Captive: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel

by Natasha Thomas

  CAPTIVE

  A Devil’s Spawn Novel By – Natasha Thomas

  Copyright © 2015 by Natasha Thomas

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  eBook Published and any subsequent Printing done and developed in Australia

  First Released, May 10th, 2015

  Natasha Thomas

  Sydney, Australia

  www.natashathomasauthor@gmail.com

  www.facebook.com/NatashaThomasAuthor

  Dedication

  To a beautiful woman that has suffered more than her fair share…

  If wish there was a way to erase all of the pain you’ve endured,

  If wish there was a way to turn back time,

  To save you from the unhappiness lurking around the corner.

  But because I can’t I can only say this…

  I hope you have finally found the peace you craved,

  I hope you have realised your struggles weren’t all for nothing.

  I hope now that you’ve had time to reflect that you’ve seen the beauty the world has to offer.

  That when the dark touches the light, it truly is magic.

  eBook copyright ©2015

  Natasha Thomas

  All rights reserved

  By purchasing this eBook it allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading, on your computer, tablet, or other device capable of viewing eBooks. After purchasing, you do not have the rights to; resell, print, distribute, or transfer this book, in part, or whole to any other person via any method currently known, or yet to be conceived, or developed in the future. It may also, not be uploaded, in part or whole, to any file sharing programs, websites, or social media outlets. Being resold, given, or transferred to any other person is in direct violation of the Australian, and U.S. Copyright Laws.

  WARNING

  This book is a work of fiction, and is written to be taken as such.

  Characters, names, road names, motorcycle clubs, places, businesses, towns, events, and incidents are a product of the author’s own thoughts, and imagination. As such, any resemblance to persons living, or dead, actual events, or incidents, past, present, or future, is purely coincidental, and is not in any way intended to offend, upset, or disturb person/s reading its content.

  This book is intended for mature audiences aged 18 and over. It contains content that may be viewed as disturbing for some readers, graphic sexual scenes and references, coarse language, and violence.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Firstly, and as always, I would like to thank my devoted, patient husband. Without your endless support, encouragement, and belief in me I wouldn’t have made it this far on my journey. And again, thank you for restraining me when I’ve had homicidal urges directed at my laptop. I know now it isn’t the computers fault it won’t write the stories faster for me.

  To my three beautiful children who I love without limits; if you could please refrain from breaking anything, keeping all hands and feet within the vehicle at all times whilst we take this ride together it would be greatly appreciated. Just remember who cooks your dinner, washes your clothes, and reminds dad to pick you up from school. So in short, be kind, because otherwise you might find yourself having to do the unthinkable…walk home.

  Ah my wonderful cover designer Monica Langley Holloway, you’re never far from my thoughts when I see something I want, no I need to include in my next round of teasers. But not only then, you’re one of the first people I think of when I need inspiration for a song, or quote, when I need to vent, or just have a chat. Thank you for being there no matter the time difference, and for always brightening my day.

  Now, there are a few lovely ladies that deserve their own extra special, great big thank you; Jennifer, Melissa, Mary Leigh, and Laura. You ladies ROCK! As BETA readers you’ve given me an insight into how my books will be received by the readers before it happens…it’s like you’re psychic or something. But seriously, without you beautiful women I wouldn’t have been able to make the deadline for Captive, and I wouldn’t have had the priceless insights you’ve provided. You ladies have no idea how much your honesty, feedback, and emails have inspired, and kept me focus, so for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Lastly…An extra special mention needs to go out to someone that probably doesn’t realise how important their encouragement, love, and kindness means to me. Kylie…You are more than my friend, more than my children’s Aunty, and mean more to me than a sister. I love you for many reasons, but not least the way you just get me, and always have. Don’t ever change. No matter what anyone says, you’re perfect just the way you are…you always have been.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Max

  CHAPTER ONE

  Max

  CHAPTER TWO

  Max

  CHAPTER THREE

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jackson ‘Boss’ Carr

  CHAPTER SIX

  Max

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Max

  CHAPTER NINE

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER TEN

  Trig

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Max

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Max

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Max

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Trig

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Max

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Max

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Watcher

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Max

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Max

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Adelyn

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Max

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Alexis

  EPILOGUE

  Thomas

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE DEVIL’S SPAWN MC SERIES

  BOOKS IN THE VENGEANCE MC SERIES

  PROLOGUE

  Max

  “All Saints have a past,

  and all Sinners have a future.” – Anonymous

  One day. Just one day. That’s all I’m asking for. Not a lot. Not something that’s not in a person to give. One day to have a minute to myself without someone wanting something from me, needing me to handle a problem that isn’t mine. One day to take a breath and not feel like I’m being suffocated by it. One day to feel like I don’t have to battle every fucking thing.

