Christmas Comes Butch Once a Year (The Skulls Book 16)

by Sam Crescent

  This made her laugh.

  “Truce?” she asked.

  “Truce.”

  They shook hands, and finally hugged. For the first time since she met Alex, she actually felt they had gotten all of their history behind them.

  It was no longer a dark cloud over them, just something in the past.

  She wasn’t going to hold his abandonment against him, and he wasn’t going to hold her blackmail over her either.

  It was done.

  They were done.

  They shared a son together, and they would work in his best interests.

  “What is going on here?” Butch asked. “You two aren’t going to kill each other, are you? I don’t think that will be good for Michael.”

  “Nah, we’re not going to do that. I’m happy for you, Butch. You’ve done well.”

  “Thanks, Alex.”

  She watched Alex walk away.

  The family was back together for at least one night, and she was happy about that.

  “What about you? I know I can’t trust him,” Butch said.

  She chuckled. “Maybe this time you should.”

  “You two are good?”

  “Better than good.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. I think after all these years, we’ve finally put the past to bed.”

  “And you can handle that?” he asked.

  “Yes, I can. It looks fantastic.”

  “It does.”

  “So, what happens now?” she asked.

  “Well, all the guys are here and that’s to see if Javier, Mistletoe, and Cruz can handle themselves.”

  “The initiation?”

  “That’s it. You want to go in and see where you’ll be staying when you’re at the club?”

  “You’re going to be staying here a lot?”

  “Some nights but don’t worry, I know who I belong to.” He kissed her neck.

  With Jade on her hip, she followed behind Butch as he showed her the clubhouse, the bar, and then into the main corridor of the rooms.

  “It looks amazing.”

  Once they got to his room, he took Jade from her arms and placed her in the center of the bed.

  “I know I wouldn’t have been able to have done this without you,” he said.

  “Butch, you can do everything and anything you put your mind to.” She cupped his cheek. “This is just the beginning. I don’t have any doubt that this is going to be one of the fiercest clubs around.” She went on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you, forever and for always. Never forget it.”

  The sound of Jade gurgling interrupted them. Butch dived for his daughter as she was about to spill off the bed, and he caught her before she hit the ground.

  Collapsing on the bed, he held Jade on his chest, and she settled down beside him.

  “Do you want to stay here when the initiation starts?” he asked.

  “I’ll wait for you here.” She kissed his cheek. “We can initiate this room together.”

  ****

  “Three people are not going to make a club,” Nash said.

  “It’s a start,” Butch said.

  “The Skulls started out small,” Tiny said. “It takes time to build a loyal club. What Butch has here is a good starting point.”

  Butch looked toward his old Prez and nodded at him. The respect was there between the two of them.

  That’s all he could ever want, especially from Tiny.

  “Please, I’m worth five of you fuckers,” Cruz said. “I will fuck any of you up.”

  “I’d be careful. To Cruz, fuck can mean two things. Bruises or your body belongs to him,” Javier said.

  “I’m a man of many talents, and I don’t complain. I’m the best dick you’ve ever seen.”

  Butch covered his face with his hands. Even now, Cruz didn’t know when to shut his mouth. Killer was the first man to enter the ring.

  “Holy shit, what do they feed you in Fort Wills, magic fucking beans?” Cruz asked. “He’s not real, and you’re married. How do you fuck your wife without breaking her?”

  The entire club was laughing. Even Killer was struggling to hold it together.

  Cruz lifted his fists. “Come on then, shorty, let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Shorty, seriously?”

  “You may be big, but I’m the one with the power.” Cruz raised his brows and gave a pout.

  “Where did you find this guy?” Lash asked.

  “He came to the gym about fifteen years ago,” Ned said. “Fucker never left. I don’t even think I’ve seen him fight.”

  “I have,” Butch said. “Don’t be fooled by his bullshit attitude. He’s deadly. Watch.”

  The fight started, and Killer landed a couple of blows and even lifted Cruz off his feet. Even with blood pouring down his nose, and bruises covering his face, the son of a bitch didn’t stop.

  This was what made Cruz one hell of a buddy. He didn’t stop. He would have your back and wouldn’t back down. It was simple as that. Cruz never backed down from a fight, and he’d go down with his fists ready to take a beating.

  When the time came, Killer left the ring, and this time, Nash was the one to fight.

  Nash didn’t give Cruz a chance to talk. Blow after blow, and each time Cruz got back up.

  The point of the initiation was to keep taking the beating. Even when they were asked if they wanted to stop, if you said yes, you were out. No one wanted someone at their back that couldn’t take a few punches.

  Whizz took his turn, as did Zero, Tiny, and finally Lash.

  Eventually, Cruz was still standing, admittedly, looking pretty fucking broken.

  “You had enough?” Lash asked.

  “Oh, please, I can take you all day. What you’re giving me is fucking nothing,” Cruz said. He had a bloody nose, split lip, and he looked ready to collapse in a heap.

  Lash nodded.

