The Other Half of Me: (Dragon Skulls MC)

by Rose Briner

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  I really hope you enjoy reading this book. It started out as a dream that wouldn’t leave my hea...

  Copyright©2016 Rose Briner

  PrologueNatalie

  Chapter One

  Chapter TwoParker

  Chapter ThreeNatalie

  Chapter FourParker

  Chapter FiveNatalie

  Chapter SixParker

  Chapter SevenNatalie

  Chapter EightParker

  Chapter NineNatalie

  Chapter TenParker

  Chapter ElevenNatalie

  Chapter TwelveParker

  Chapter ThirteenParker

  Chapter FourteenNatalie

  Chapter FifteenParker

  Chapter SixteenNatalie

  Chapter SeventeenNatalie

  Chapter EighteenParker

  Chapter NineteenNatalie

  Chapter TwentyParker

  Chapter Twenty-OneNatalie

  Chapter Twenty-TwoNatalie

  Chapter Twenty-ThreeParker

  Chapter Twenty-FourParker

  Chapter Twenty-FiveNatalie

  Chapter Twenty-SixParker

  EpilogueNatalie

  Look for Dean and Kara’s book, coming very soon.

  About the Author

  Other Books by Rose Briner

  The Other Half of Me

  (Dragon Skulls MC)

  By Rose Briner

  Synopsis

  Natalie King is used to people using her and throwing her away.

  Parker "Thunder" Martinez doesn't trust women.

  From the moment Natalie saw Thunder, she knew he was different from any other man she's ever known. But Natalie comes from a world where everyone hurts her, and Thunder comes from one where darkness has followed him at every turn.

  Can two people from different worlds find love? Or will their pasts tear them apart before they even have a chance to save one another?

  ***Due to some sexual content and language, this book is recommended for ages 18+***

  I really hope you enjoy reading this book. It started out as a dream that wouldn’t leave my head and evolved into this book, which has, in turn, inspired me to write an additional two books after this.

  This book is dedicated to every woman out there looking for her place in this world.

  Copyright

  ©2016 Rose Briner

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Natalie

  I’ve always been a troubled soul, even when I was a kid. I always seemed to attract the wrong type of attention, and that followed me all the way up through my teenage years, and never stopped following me.

  I always wanted to be the center of attention, finding ways to break the law and get into trouble. That’s probably why for a long time, everyone in Port Angeles knew my name. Wish it ended there with a couple of overnights in juvie, but when I was done getting myself into trouble, I discovered men. Not the good kind either, girls like me don’t attract the best kind of men. Wholesome, good hearted men have learned to stay away from me, and I quickly turned into the town whore by the time I reached the age of eighteen.

  If I’m real honest with myself, I’m not a whore. I’m just a misunderstood girl looking for attention. I crave attention. Unfortunately, when you have a past like mine and look the way I do, men don’t take you seriously. I’ve dated all kinds of losers. Drunks, users, abusers, drug addicts, liars, cheaters, the list just goes on and on.

  It isn’t from my lack of caring or my inability to want to find someone to love me and take me seriously; it's just that when you come from such a small place, word travels quickly. Word travels faster than the plague in these parts.

  I was doomed from the start, long before I could even speak. My parents were both druggies. From the stories I was told, they both overdosed when I was still in diapers. One of the neighbors found me when my parents didn’t go out looking for their next hit. Not because they took me to daycare or went to buy some formula for me to drink, but because they always went out every two or three days to buy more drugs. That’s how sad of a start I had in life.

  Things only got worse from there. The state decided to send me to my grandmother because for some god-awful reason she managed to convince them that she cared about me and loved me. Mind you; she allowed me to stay with my parents knowing that her daughter was always on some drug and I was neglected. She didn’t love me either; I lived with her up until my twelfth birthday when she had a heart attack and died.

  I should count myself lucky; that heartless bitch used to beat me with a switch every time I so much as breathed in her direction. To me, it was a belt, but she liked to call it a switch. Now when I see one, that’s what I call it, and lucky me when I see a belt, I get an unforgettable image of her using it to beat the shit out of me.

  I think that’s why I became the way I did. The state quote “forgot about me” after she died and I lived on my own after that. The state still sent her social security checks and the welfare check for me, so I had money. It was just without any parental guidance; I stopped caring. I officially gave up on finding anyone to love me after that moment. My grandma used to tell me that I was a worthless waste of space, but I secretly think she beat me because I reminded her too much of my mother. She would pull on my hair and cringe whenever I smiled; I believe she wanted to beat the light out of my eyes.

  Growing up, several people told me that my mother and I have the same curly light brown hair and blue eyes. I don’t have any pictures of her, so I just have to take their word for it.