  I feel like I’ve been battling for years. Battling back demons, battling for my club, my brothers, my job. It’s been a battle fought out of necessity, but nevertheless a fucking battle. I fought for my ex-wife for more years than I care to admit, more than I should have. I fought for my son so he could have the life he deserved, and got eventually…because I did. No one else fought for my boy; not his mom, not his grandparents on either side, only me. And while it was fucking hard trying to raise my son alone, I wouldn’t have changed a fucking thing.

  I’ve been fighting the long fight, the good fight…alone. I don’t need much, to be honest I prefer being alone. Answering to no one, not needing to
justify myself, going where I want when I want. There are times I want nothing more than a warm body to hold, someone to comfort me, someone to talk to about my shitty day, but after losing so many people I was closest to, and fighting for so long I don’t have the fucking energy to tackle a relationship of any kind.

  Giving it context; thirty years ago I lost my ma. Twenty-seven years ago I lost my first child. Twenty-six years ago my dad. Ten years ago I lost my wife. Six and a half years ago I thought I lost my best friend. And two and a half years ago I lost my heart. That’s a lot of loss in anyone’s language. Especially mine. Loss after loss chipped away at my exterior, my interior, my armour, my soul leaving me with nothing but the shell I now call a body, and a heart made of stone.

  Part of life is loss, and in most of the time I’d say that to fully experience all life has to offer loss is an integral part of it. You don’t know how much you have until you lose something. Something that matters. Someone that matters.

  I used to believe life was full of wins and losses, a tally column of sorts. One where the wins far outweighed the losses if you were lucky. Over time that belief morphed into a karmic joke…played on me. A joke that was far from funny, and so removed from luck it was at the opposite end of the spectrum. Believing like I did for the longest time that life had balance, that it was fair, then having my beliefs tested to their fullest changed an integral portion of who I was making me who I am today.

  The MC’s taught me a lot I wouldn’t have learnt otherwise, it changed me too, and not necessarily for the better. The FBI added to that knowledge, but it wasn’t a career I ever sought it was thrown in my lap. Seeing as my three best friends were joining and it didn’t look like I could talk them out of it if even if I tried, I followed their lead. It was something I wished I hadn’t done. Something that we all wished we hadn’t done.

  It turned into nearly thirty years of what amounted to indentured service, not a career, and not a calling. I hadn’t intended my involvement to go on for so long when I signed up, and my three buddies hadn’t either. But it was what it was, and now with all of us being officially retired we’ve got a shot at a life doing what we love, not what we felt obligated to do.

  That’s not to say the MC doesn’t come with its own set of obligations, things we don’t want to do; one of which being my position as SAA. Not that I’m complaining, much. I love my position with the club, it suits me, and isn’t too far removed from being an agent in the bureau that I’ve had to readjust my way of doing things.

  My main responsibilities lie with keeping order in and outside the club; at club events, runs, seeing to the safety of all of Devil’s Spawn brothers and prospects. The darker parts of my job like delivering messages to people that fuck with the club, offering an ass kicking or two to brothers, both Blackwater chapter and out-of-state brothers for disrupting the peace or disrespect, or the very rare removal of a brothers patch which doesn’t only include the one on his back, but the one inked into his skin doesn’t fill me with joy, but it too is part of the job. And one I’ve come to terms with over the years. It took time. It took nerves of steel and a cast iron gut, but I got there eventually, and while I don’t enjoy putting the hurt on anyone it’s a necessary part of being in an MC.

  Other than transporting firearm shipments, and providing safe passage for the drivers of those shipments to deliver without incident, Devil’s Spawn isn’t affixed to any of the illegal shit that other one percenter clubs are. We’ve had enough fucking drama without getting mixed up in that shit, there’s no way I want to add dealing with the cops on top of it.

  Cage’s shit with his cunt of an ex-wife being dead, Kendall being back with us, V healing up nicely with her husband and my brother Arrow and their son Kellen, and now Tank finally getting his shit together with Priss signal things are looking up. But we’re not in the clear yet. It’s a gut feeling. Something deep in my bones that’s telling me we’re in for another fucking shit fight. Add to that Satan’s Sons making sounds I’m not liking all that much, nothing concrete, just whispers and nothing that I’d usually be concerned about, but in light of recent events if there’s any chance it’ll involve Devil’s Spawn I’m all over that shit. I’ve done some digging, nothing’s come back with any red flags, but like I said; it’s a gut feeling that a clusterfuck is coming.