  He signaled to Steven, who brought forward the leather cut.

  “I’m in?” Cruz asked.

  “You’re in.” Lash helped him into the jacket. “Welcome to The Skulls, Vegas Chapter.” Butch stepped forward, and Cruz let out a feminine moan.

  “I want to thank absolutely everyone who supported me. My momma for being a crack whore who gave me up. My daddy for dumping his load and paying her in crack all those years ago.” Again, more laugher filled the air. “I always wish to thank all the bitches that have sucked my dick. Without you, my balls would be like giant balloons.”

  Butch stepped forward. “Enough.”

  “I promise to never be dull. To always keep fighting and to keep fucking.”

  “Enough. Do I need to put you in the naughty corner?”

  “Will you spank me, Daddy?” Cruz asked.

  “Can I take his patch from him?”

  Lash was too busy laughing with the rest of the brothers. “Not a chance.”

  “They love me, Butch.” Cruz rested his head against his chest.

  He didn’t say anything and waited as both Mistletoe and Javier each took their turn to face the brothers. By the time they were done, all three had been initiated. That wasn’t all. The first Prospect jacket went to Punk.

  He wasn’t ready to become a member. He’d been building up his skills, but he wasn’t at the point of being able to take on the brothers. Butch saw his love of the club though in all the hard work he was doing.

  After they all sat around the bonfire, drinking a beer, Butch leaned back, staring up at the stars.

  He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined he’d be the Prez of a new chapter of The Skulls.

  His father had been a Prez, as had his grandfather. He’d not thought about them for a long time.

  It seemed right.

  He was going full circle. There was no looking back now. He’d make this club the best it could be. Lash and the guys would be proud.

  It was the start of a whole new life.

  Getting to his feet, he said goodnight to the guys. Lash had
already gone to spend time with Angel.

  Making his way to his room, he found Cheryl curled up in the bed. Jade was already in the crib. Smiling, he padded across the room so that he didn’t wake Cheryl.

  He removed his clothes, settled into bed behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “Did you have a good night?” she asked, her voice filled with sleep.

  “Yes.”

  “I love you, Butch.”

  “I love you too.”

  Epilogue

  Ten years later

  Butch threw his head back and laughed as Jade tackled him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him.

  “Daddy, Michael won’t come and play.”

  “He doesn’t have to.”

  “He’s my big brother. He has to do what I say. It’s the law,” Jade said, stamping her foot.

  He rolled his eyes and turned to look at Michael. His stepson was all grown up and had even gone to college.

  Cheryl walked around the club, wearing the leather cut he loved for her to wear whenever they had big family gatherings. Tonight’s celebration was about the club. For ten years the Vegas Chapter had expanded, bringing in more and more guys as they wanted to join what he’d created.

  With the help from the Skulls from Fort Wills, his club had become a force to be reckoned with.

  The moment he set up shop, there had been some wars.

  Other MCs wanted a shot at turf. Before he’d marked this spot as his own, no one wanted it. He made sure not to give it up.

  This was Skulls property, and that was exactly how it would stay.

  “I’m not playing. I’m a grown-ass man,” Michael said.

  “I hate you.” Jade folded her arms and stormed away.

  “She has really turned into a brat.”

  “She’ll head inside and make you a sorry card. All the shit for it is inside my desk.”

  With how much they struggled to have Jade, Butch had put his foot down, and he didn’t intend to have any more kids.

  His time for being a father was over.

  He was there for Michael when he needed him and a father to Jade.

  Cheryl walked up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she always did. “How are you doing, baby?”

  “I’m doing good.”

  “Nope, still disgusting.” Michael wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s good to have you here,” Butch said. “Don’t mind Jade. She’s hating that she’s got to change schools.”

  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you both about.”

  “What is it?” Butch asked.

  Michael rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t want to stay in Fort Wills anymore. I’d like to try out here. You know, become a Prospect. Dad set me up a job with one of the accounting firms he uses. I’ll be starting there next week. He wanted to call you before I came out here, but I wanted to be the one to ask. I’d like to come home.”

  Butch stared at the man before him.

  Glancing down at Cheryl, he saw his wife had tears in her eyes.

  “What do you think, Cheryl? We want him back? He can’t get involved in the wrong crowd now.”

  Cheryl swatted at his hand. “You know the hardest thing I ever did was to let you go to your father. I hated it. Every single second of it.”

  “I know why you did it, and I love you, Mom.”

  “You can join the club. You won’t be getting any special treatment.”

  “I don’t expect any. I’m going to go and grab a beer.”

  Michael left them alone as Javier, Mistletoe, and Cruz headed toward him.

  They were the original four, with Punk following up behind. It had taken Punk a year to earn his patch, but he was a damn good friend and club brother.

  “We did it, Butch,” Javier said.

  “Next, world domination?” Cruz asked.

  Glancing around the yard, he saw a mixture of Ned Walker’s fighters and club brothers. This was his home.

  His brothers.

  His family.

  The sins of his past were finally gone.

