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

by Kimber S. Dawn

  ***

  I didn’t mean to leave a note before leaving Eve O’Malley’s. I was gonna just set my mom’s necklace down on the counter beside her keys and bag so she’d see it. I don’t know, maybe I wanted it to make her smile. Maybe I hoped she’d wear it and remember me when she did. I can’t really explain that part of the story, either—I just thought it’d be a nice fucking gesture, okay?

  Now how there was a note left beside the necklace on the formica countertop? I don’t know. Okay, I know—and you can shut the fuck up. It’s not my fault I didn’t know sleeping with her would strengthen the itch, not scratch it. Fuck. Ing. Bad. Terrible idea on my part.

  I should be ashamed, and I would...but I fucking can’t be. Are you kidding me? Jesus, you were there…

  After adjusting myself, I turn the light on in the bathroom. Then I shudder thinking about the way her skin felt against mine, the way she felt against me. My thoughts take me back to last night when I see the marks she left on my skin around my tattoos in the mirror. Bite marks. Little scratches here and there. I remember the sheen of sweat that coated our skin, heightening everything. And then when she came the fuck to life? Right there in my arms, as her dark brown eyes dipped in a fear I didn’t—couldn’t—understand searched for something, anything in mine. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  It was like watching something fucking religious. Like she was scripture, her flesh was the word. And I was just a merely, lowly worshipper, being granted a moment to pray at the altar of fucking Eve Of’May O’Malley.

  I didn’t ask any fucking questions, and fuck you for judging me for it. A man’s not supposed to do a lot of fucking things in life…

  Take two to the chest and one to the gut—and walk away. Alive. And sink ten inches into Eve’s heaven, and forget about it. Lie like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t happen. Like I’ve never been balls deep inside something that fucking spiritual? Be still, silly one. That shit’s not supposed to happen.

  Jesus, and the note...that’s what I’m fucking really kicking myself in the ass for… and it wasn’t much. It didn’t reveal much—I made sure of it. It was really just meant to be a heads up. I think I even said those words, verbatim, actually.

  I think back to the shit I jotted down, like an idiot, leaving breadcrumbs and fucking hope where they don’t belong. But I couldn’t help it. After something like that—after experiencing something that goddamn earth shattering, you don’t walk away from it and the person you experience it with without leaving some sort of a goodbye. And she is, after all, my goodbye girl. I chuckle at the fire I saw light behind her eyes when I called her that. Just before she devoured me with her mouth.

  I divert my attention, and fuck you—yes, it’s purposefully, I go back over the letter again, word for word in my head.

  Vagabond, I shouldn’t have even come here the first time, much less take you and then return. And honestly, even if I did have an excuse, I doubt I’d tell you. You fuck with my head too much. It’s funny, I think I remember telling you once that I was too scared to touch you. Something along the lines of touching you too much might drive me crazy...well congrats, Pipsqueak. You’ve straight got me mindfucked. Not that any of it matters, unfortunately. Not anymore.

  I’m sorry. I do want you to know that. I wish things were different. I wish, I don’t know—something. I wish it could be easier. I wish I could tell you everything you need to know, everything you want to know. But I can’t, it’s not my battle. Do you understand? It’s not my battle, Vagabond. But there is a battle. And this is your heads up. Now start asking the right questions, and start asking the right people. The ones a little closer to home, specifically. Not me. Don’t ask me and mine. We can’t help you. Not anymore. Not with Pops gone.

  I’m leaving you with my ma’s crucifix, and in case you try to get it twisted, and make it into something it’s not, I’ll stop you with this: It’s not because of any other reason than I feel sorry for you. And I honestly think you need some Jesus in your life. Maybe if you pray...you can hold it then. Hold onto it, Pipsqueak—I have a feeling you’re gonna need it. And I want you to remember something my ma once told me—when I was sixteen, just before she died. ‘Steady and straight—stay that way. It doesn’t matter what they say, it doesn’t change what’s in your heart. What’s in your blood. You just stay steady and straight.’

  Keep that shit, Eve. Keep it. Like I said, I got a feeling you’re gonna need it.

