Crash & Burn

by Jaci J

  Crash & Burn

  The Hells Disciples

  MC

  2

  Jaci J.

  Crash & Burn © 2014 Jaci J.

  All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below

  jaclinjean@gmail.com

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any place, event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover art; Cover done by Margreet Asselbergs of RfR Designs

  Cover photos; Big Stock Photos Tumad (45056344) Astor63 (17963390)

  This one is for my mom.

  No matter what crazy, stupid, or outrageous thing I do, you still love me.

  Thank you for your unconditional love, support, encouragement,

  and for always having my back and best interest at heart.

  I love you!

  A big thank you to the best editor and my crazy kind of manager DANA HOOK. You fucking rock!! Without your help I’d still be floating around in Amazon with a good, but terribly edited and formatted book. You’re my favorite book bitch & I thank fuck for all your wonderful help!!

  Thank you!!

  Again a huge thank you to my best friend and biker mouthed little sister. You’re opinion and support has helped me through this crazy adventure. You are the best!! I love you!!

  A shout out to Margreet Asselbergs of RfR Design for designing beautiful covers for me. Before you I had an alright cover and now I have perfection. You took my ideas and made them into something amazingly wonderful! Thank you!

  And to everyone who read the first book and loved it, this one is for you!! You’re encouraging words and love keep me writing!!

  Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

  Play list

  1. “Smoke, Drink, Break-up” – Mila J.

  2. “Litost” & “Down With Me” – X Ambassadors

  3. “Ashley” – Big Sean

  4. “Shameless” – Garth Brooks

  5. “Tuesday’s Gone” - Lynyard Skynyrd

  6. “Numb” – August Alsina

  7. “High for This”, “Valerie”, “The Birds (part 2)” – The Weeknd

  8. “Poetic Justice” – Kendrick Lamar

  9. “Superman” – Eminem

  10. “Alive” – Ayah Marar

  11. “She Knows” – J. Cole

  12. “Go Deep” – Ty Dolla $ign

  13. “Waiting Game” – Banks

  14. “Holy Grail” – Jay Z

  15. “Just Like A Pill” – Pink

  16. “Tears in Heaven” – Eric Clapton

  17. “Give Me One Reason” – Tracy Chapman

  18. “100” – Iggy Azalea

  19. “Who Do You Love” – YG

  20. “Tiny Dancer” – Elton John

  Table of Contents

  Play list

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  Prologue

  Since that night there has been no hope, no light. I’ve been living in complete darkness … HELL.

  1

  Hate

  Tank

  Her back has always been tanned, smooth, and so fucking perfect that you can’t help but want to touch it, kiss it. I could spend my entire day licking every fucking inch of it because I love her body, her skin. Now as I look at her, I can barely hold back the angry outburst fighting its way from my fucking gut. This shit eats away at me every second of every fucking day. It’s all I can see anymore, and I can’t stand even looking at her because of it. All I feel is absolute rage at what I see. I stare at those three round, raised, pink scars that mark that perfect skin, and the sight of them make me sick to my stomach. I hate myself for letting it happen to her, and I hate her for looking past it. I hate that she still loves me, and I really hate that I don’t deserve it.

  Lying in bed together, just after fucking her hard, I can only think of those three goddamn scars. She’s lying on her side with her sexy, long ass leg thrown out to the side, giving me another perfect body part of hers that’s stained with the reminder of my failure. I’ve let her down so many times, but that last time will forever be what will take her away from me, whether she wants to see it or not. How can I love her when every time I look at her, I feel disgust for her, for staying here and not leaving me. I want her to see that I did this to her and have her hate me for it, but she still stays ‘cause shoe loves me, no matter how bad I treat her.

  It all started happening a few weeks after that night. Things seemed calm enough and we were all tryin’ to get back to normal, but then I got a gut check. Maybe it was from all that adrenaline still running through my body ‘cause just when I thought I could start to calm down from it all, out of nowhere, it just felt like a ton of bricks were crushing me. I was lying there with Lil in my arms, sleeping peacefully when the nightmare started flashing before my eyes.. My body went cold and I started to shake because I was there, and I could feel every fucking emotion I felt that night like it was happening all over again. It didn’t matter that she was right here; whole, alive and in my arms. The nightmare felt like it was reality again. All I could do was lay there, freaking the fuck out while clinging to Lil like a life raft.

  She’s running to me with so much desperation as those shots ring out. I’m not there in time, but I see every jerk of her body as each bullet tears into her. Her eyes go wide with shock as each jerk gets her closer to me, ‘cause she doesn’t stop running for a second. My baby was hurt, but she has always been so fucking strong. I finally get to her as she runs right into me, knocking us both to the ground. I’m scared shitless ‘cause I know she took all three hits. Her breath is ragged and her total stillness consumes me. All I feel is panicked and desperate ‘cause I know this shit is bad. It’s so goddamn bad.

  She’s choking now and gasping for air as I flip her off me. There is so much blood covering her. I can smell it and see her fucking struggling to stay alive, all the while staring at me. I can’t fucking save her.