  The only people I’ve become remotely close to are the ones that I’ve shared cells with. Those girls in there, have done things a lot worse than I ever have, but I still looked up to them in some sick and twisted way. They robbed stores and stole anything they could get their hands on, but growing up they were the only people I had that would speak to me. They didn’t judge me the way the girls at school did. I didn’t have any friends outside of juvie. They taught me how to put on makeup, tame my long, flowing brown curly hair –at least that’s how they described it- and attract men. I liked the part where they showed me how to braid my hair; now not a day goes by that I don’t have my hair in at least one braid. I usually alternate between putting it all in a braid, or doing one or two and leaving the rest down. I like to pretend that I’m one of those princesses that I read about in the library in jail. There wasn’t much else for me to do there.

  When I turned eighteen, I got a rude wake-up call. I had finally stopped getting myself into trouble and started trying to figure out how to get my life together. No one would hire me without a high school diploma, so I went to the only place that would hire me, the body shop down the street from my house, Jimbo’s Garage. The owner always seemed to have eyes for me, so I thought I’d check Jimbo out and see if he’d hire me.

  He did more than that; I worked for Jimbo Jones about two months before he convinced me that he was in love with me and he moved in with me at my grandma’s house. I was
so convinced that he loved me, that I even let him move in with me. He was one heck of a pretender. When we first started dating, he would take me out on his Harley and take me to other small cities in the area to show me what I’d been missing all my life.

  I especially loved it when he took me to Maple Valley, Washington, about two hours outside of Port Angeles. There, I got to see bikers as far as the eye could see. Jimbo says it was because there was a rally in town and that’s where everyone meets every year, but I didn’t care, that’s the first time I truly fell in love with bikers.

  Jimbo was great to look at, with his long, dirty blonde hair and black eyes, but he just didn’t have the appeal to me that some of those guys did. I saw the way Jimbo looked at some of the women and the way they looked back at him. They wore way less clothing than I did and had tattoos galore. I also watched the way the other men looked at these women, and I’m sad to say that after he brought me back to Port Angeles, I got a tattoo. I only have one right now, a watercolor skull sleeve on my right arm, but I hope to get more. Jimbo almost killed me after that moment. Apparently, it’s okay for everyone else to have them, but not me. Heaven forbid if he found out why I got it.

  What struck me as odd when I was there in Maple Valley, was when at one point he left me alone for a few minutes, and within seconds I had a group of three older bikers approach me. I’ll never forget the club logo on the back of their cuts or the name of the club, the Dragon Skulls. Their logo is a green dragon facing a skull with a flame behind the head. I still remember it to this day. I think it had more to do with what they said to me more than their name and cuts.

  “You Jimbo’s girl?” asks the one in front. I look him over without bothering to respond. The name on his cut says Drag, which I find odd. He has long gray hair, worn down his back in a ponytail that whips around in the wind and deep black eyes that burned a hole through me as I continue just to stand there and stare at him. He snaps his fingers in my face, which has me blinking back at him in shock.

  “You Jimbo’s girl?” he repeats, but this time his tone is a little more irritated.

  I lick my lips, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth.

  “He tell you not to talk to anyone?” he asks curiously. I look at the other two with him; they aren’t listening to our exchange. Instead, they seem to be scanning the crowd, probably looking for Jimbo or someone else interesting to talk to since I don’t want to engage in conversation. I also note several other members standing close by us.

  I shake my head and clear my throat. “No, he didn’t say anything to me, he just walked off,” I pull my braid down behind me. I feel like I’m dreaming right now, and not standing here talking to a large and intimidating biker. I pull my jacket closer around me as it begins to sprinkle lightly, the mist in the air cooling my surprisingly hot face. I think this is the first time I’ve ever been unable to talk to a man.

  “Are you his girl?” he asks again, his voice this time a little less irritated, but I can tell he’s getting tired of repeating himself. I’m sure he doesn’t appreciate my using him like a parrot and testing his patience. I watch him look me over as he waits for my response.

  “I am, haven’t been for very long. Why? Do you know him?”

  I don’t like the way he grunts at me and the others behind him grunt similarly. Apparently, they know him better than I do, and the one before me takes a step closer, and that has me backing away from him.

  He holds his hands up in front of him as if to show me he’s not going to hurt me, “Don’t worry sweetie, I’m not going to hurt you if that’s what you're worried about. My name is Roman, but my friends call me Drag,” he says, holding his hand out in front of him for me to shake. “Short for Dragon.”

  I look up at him wearily as he towers over me by at least a foot and look at the others behind him who nod encouragingly at me before I look back up at Roman, “Natalie, but my friends call me Nat.”

  I don’t actually have any friends, but he doesn’t need to know that. The girls in jail used to call me that, so it stuck. I slowly take his hand.

  “How well do you know Jimbo?” he asks, quickly looking behind me, his eyes widening and then narrowing on something I can’t see.

  When I just shrug at him, he opens his cut and removes a piece of paper and a pen. I don’t see him writing because I’m too busy staring at the gun sticking out of the top of his jeans. I hear his voice speaking to me, but I can’t make out what he’s saying over the ringing in my ears.

