If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel

by Kimber S. Dawn

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Before I Wake by Kimber S. Dawn

  About Kimber

  If I Should Die Copyright © 2016 Kimber S. Dawn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Kimber S. Dawn: 2016

  authorkimbersdawn@gmail.com

  Cover Designed by Raising Kane Photo Co.

  Edited by Karen Sanders

  Interior Design by Masque of the Red Pen

  It’s cold again. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I’m not. I’ve lived in Chicago since I was in the third grade, you know? Yep, almost a whole year. I’ll be nine in April. But I’ve made it. Somehow, someway, I made it another year living in foster homes, waiting for my mom to get settled in her new house and start her new job. And thankfully, after so long in this cold, cold place, I finally get to go home today.

  “Hon, do you have all your bags ready? Your mom will be waiting for us if you don’t hurry,” the old prune-faced-librarian-looking woman asks.

  After I hop from the stool I was sitting on, I grab my lonesome bag and smile brightly at the social worker. “Yes, ma’am. I’m all kinds of ready.” Once my bag is looped over my shoulder I walk closer to her, and without even attempting to look like she likes her job, even a little bit, she holds open the door for me and I scurry past.

  Once we’re in the car and buckled up, I wait, and when she doesn’t say anything for a little while, I decide to go ahead and introduce myself. Mainly for one reason, but I’ll share both with you. The first reason, which could probably go without mention, is I’m not certain how long this is going to take. Do you know how many times I’ve gone on rides with different adults and had no idea how long it would take? Sometimes it’s fifteen minutes, sometimes it’s hours. And I learned when I was old enough that it’s better to just go ahead and ask. Especially if the adult driving won’t give up the info freely. And the second reason, remember, this is the important one, is because I can’t stay in this car for much longer if this old, crabby woman doesn’t turn on the heat.

  “I’m Eve O’Malley, by the way. I don’t think Donna told me your name. Then again, she never really spoke to me, so…hey, do you think you could turn up the heat?” I rub my hands together in the back seat and smile when she glances over her shoulder at me, still looking like she just sucked a lemon.

  Nope, she’s definitely NOT one of those social workers…the ones who are all bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready to change the world. No, this one knows. She knows there isn’t going to be any happy ever afters for any of us, no matter what she does Monday through Friday from eight to five.

  “My name is Mildred, hon. And sure, I’ll turn up the heat. I forget this cold bothers you kids from the south. Fifty is warm for here.” I’m a little surprised when she smirks and winks at me in the rearview mirror. “But not too warm. My bones are old; that makes me a bit colder.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It is cold. And I could imagine.” I agree with her but then get back on track. “So, about how long is the ride? I didn’t sleep very well ‘cause I was so excited about today.” I yawn and look longingly at the bench seat I’m sitting on. “And I know most kids wouldn’t ask, but I’m not like most. And I could sure use a nap.” After fluffing my bag like a makeshift pillow on the other side of the back seat, I glance back up to her in the rearview mirror and await her answer.

  “About forty-five minutes, depending on traffic. A good amount of time for a nap, for sure.” She nods after she finishes speaking.

  I nod in return. “Yep. A darn good one at that. Well, Miss Mildred, keep the heat running. And I’ll be back here. Let me know when we get close please, ma’am.” I smile and awkwardly wave before lying down and facing the back seat.

  If my momma taught me anything, it was to respect your elders. And always be polite. It’s one of those things I learned so early on in life that when I learned it I didn’t even require an explanation for it—I just learned it, knew it as a rule. And it stuck as one. Kinda like wearing socks, or flossing. It doesn’t make sense but you do it anyway—‘cause you’re supposed to.

  “Yes, ma’am. Please. And thank you, Eve. Remember, always be polite. No matter what.” My mom told me those exact same words, every time, right before she told me goodbye. Either she’d leave my sister and I at my grandmother’s, a boyfriend’s house, her boss’s house. She always made sure we knew to mind our manners, though—before we could even get out of the car she’d remind us. Every time.

  And as soon as the car door would shut behind us, I’d hear my sister, Eden, mimicking her words before giggling.

  “Yes ma’am. Please. And thank you, Eve. Eden—remember, always be polite.”

  Eden and I are best friends. She’s usually with me, too, by the way. Hopefully when Mildred and I get to the park, and all the paperwork is signed and I’m back with my momma again, I can figure out why Eden isn’t with me this time. I haven’t really felt like bringing it up on the phone. And besides, Mom says we can only talk for like five minutes when she calls, so…I never wanted to bring up any negative stuff. I know my mom is trying, and I know it’s hard for her since me and Eden didn’t come with a daddy.

  Or daddies.

  The last time CPS showed up, it was late. It was so late Eden and I had already gone to bed. Which was late, ‘cause Mom worked ‘til midnight most nights. And Eden and I had already had our bath and were asleep. I don’t think I was really even awake until I got to the Child Services office and realized Eden wasn’t with me, or in a following car. Now, I’ve never had a heart attack, but I’ve always imagined them being painful, especially in the general chest area. So, for days I screamed that I was having a heart attack. Days. But all the adults stopped paying me any attention after the good old doctor came by and checked me out. He never did explain the pain, though. Just shook his head and frowned a bit. Then told the adults I was fine.