  “You okay?” Cheryl asked.

  “Yeah, I’m great.” He pulled her against him, kissing her lips.

  Life was good.

  For Butch, that was all he could ask for.

  The End

  www.samcrescent.com

  Other Books by Sam Crescent:

  www.evernightpublishing.com/sam-crescent

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  BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER

  EL DIABLO

  Killer of Kings, 6

  Sam Crescent and Stacey Espino

  Copyright © 2018

  Chapter One

  Xavier slid the patio door closed behind him, careful not to make a sound. The rich scent of coffee wafted in the air. Most people loved the smell. He fucking hated it. He pushed away childhood memories of picking coffee beans in his bare feet for twelve grueling hours a day. Right now, he needed to stay focused.

  He was there to kill a man.

  The oceanfront paradise belonged to a dirty trader. He’d pissed off the wrong people, spreading rumors and creating false market values. The men who’d lost millions because of him had hired Killer of Kings for some swift justice.

  Xavier had been working for the notorious group of hitmen for over ten months now. He’d done his training with Chains and Killian, and he’d been fulfilling contracts for a few months. The work paid well, so he couldn’t complain.

  Lazy footsteps shuffled down the hallway. He twisted a silencer onto the end of his Glock, not liking the leather gloves Boss insisted he wear. Mr. Strogonov wasn’t expecting him this morning. Nobody wanted a visit from El Diablo.

  He watched as the man lifted the carafe from the coffeemaker and poured himself a drink. He wore a plush navy bathrobe and matching slippers, humming a carefree tune as he puttered around the kitchen. Strogonov was forty-three, only a few years older than Xavier himself. The bastard had some city miles, probably from the stress of ripping off his associates. When he turned around and noticed Xavier sitting at his dining table, he dropped the mug, the ceramic pieces scattering on the marble floor.

  “Who are you?” His voice trembled, his lower lip quivering.

  “Who do you think I am?”

  The man looked from side to side, then reached for his neck.

  “Your personal alert won’t work. I’ve already deactivated it. You didn’t think they’d hire an amateur, did you?”

  “W-who hired you?”

  Xavier smirked. “You have more than one enemy? You’ve been busy.” He waved an arm in the air. “Stealing certainly pays well, doesn’t it?”

  “I never stole anything.”

  He set his gun on the glass tabletop with care, then stood up, slowly pushing the chair back into place. He rolled out his shoulders. “You’re far from innocent, Mr. Strogonov.”

  “I can pay you. Whatever they’re giving you, I’ll do better. Name your price.”

  There was no reason for him to talk to this guy. Strogonov could beg and cry and offer him the world. It wouldn’t do any good once Killer of Kings was contracted. This was more than money; it was about reputation, respect, and getting the job done. He’d spent a lot of time with Boss and his men over the past year, and for the first time in his life, he felt connected. Being on top, ruling with an iron fist in some of the most ruthless gangs and cartels never fulfilled him. It only added to the loneliness, the disconnect he’d always felt. Chains and the other players at Killer of Kings were his equals, and the level playing field was surprisingly satisfying.

  “I need you to write a confession letter. Go on, grab a paper and pen. I’ll wait.”

  “What for?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Don’t make me ask you twice.”

  The man scrambled around th
e kitchen, opening and closing drawers. Sweat beaded on his forehead, highlighting his receding hairline.

  “The top drawer beside the sink,” he said. “And bring a glass of water back with you.” Xavier had already scoped out this place, and taken all the steps to ensure the contract went smooth and clean. He had something to prove to Boss. Once the man had the pad, pen, and water, he continued, “Now, you’re going to apologize and spell out exactly what you did to alter the market.”

  Once he had the suicide note, he could finish this hit. His gun was only a precaution.

  “I can’t do that. They’ll lock me away for the rest of my life.”

  He shook his head. Jail was the last thing this bastard should be worried about. “Do you know what they called me back in Colombia?” Xavier massaged one of the man’s shoulders, making him flinch. “El Diablo. If you don’t know, that means The Devil. Some said I was a sociopath, that I lacked empathy. Others were more blunt, calling me a monster. Maybe they were right. But monsters aren’t born—they’re made.” He could have gone on, talking about his bullshit childhood, being sold to the barrio gang to pay a debt his mother owed. About the little sister torn from his arms. Sometimes he unloaded it all, knowing whoever he told was about to meet their maker. It was his therapy, a confession of his sins. He shoved Strogonov down into a chair. The man whimpered. “You don’t want to piss me off.” The trip down memory lane plus a wicked case of blue balls had put him in a less than stellar mood.

  Once everything had been written out, Xavier neatly folded the paper and tucked it into the breast pocket of Mr. Strogonov’s robe. “Very good,” he said. “Now take these with the water.” He set two pills on the table beside the glass.

  “What are they?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Take the damn pills.” He picked up his gun to punctuate this sentence.

  Within minutes of swallowing the lethal drugs, Strogonov slumped over the glass table, the water spilling.