  —Jacques

  I know, okay? I know it was an asshole move on my part, being so cryptic. But my fucking hands are tied. You don’t understand. Her pops is Renee ‘King’ O’Malley. We didn’t know that. Fuck, nobody knew that. Renee doesn’t even know it. Not yet. But he’s asking questions. Dammit, is he asking questions. And all of his questions seemed to focus on and around Ilsa and what’s she been up to since. And that’s when it fucking clicked too.

  Dreads and I’d only been in Daytona for an hour when we ran into ‘King’ and a few from his crew, DDDs. I’d been at the bar waiting on a phone call from the intel coming in from Louisiana. But he surprised me; he decided not to call. Instead, he decided to meet me at the one and only rally I’m known to ride these days; down to Daytona Bike Week. I didn’t see 'King' at first. I saw his nephew, Philip, who just so happened to be my intel. He quickly nodded his head towards the man in front of him. And as soon as I saw the dark complected Cajun man, and those damn dark brown eyes. I don’t know… something clicked. He spoke as he reached me and shook my hand. “Sorry to hear about your pops, man. My ma just passed, two years ago.” 'King' patted both my shoulders while shaking his head slowly. “I know the shit’s gotta be hard, especially with the hit your club recently took with the loss. Y’all holding up? Need anything from any of my brothers, you let me or Phil know, yeah?” I nodded, and he continued. “Good news is, if anything it’ll keep Ilsa away from your MC for good now. That’s gotta be a relief. I know your dad was already getting tired of her shit in Chicago. Shit, that was eighteen years ago, though. We were supposed to meeting up at a park there, but y’all pulled off before we could make it through Toledo. Something about that bitch and her crazy ass kid, or something.”

  Click. Click. Click. The pieces of puzzle fell into place as the man standing in front of me turned from someone I was only previously acquainted with, to someone familiar. Very familiar as of late. About as familiar as Ilsa Blakeney and Renee ‘King’ O’Malley, and the child that looks so much like the two.

  The intel that I’d been waiting at a bar off I-95 for about the link between Ilsa and Renee from Philip was that quickly forgotten. Solved and forgotten, all in the same instant. It took forever for my mind to accept all of the similarities between father and daughter. I refused to accept that I never saw what was always right in front of my face. I don’t like feeling like an idiot, and I’ve already acted like one once with this girl—woman. And even though I was pretty sure the information I had was information ‘King’ didn’t— I was also pretty damn sure Ilsa wished what I figured out died with my father the night bullets rang out at my MC. But it didn’t.

  Not when the truth, which had always been right in front of me, dawned on me when I saw Renee ‘King’ O’Malley for the first...second time.

  I looked between eyes I’d only ever seen a few but very poignant times in my life. Times that didn’t include the prez of Triple Ds, but a little girl from my fucking past that kept coming back...for some damn reason that had been beyond me.

  However, I’d never heard of ‘King’ having any offspring. None. As far as I’d ever heard, the closest living relative he has is a nephew, who just so happens to be the runner up to his position and VP of the largest motherfucking MC club in the south.

  I neglected to tell all this shit to Eve, though. And I know it seems like an asshole move on my part. I know you’d feel better if I felt a modicum of shame—but my hands are tied. And goddamn it, I left a letter! I told her what’s up, sorta. Besides, she’s a bright girl. She’ll f
ucking figure it out.

  Stepping from the shower, I’m completely lost in thought when I saunter into my room, still wet, with a towel hooked around my hips. I don’t see her form outlined on my bed in the low light of my room. So I don’t see her until I hear her.

  “You’re late,” Roxy’s husky voice says. I do note the subtle sadness underlying her tone.

  Without much in the way of faltering my movements, I hardly acknowledge her before continuing to dry off. As I pull another pair of worn out jeans up my legs, I sigh before shaking my wet hair back out of my face and comment, “I’m not late. I’m not on a goddamn schedule, Rox. Who the fuck do you think you are? What do you think this fucking is? You think you’re my old lady?” I let the harsh words blend with my cruel chuckle purposefully before turning and narrowing my eyes on hers. “I think it’s about time you come to terms with the fact that your feelings towards me are not reciprocated. And they haven’t been for some-fucking-time, either. Roxy, how long are you gonna lie to yourself? How long are gonna tell yourself I feel the same way about you that you feel about me? What else do I have to do? Who else do I have to fuck?” I can’t even attempt to be nice, I’m so fucking tired. Not only from being inside my own head for the last fifteen hours, but from the exhausting drive too. I’m past all common politeness with this nagging bitch. Hell, it’s apparent—even when I’m an unfaithful dick to her—she still doesn’t get the point.