  I shiver in Mildred’s back seat, hugging myself before waiting to see if the pain is still there. Yep. Still there—I feel it.

  It ebbed. When days turned into weeks, and then weeks into months, the excruciating pain I felt when the social worker confirmed my worst nightmares did ebb. It j
ust took a good bit of time to.

  I remember feeling completely numb when she explained that her files were right, and Eden was not my twin. Completely and utterly numb. Then she went on to further clarify, telling me that Eden’s father was not my father. So he wouldn’t be coming to pick me up like he did Eden at the house after I was taken away. And after flipping through some files, she pulled out something that looked like an honors award certificate and pointed. “Eve, this is your birthday. Okay?” She then pointed to another certificate. “And this is Eden’s. See?” She looked at me so expectantly and I just shrugged.

  “So?” I asked, scared out of mind. “I’m sorry, I don’t see anything, ma’am. What does this have to do with her not being here? She’s my sister!” I remember choking on the tears and getting angry at them. “She’s my sister!” My eyes begged hers.

  But Mrs. Brown, the social worker, didn’t answer my pleas. Instead she broke my heart with her words. “Half-sister. Y’all were born eleven months apart. And her father is fostering-to-adopt. Yours is nowhere to be found.”

  It never fails, ya know? No matter what they say. You can do your best. You can make good grades, eat all your vegetables, remember to brush your teeth, and always be polite and respectful. You can do all of this, and still be the kid who gets taken away. That’s a hard pill to swallow, even for a nine-year-old, but it’s a fact of my life.

  The only good thing I have going for me is that my mom is still alive. Unlike a lot of the kids Eden and I’ve met from the time we were three. Most of their parents either don’t want them, or they got sick, or died. At least mine still wants me. It’s hard, and we struggle, but at least we keep coming back together.

  I just pray we always do.

  Right after my bedtime prayer whispers through my head.

  Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

  If I should die before I wake…

  I didn’t even get to ride on a bike, thanks to my dad’s bitch. Excuse my French, but I’m a little more than upset. This ride with the guys wasn’t even supposed to involve her, much less revolve around her and her kids. I sneer in her direction then at her bratty little girl, Eden, before looking back out of the passenger side window and huffing out in aggravation. “Gahh…” I start complaining, but my father’s loud, booming voice cuts off any other smart remark I was thinking.

  “What the fuck do you mean, you’re leaving? No, you’re not gonna do this! Just because he’s coming—” My eyes probably bulge out of my sixteen-year-old head when Ilsa, the bitch in subject, dodges his hand flying out to grab hers, and he trips.

  He doesn’t fall though. Don’t get it twisted; Pops doesn’t fall.

  But he does trip.

  And when Ilsa gets the door of the truck thrown open and crawls in, her screeching voice echoes through the truck’s cab at me. “Get out. Get out. Get out. Get the fuck OUT, Jacques. Eden, get in the back seat and buckle up. Now.”

  “But, Mom!” I hear her knob-kneed little girl start to whine, but her bitch mother yells for her to shut up at the same time she reaches over my lap and opens the truck door.

  “I said ‘now’, Eden. Get in the damn truck! NOW! I’m not doing this!” Her voice has escalated to an unhealthy octave at this point. Then suddenly me and my ass are meeting the black gravel outside my pop’s truck. And just before my leather bag slams into my gut, that same black gravel digging into my backside is being spewed off the rubber tires as the bitch slams Pop’s F-150 from reverse into first, and balls the tires.

  “What the FU—?” I scramble on all fours before gaining some traction with my feet and standing to my full height. “Pops, what the HELL?!” My hands toss my bag on the ground before shooting above my head. My eyes probably look like they’re going to pop out of my head when they meet my father’s dark blue ones. I gesture my words then repeat them. “Dad. What. The. Hell. Man?”

  My pops and I have always had the sort of relationship most would compare to siblings born in different generations. Pops is like my brother…who just so happened to be born one score and a decade before me, putting me about thirty years behind him in experience.

  As I stand toe to toe with the man in front of me, I do realize that even though I’m nearly seventeen, I still don’t meet my father eye-to-eye. But I don’t let it get under my skin. Not too much. I take my father in from head to toe. He stands a good six-foot-three. And he has to weigh at least two bills; he’s always kept himself fit. And he’s attractive, I guess. If one was measuring by the looks of the women he keeps in frequent rotation.

  I watch him rake his hands through his salt and pepper hair before one stops behind his neck and the other rests on his hip. His dark blue eyes look up and pierce mine, and it’s now I notice all the lines around his eyes for the first time.

  This one, though. This damn woman, though. She’s aging him. Quick. And it’s because he freaking cares.

  He broke his own cardinal rule by letting another one in. He let one get to him—he let one of them matter.

  I instantly break our eye contact and glance at the grass between our boots, silently shaking my head.

