a month…, which for some of them might be true.

  So this was new and I didn’t want to mess it up by acting like a besotted teenager. I already fumbled my pen---let’s hope I wouldn’t douse them with coffee now.

  I placed the filled coffee cups on the table and grabbed a handful of creamer cups from my pocket.

  “Your meals should be up in just a few minutes,” I said trying to look at both men instead of just ol’ blue eyes.

  “No problem sweetheart,” Blue Eyes said. He had shed his leather jacket and was wearing a white t-shirt with a skull and cross bones on the front. His large biceps rode right below the sleeves of the t-shirt, intensifying the tornado already consuming my stomach. On one arm was tattooed a colorful dragon. It mesmerized me just as he did.

  I walked back to my station awaiting the biker’s orders when I heard the familiar bellow of Mr. Scumbag.

  “Hey Missy, where’s my pancakes?”

  I walked to his table so I wouldn’t have to yell and said, “You didn’t order pancakes, but I can put an order in for you.”

  “Are you stupid or deaf? I ordered pancakes with my meal,” he said belligerently. I knew he was pissed because of the way I put him in his place, so he was making sure he left with a parting shot.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll get that right in for you.”

  As I turned to leave, he grabbed my wrist again. Under his breath he said, “You better hope I’m asleep when you’re done with your shift, otherwise you’ll have to pay up for back talking me Missy.”

  Now the bear was showing his claws and his demeanor meant business. I tried my trick once more to see if he backed down.

  “I think you better let go of me before my nails leave a scar on the other side of your face.” Unfortunately, this time it didn’t work or I hit a sore spot mentioning his scar.

  Suddenly I felt something hard hit the side of my face. As I was falling, I could see arms and legs but didn’t know what belonged to whom. As I toppled to the ground, I heard voices yelling and someone’s hands pulling me across the floor. I looked up and saw the two bikers had Mr. Scumbag on the floor. The older biker stood over him while Blue eyes stooped next to him pointing a knife at his nose. Scumbag was rubbing his head as if someone had hit him with a hard object.

  “If you want to walk out of here with your nose still attached, you better go now motherfucker or I’ll slice it off and ram it up your fat ass,” Blue Eyes said, looking like he meant every word.

  “Get in your rig and get the fuck out of here,” the older biker said. “But first you’re going to pay that waitress with everything you got in your wallet.”

  “Like hell I am!”

  With that, Blue Eyes carved a line down the other side of his face. The man screamed in pain, but Blue Eyes wasn’t done with him. He had a large ring on his right hand, which he proceeded to flatten Scumbag’s nose with. Now he was really squealing.

  “Empty your wallet,” the older biker said once more.

  Scumbag grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket and Blue Eyes took it and removed all the cash before throwing it back at him.

  “Now get the fuck out of here and don’t come back.”

  Scumbag got up slowly watching the bikers as he backed out of the door. I watched all of this from the restaurant floor, captivated by the entire spectacle and ignoring the throb developing on the left side of my face. I had felt these types of hits before but at least I knew they were coming from dear old dad.

  Once Scumbag had left, the bikers came over and Blue Eyes knelt down beside me.

  “Hey darlin…let me look at that,” he said gently lifting my chin. As he did so, our eyes locked. I never believed in love at first sight, but I felt something so huge and encompassing that it enveloped my entire being. I knew he was the One, right that moment. Whether I was his One…well, that remained to be seen.

  I looked away and he studied my wound.

  “Does it feel like anything is broken?” He asked.

  “No,” I said. “Just my ego. I thought I could handle him but I guess I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “Not your fault,” the older biker said. “Guys like that are asking for trouble.”

  “Let’s get you into a booth,” Blue Eyes said. He helped me up and put me in the booth. His strong arms lifted me as if I was as light as a feather. Since I’m on the curvy side, I thought it would be a strain for him but not with those strong arms.

  Suddenly we heard a blast as the front glass window shattered. Blue Eyes grabbed and pulled me under the booth as the other biker dove under the table next to it. Both grabbed guns that were hidden behind their backs. Then I heard sirens. How in the world are the police here already, I thought. We heard gunfire outside the restaurant as we stayed where we were. I wondered about the cook and the other two truckers who happened to be in the restaurant when all this occurred.

  Next three police officers came into the restaurant, two through the door and one through the now blasted out front window.

  “Lay your guns on the ground! Show us your hands! Hands! We want to see hands!” The police yelled.

  The bikers laid their guns on the ground and Blue Eyes pulled the knife out that he used to carve on Mr. Scumbag, and laid it there as well. Blue Eyes helped me up with one hand while holding the other one up to the police.

  “She’s hurt officers,” he said.
/>   “Okay, just stay where you are until we search you,” one of them said.

  The officers confiscated the guns and knife and had us all file outside. I found out the cook dialed 911 the minute Scumbag backhanded me, so that’s why the Super Troopers were Johnny on the spot. Turns out Scumbag had an illegal sawed off shotgun in his cab and decided no one was going to get away with one upping him. But I don’t think he imagined the police would show up that fast. After he fired at the restaurant, the police were pulling into the parking lot. He fired at them, they fired back, and Scumbag hit the pavement with a bullet in the middle of his forehead. Guess I wouldn’t have to worry about him messing with me anymore.

  After the ambulance came, looked me over, and I begged off being taken to the hospital, we were all taken down to the police station. As it turned out, the officers were already well acquainted with the bikers. I finally found out their names. The older biker was called Judge, although I heard a few officers call him John. Blue eyes’ name was Eli Hamilton. Eli…I liked it.

  I sat opposite a police officer while holding a bag of ice on my face. I refused to go to the hospital since I didn’t have health insurance. The officer sat at his desk taking my statement. I glanced over at Eli who kept stealing looks my way as well. Despite the growing throb in my head, the warm feeling in my chest remained.