  Hands on my shoulders shaking me have me blinking back up at him. “I need you to listen very carefully to me, Nat. You take this, if you ever need anything and I mean anything you contact me, is that understood? Watch yourself, Nat,” I go to ask him what he means, but he quickly turns away, and the three of them walk away. I watch them go, mesmerized by the logo on the back of their cuts and their club name with Washington patched on the bottom under the logo. The others who were standing nearby follow them.

  Within seconds Jimbo is back, and I barely have time to shove the slip of paper into my pocket before he yanks me in and holds me close to him like he’s marking his territory. He might as well pee on me; I think everyone around us gets the point that I’m his girl.

  What strikes me is the way he smells like women’s perfume when he pulls me close. I almost gag when I smell it.

  That was the last time I saw the Dragon Skulls Motorcycle Club and the one and only time we ever visited Maple Valley.

  Chapter One

  Natalie, two years later…

  That may have been the last time I saw any of the Dragon Skulls, but that’s not the last time I talked to any of them.

  I now see what Drag meant by watching out for myself. Jimbo was fine for about two more months after he took me to Maple Valley, but after that, it’s like a switch flipped off, and the man I thought I knew was gone. Dating someone and living with them are two entirely different things. Looking back on the way Jimbo used to be and the way he is now, I don’t know how I missed all the signs of the man hiding behind that mask. Jimbo is a drug addict. I should’ve known I would end up living with one. Like I said good men aren’t attracted to me, I seem to attract every asshole in the tristate area. The smiling, handsome man I met and fell for is gone. Replaced by a man who only showers about once every two weeks, black eyes that are now cloudy due to heavy drug use, and he’s missing a bunch of his teeth now from a combination of drug use and visits to the local boxing ring.

  “Hey, Bitch, where’s my dinner?” the door slamming behind me has me nearly falling out of the chair in front of my computer. I look over at the clock and realize that the time is later than I thought. I’m glad I had the hindsight to put dinner in the crockpot before I went into the body shop this morning. I bolt out of my chair and sprint down the hall to the kitchen, narrowly making it there before him.

  I quickly tuck my loose hair behind my ears and reach for a bowl from the cabinet in front of me. I start to scoop the stew into his bowl moments before I feel him towering over me from behind. I can only describe it as the sun disappearing behind the clouds. Jimbo is about a foot and a half taller than I am. Most people are taller than me, but he’s a giant compared to my five-foot frame. I’ve always been short and having this giant around isn’t helping my situation. He’s used this to his advantage on more than one occasion.

  I hear a growl behind me and prepare myself mentally moments before he violently reaches around me and tosses the bowl over the both of us and sends the stew and all flying across the room and the plate shattering against the far wall. I don’t need to look to know that the shards of the bowl are all over the kitchen floor, this happens at least once a week. I have to buy new dishes at least once a month.

  The world around me spins as he whirls me around, so I’m facing him, and I don’t have time to blink before he’s bent over and his face is directly in front of mine. I can see the crazy look in his eyes and all I can do is pray that he’ll pass out soon because until then
I’ll be his punching bag.

  “What did I tell you, you stupid little bitch? My dinner needs to be on the table before I get here, do you enjoy upsetting me?” he grits out as he grinds his teeth together in irritation.

  I almost point out that the food being on the table hasn’t stopped him before. Even if the food is on the table, he finds some way to punish me. The last time, it was because I forgot to fill his cup of juice to the acceptable height in his cup.

  I open my mouth to answer, but my words die away as he wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes as hard as he can as he lifts me off the floor, so I’m level with him. My feet kick his legs as I try to claw at the hands squeezing my throat. All that lands me is a trip across the room as he tosses me towards the pile of broken glass all over the floor. Some of it embeds in the back of my head as my head first hits the wall behind me and then I land in a pile of glass. I touch the back of my head as the room spins around me and feel the blood as it pools at the back of my head as it starts to leak down the back of my neck. I just hope I don’t need stitches this time, although, this wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. The hospital always looks the other way when I visit.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath when I hear his footsteps approaching me and the crunch of the glass as he advances towards me. When he doesn’t pick me up by my hair, I very slowly open my eyes and find the room around me empty. I hold my breath, listening for where he is in the house before I attempt to turn myself to get onto my hands and knees. I can hear him in the back of the house, upstairs somewhere, slamming drawers around. Who knows what he’s looking for, but I spy the back door of the house just outside the kitchen and make that my goal before he comes back. I don’t have the energy to stand as I attempt to put weight on my legs, so as quietly as I can, I fall back to my knees and ignore the glass as it digs into my hands and feet. I make a loud thump, and I pray that I can make it to the door before he gets here. Maybe if I can get outside, I can scream loud enough for one of the neighbors to hear me and save me like they have before.