  V’s sister Savannah marrying Lucifer, the president of Satan’s Sons indirectly tied the two clubs together, is not something I’m all fired up about, and neither are my brothers. Having any connection to the drug dealing, skin peddling fucks that make up Satan’s Sons is bad news. As in bad fucking news. Arrow doesn’t place comment, shit he’s barely said two words about it, but that’s only because his wife’s sister is involved. I know for a fact that under the thinly veiled surface he isn’t happy about the development, or the fact his sons’ mothers is now property of a one percenter MC with an openly violent history when it comes to women. Who would be? He might not love or respect her, but no man wants to think of any woman being hurt, especially if that woman gave birth to your son. Steel’s mother Carly, my ex-wife is an epic cunt, and I wouldn’t be lying if I said the thought of never seeing her again doesn’t fill me with joy, but I’d never want to see her hurt like that. I wouldn’t want to see any woman hurt, period.

  Bringing me full circle to the reason I needed one day… I hurt someone I care about. I hurt a woman that I’ve come to crave more than my next breath. I didn’t physically hurt her I’d never do that… I couldn’t do that, but instead I hurt her in a way there may be no coming back from for me, or her.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Max

  “She asked me to choose between her and my motorbike,

  I miss her sometimes.” – Biker Guide to Living

  Carly fucked around on me for years, ended up filling her nose with so much blow on my dime that she could barely stand all while she was supposed to be looking after our son. You’d think after the first time I fucking caught her in that state I would’ve done something about it, but you’d be wrong because like the dumbass I am I didn’t. I thought it was just a once off, we were in a hard place and she fucked up, lost her way. I overlooked it, made excuses for her, and moved on with our lives. Big fucking mistake.

  Looking back on it I can’t believe I didn’t see the signs she was getting out of control, and when I did it was too late, the damage was already done and our marriage was unsalvageable because of it. I carried around a fuck ton of guilt over that, still do. I should’ve stepped in, stopped her, done something, put her in rehab. Fuck knows if it would’ve worked, but I should’ve tried. There was nothing I could’ve done about her spreading her legs like a common whore, but the rest… Yeah I could’ve done something about that shit.

  Getting married at twenty-one was fucking stupid on my behalf, so needless to say when my boy came to me intending to follow in my footsteps I was fucking hesitant to congratulate him. But Steel being my boy, and him understanding his dads demons sat me down, talked to me, telling me he got where I was coming from, and convinced me by how much he loves my soon to be daughter in-law he wasn’t headed down the same path as his old man had.

  The one good thing I’ve done, the one that I’ll stand by, and claim as my own is my son. The day William Stephen Andrews was born was the day I learned what love at first sight was. My boy was perfect…healthy. I’d never been as proud as I was the day he took his first breath. He was an excellent baby, a quiet kid, moody but easy-going teenager, and he’s turned into a fucking good man. Loyal, strong, patient, (he’d have to be with a wife like his), quick with his affection for his woman, my grandbabies and his brothers. I couldn’t have hoped he’d turned out better, he’s the best man I know. More than that, my son and I are close. As in close. Being that he didn’t have a mom for most of his life, if we’re being honest Carly checked out when Steel was two, I did the best I could when it came to raising him. There’s shit I regret, things I wish I’d done better, more time I wished I’d spent with him,
but in the end all that shit didn’t matter my boy looked past all my shortcomings and became a man I envy. A man better than I could ever hope to be.

  Carly didn’t actually leave until Steel was sixteen, she may has well have, the bitch was fucking useless for a fuck of a long time before she got shot of us. In the years leading up to her taking off, she was sullen, moody, withdrawn, quick tempered, and in general fucking miserable excuse for a human being. I should’ve recognised the cause of her mood swings, the way she slept all day, the ashen skin tone she wore as well as a stripper wore a G-string, and fuck the weight loss too, it all painted an obvious picture I was fucking oblivious to at the time. Whether I ignored it, or I refused to believe it didn’t matter, the truth was it was all there staring me in the face.

  But what it took in the end was walking into my own house, with my son in tow, seeing her going down on some dude, sucking his cock like it was her last meal to earn her a set of divorce papers, and a new permanent address. At that moment nothing could’ve made me angrier. It wasn’t the fact that the cock she was sucking wasn’t mine, I could give a shit, it was that Carly had the nerve to do that shit here. In our house. In front of my son. That alone, nothing else, because news of her decade long drug habit came later, was what flipped my switch, in two short minutes Carly had obliterated sixteen years of marriage, and any concern I had for her well-being or future.