  The silence is heavy between us for a second, and I wonder if Pops is going to say something and break it when my Uncle Chase jogs over. “Well that settles any qualms the guys have had. I’ve been cool. Jacques?” I nod and he jerks his head from me to Pops. “Arch? This shit sucks, but that bitch was crazy. Count your blessings, brother.”

  After Uncle Chase slaps me on the back, he looks back over his shoulder to where his eldest son, my best friend, Ben, is walking over. “Ben, looks like we lost the Ford, son. Jacques, you can ride with Ben in the Chevy, but you boys better ride safe. No fucking around. I want both of you to look at me.” When we’re both facing him and looking him in the eyes, he finishes. “You hear me?”

  After Ben flips him the bird and I do some smart ass salute, Ben and I head in the direction of the red Chevy.

  “Dude, thank God! I thought we were gonna get stuck with that woman’s kids! Didn’t you? What the hell happened?” he asks as we climb into the cab of the truck.

  “Man, I don’t know. They were fighting like cats and dogs this morning and it hasn’t stopped. I think he got busted with another damn woman. Then ‘King’ was supposed to meet us here, but she flipped her shit about it when she found out on the drive up. Not that any of this clicked in my head ‘til we stopped here and all hell broke loose. Did you eat all the damn Funyuns, you asshole?”

  I keep flipping through different consoles in the truck, looking for something. Something to drink or snack on. I do note that something’s missing, I just don’t know what it is.

  “Does a bear shit in the woods, Jacques? Hell yeah, I ate ‘em. There’s probably some Corn Nuts in the glove compartment, though.” He nods in the direction of it and I pop it open. Half a bag. At least it’s not empty.

  After he cranks the truck, he starts flipping through the radio stations and complaining about how he and I WILL be riding bikes next year on this trip. To which I think—Duh, that’s always been the code.

  I don’t know why he thought they’d change it this year just because we’re a year away. It’s eighteen. The summer we both are patched in. That’s always been our fathers’ rule. That’s when we ride. Ben is such an idiot sometimes, I swear.

  “Eighteen, bro. You know that. You need to learn some patience. That’s what you need to learn,” I pick at him. But I’ve always picked at him, it’s my job. I’m the oldest.

  “Speaking of patience, how long do you think it’ll take them to start heading out? Nothing’s changed, route should stay the same. The only difference is we lost a mother and her two kids, but that’s a good load to lose. Less weight.” He smirks at me.

  I just shake my head and pour the remaining Corn Nuts in my gullet before stealing his Dr. Pepper and chugging its contents.

  As I wipe my mouth with my sleeve, I see the first of the guys cranking their bikes before filing i
nto line. “True. But…can I just say something?” He nods, looking at me strangely. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but the shit you say…I’d only ever say that kinda shit to me, ya know? I know you think you sound cool, but—just don’t let any of the old timers hear you say any shit like that, okay?” I chuckle at the look of hurt that crosses his face and hold my hands up. “Dude, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t love you. Okay?”

  To which he mutters under his breath, “Yeah, no. I know. And don’t worry, I won’t.” He pulls his father’s red Chevy truck out onto Main Street behind all my father’s men on their bikes in the pack.

  Next year, though…Ben and I will be patched in. And we won’t be playing drag bike in a damn truck. That’s for freaking sure.

  ***

  I knew something was fucking missing. I knew it. I’ve never cussed myself like I’m cursing myself on the ride back to some shitty little town outside Chicago. I’m seven shades of pissed when I slam Ben’s truck into drive and step out onto the grass in the park. I jog over to where my dad and I were at when Ilsa sped away, but I don’t see my bag. Nowhere.

  Dammit, I had a freaking joint in there! What if the cops find it? Oh my God! My damn license was in my wallet! Which is—I run my hands over my ass pockets and wince when my situation worsens.

  “Shit!” I kick some gravel, and when that doesn’t help get some of my frustration out, I spin around and punch the shit out of an old oak tree. As hard as I can, I whale on it.

  But only once. Oak wins. All day, all day. Oak wins, every time. “Shit! Fuck! Dammit!” Tears are stinging the back of my eyes when my back slides down the hard as hell oak tree while I cradle my left hand to my chest and try to even out my breathing.

  I barely hear the little pipsqueak over my gritting teeth, but I do hear her. With my head still leaning back against the tree, I look up and my eyes settle on the cutest little face I’ve ever seen. Big brown eyes blinking down at me from up in the tree are the first thing I see when I open my eyes facing the heavens under the branches.

  “That wasn’t very smart. It hurt?” Her little head quirks to the side as her eyes take me in from head to toe, ringlets bouncing around her face. “Looked like it. Sounded like it. You know, you shouldn’t be saying words like that. You’re not old enough.” She tsks me before raising her eyebrows at me like I’m the immature nine-year-old. Then she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Then don’t speak. See if I care.” She huffs before leaning back against the branch she’s perched on. “’Cause I don’t. I don’t care about anyone, just like no one cares about me,” she mutters, and it pulls on my heartstrings. But just a little bit. Not enough to ask questions or offer her a shoulder to cry on. A dude could get arrested for that shit.