  “So she does live there. Did you go by her place? Did you stop? Or did you just drive by?” The tone in her voice is past sad now, and it’s her tell she’s not really being genuine. She’s probably heartbroken, the poor thing.

  “What you mean is did I see her. Yes, I saw her. Something came up. I thought she had some intel she’d be willing to come off of. Turns out she don’t know shit. She’s a worthless waste of time, Rox. Is that what you want to hear?” After I’ve pulled my black v-neck t-shirt on over my head and tugged it the rest of the way down my tattooed abdomen, I stalk in her direction and don’t stop advancing on her until I’m hovering over her petite frame. “Or do you want me to tell you about how I fucked her?” I whisper next to her face. “How wet her cunt was when I sank into it for the first time since she was sixteen? You wanna know what she tastes like now? Ripe.” I told you I was through. I told you I had some nails to put in this coffin. I just hope her pops don’t put a hollow point through my temple after this act. Shit. Clutch will scalp me if he hears about this.

  “No. Actually I wanted to know if you figured out whether or not that was her—the damn little vagabond you mutter about in your sleep. I just wanted to fucking know if you found her. And if it’d be alright if I finished packing my shit now? I think it’s past time. I think you’re more than healthy enough to take care of yourself. I already talked to my pops. I’m leaving for Seattle day after tomorrow. I don’t see any reason I can’t spend my last few nights in town at my house. I still have some shit I need to pack anyway. That’s all.”

  It’s at this point in the entire scenario I realize all her shit is packed and in boxes beside my bedroom door.

  “Oh. Well, shit, Rox.” I almost laugh at how fucking easy this was. “I thought you were gonna make that a fuck ton harder than that! Okay, okay. No—that’s cool.” I got a damn smile ear-to-ear across my face, and when I’m close enough to her, I hug her. I can’t help it. The weight is finally fucking lifted. One less cord that’s needed to be cut. Severed. Completely painlessly. Whew. I can’t believe how easy this was. “You do what you need to do, babe. What’s up in Seattle?” I ask as she rolls her eyes and waves me her middle finger on her way towards the door.

  “That, sir, is no longer your concern. Is it?” She chuckles, and if I weren’t so damn grateful for how easy she’s making this on me, I’d ask if there were any crooked aces up her sleeve. But I’m past caring at this point. If it gets her out of my club, and off my dick—if it gets her on her own track—not waiting on me to decide what I’m doing on mine, then let it be. Who am I to ask the details of her plans?

  “Touché, motherfucker.” I ruffle her short blonde hair before swatting her ass. “Just take care of yourself, yeah? And let your pops know if there’s anything you need. The brothers will always be here for ya, Rox. No matter what. You’re our little sister.” I wink at her.

  “Yeah, and you’re a cocky, self-righteous bastard who has God complex issues, but who’s taking score? Don’t worry about me, kid. You worry about yourself. Keep your head up. Think about what your ma’d want you to do. Then use your pops’ common sense to make your decision, and the club will be fine. Between the old timers and their loyalty to you and your hard work, you and this MC will be fine, Jacques. Just keep your head up—no matter how long it feels like you’re treading water. Don’t give up. Keep your head above the water until you don’t have breath left in your lungs. This whole world is sink or swim. And, baby, whatever you do...I love you, and I need you to always swim. Okay?” Her light blue eyes sparkle before she blinks away a few telltale tears.

  “‘Kay, Rox. I hear ya, babe.” I circle my arms around Roxy Bell’s little waist, and after squeezing tight, I peck her cheek. “I’ll swim.”

  ***

  It took my mind less than twenty seconds to still after my wet head hit the pillow directly after Roxy left. I don’t know if it was the feeling of that burden being lifted, or me being in my own bed for the first time in a week, but dammit, when my head hit that pillow, my thoughts ceased and I went out. And then I slept like a baby.

  I feel lighter on my feet than I’ve felt years as I take the stairs two at a time, heading for the steeple. I wave to a few of the brothers, smile and say my hellos here and there. And after I’ve swiped an ice cold brewsky from the cooler behind the bar, I peck Lynette on the cheek before heading through the open bay doors overlooking the boneyard.

  As I step out onto the black asphalt, I see Dozer and Slim at the front of the steeple, and I grin before waving. “Night, brothers. How’s it going this evening?” They both nod, but don’t really say much after that. I glance out over my shoulder at the boneyard towards the back of the compound then nod towards the Church doors. “All the other guys here, yeah?” I squint over at Slim, still mentally debating whether or not to reveal to the other brothers about what I learned on our trip, as Clutch opens the front doors, and a bright light glares, blinding my vision from inside momentarily. “What the fuck?” I barely get out the words before Dreads’ body is blanketing mine, Slim’s and Dozer’s.

  It’s like someone kicked a motherfucking ant hill. Only this isn’t any ant mound, it’s my fucking MC. It’s my garage, my ink shop, my home! It’s my motherfucking MC!

  I never heard the first shot ring out ahead of mine. I can’t tell you if one even did. I just remember being in a good mood, and feeling lighthearted like a motherfucker, then I remember wondering what the fuck was going on. Then I registered danger. There may have been some surprise in there, but it was so quickly covered up with rage no one even noticed it.

  As I came from under a pile of my brothers, screaming bloody fucking murder, I had both fists gripping the butt of both my nines, and both mags were completely full.

  I’d just loaded them before heading downstairs.

  And I didn’t hear a single gunshot, not from any other gun—hell, I don’t even know if their first intentions were to shoot. But after last time...I wasn’t fucking waiting around for answers. I’d just kill every other motherfucker who stood and wasn’t wearing my club's colors.

  Period.

  I pulled the trigger. Pop. Pop. Pop. And I didn’t stop until the mags ran out.

  “Oh, honey. You can bet your sweet ass she’s read that damn thing a hundred times. Of course she hasn’t put it down.” I glare knives at my best friend on the phone with my only other friend. Wishing against all wishes, praying with everything I have that Ty would trip and twist his damn ankle in those phenomenal wedges of mine I just spent half of my last paycheck on because Ty said I co
uldn’t live without them. I still haven’t had the balls to try them on yet.

  “I hear you. Please don’t talk about me like I’m not even fucking here, Ty. It’s rude. And tell L I don’t give a shit if she just had another baby—I’m not afraid to kick a breastfeeding mother’s ass!” After swiping my pack of cigarettes from the bar, I also stealthily swipe my third glass of wine on my way onto the back deck where Ty is setting out our sushi rolls, wasabi and ginger with soy sauce and sake. Oh my! Favorite! And by the way, my old ‘no drinking’ rule has just recently flown out the window. Due to circumstances beyond my control, the bitch in me has awoken, and she likes wine. In copious amounts.

  When Ty cuts his eyes at mine over the rim of his sake glass, I flip him off. “I’m serious. This is bullshit. My romantic life shouldn’t be open for group discussion. Ever. What I say to you doesn’t always need to be relayed to Lauryn. Why can’t the two of you understand that? I don’t discuss your relationship with Dave, Ty, to L. Never!” I prove my point. Mainly because there’s nothing to really tell about either of their relationships, but that’s beside the point.

  “She told you about the roofie? Oh God, and the motel?” Ty glances over his shoulder and ducks when he sees me glaring at him. “At least it wasn’t a shanty one. I know! That’s what I told her.” He giggles into the phone after continuing to pretend I’m not present in the room. That he’s not blatantly talking shit about me, right in front of me. “Oh my God! L, you’re right. Jared Leto! That’s who he looks like!”

  “Hello? I was kidnapped! Taken...against my will? I was kidnapped!” I sigh, feigning irritation. “Fine, you both can go fuck yourselves. I hope you both die a happy, rich life surrounded by your loved ones. ‘Cause I’ll be here in Daytona, living in a lonely solitude of hell until I die. ‘Cause the only two friends I have are complete shit! And I can’t find my sister for shit, either!” I’m shrieking by the time I finish my rant. And the tears that are welling in my eyes are only there because my heart hurts, and I’m dead in the middle of throwing the biggest pity party fit the world has seen.