  Even though I know the outcome, I can’t stop the feeling of dread that settles over me like a thick blanket, thinking of her not making it. The image of her body not moving, her eyes, dead of life while they are still looking straight at me … she’s gone. This time no one saves her and I always wake up in a fuckin’ panic, shaking and needing a drink. Drinking and fucking her are the only things that bring me back from the goddamn nightmares.

  After six months of this shit, my mind is in a constant state of pissed off and scared shitless. I can have them every night for a week, and then I won’t have them for a few days. I might have them as soon as my ass falls asleep, or it could be right before I wake up. I never know when to expect them, and the not knowing is just about as bad as the dreams themselves. The dreams fuck with me. They fuck with us.

  I’m constantly worried something is gonna happen to her if she’s not in my sight. I always have to know she’s
alright because it’s the only way I can function anymore. The dreams fuel these psychotic feelings and keep my nerves on edge. I feel bad for acting like a fucking nut case whenever she’s not around me. I pressure the fuck out of her by blowing up her phone, showing up wherever she’s at and wanting to know when she’ll be back. I throw all my shit on her. The dreams, the scary as fuck thought that she’ll die, and the guilt are eating me alive and I put that shit on her.

  ****

  It’s three in the morning and I can’t fucking sleep. I sit here, nursing my Jack and smoking my blunt as I stare aimlessly at my beautiful girl. Inhaling the smoke, I fill my lungs as I stare and think. These last few months I’ve resorted to drinking … a lot. It’s like something won’t let me forget. I sit here and try to understand why my mind can’t come to terms with the fact she’s here, alive and breathing every fucking day. I feel nothing but guilt for not being there, not getting to her in time. My mind is telling me that she may be here, but I fucked up and almost lost her. This bitch has been the stronger of us, and in some way it pisses me off. She’s her own savior, I’m her fucking failure.

  She forgives me for all of it. She can’t understand why I blame myself and that she loves me unconditionally. No matter what I say or do, she’s right by my side, always putting up with my shit. After that night, I expected to lose my Lil. After what she’d been through, I was sure she’d change. Hell, I wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t move on from it and I was ready to be her rock, whatever she needed me to be. I was sure I’d lose the carefree, crazy girl I loved so fuckin’ much. That was what I was expecting.

  Not a goddamn thing about Lil has changed. If anything, she lives life harder. She’s always dancing, singing, smiling for no damn reason at all. She loves me harder, wants me more. She’s still everything to me and she’s still the reason I do everything I do. That night didn’t change her, it changed me. Because of my nightmares, I’ve become hers.

  More recently, I drink, smoke, and stay at the club, hoping to numb the obsessive need for her and the life she should have without me. I want her, yet I want to forget her and feel normal again. No matter how much I hate myself, I’ll never be able to let her go. There are a fuck of a lot of clinical words for it, shit like co-dependent, or self-deprecating. In the end, it’s just fucking sad. I can’t get enough of her, but it kills me just to look at her. I hate her for wanting her so goddamn bad.

  ****

  “How much bacon are you gonna make baby, ‘cause it looks like you cooked the entire farm?” Her soft hands push up under the front of my shirt and as I’m standing there at the stove, she leans herself into me. Her warm body against mine always makes me hard. I fight the shiver her touch brings to my skin and fight the need to push her against the counter and fuck her to remind myself that she’s mine. These thoughts make me want to drink. She moves her face around my shoulder so I can see that sexy smile and those beautiful eyes as she makes a grab for the bacon. I hate and love the way she looks at me, like I’m the only motherfucker she wants. Shit makes me feel guilty as she damn near dances away from me into the living room.

  I moved her stuff into my place right after she got out of the hospital. I needed her close where I could always find her. I thought having her here would help and it does, but not the way I’d hoped. How do you love someone so fucking much, and want to hurt them all the time? She changed a few things around my place. Thought it’d bother me, but it doesn’t. It just reminds me she’s here with me right where I want her, but I feel like shit for wanting it that way.

  “You goin’ to the club today?” she asks from the couch a few minutes later. There’s a touch of uncertainty when she asks me. It’s a tone she uses a lot with me now; always careful about what she says around me. She shouldn’t have to hold shit in, but I shouldn’t make her feel like she has to, either. She’s surrounded by school books, her computer propped up on her lap, those cute ass glasses on her nose. She’s so beautiful it hurts to look at her and I’ll never truly understand how I got so goddamn lucky.

  “Yeah. No need to wait up, I may be late again.”

  Her eyes lose some spark and that smile slips ever so slightly, but she nods anyways. My fucking little soldier holding that shit down for me, because I’m a fucking asshole and can’t take it. Not enough sleep is giving me a real fucked up attitude. I decided to try and soften the blow, so I got up and started making her breakfast, thinking it could make her day a little easier to deal with me.

  “Me, Peaches, n’ Lailah are goin’ into town to look at cars. Do you wanna come?” she asks , lacking any confidence. I catch the name Lailah. She’s no one I know and yet I don’t give a fuck enough to ask. She knows my answer to her question before she asks, but she loves me, so she asks anyway.

  Shaking my head I mutter, “Can’t. Got too much shit to do. ”

  She gives me a half-hearted smile and nods again. I make a plate and offer it to her, but she shakes her head no. She doesn’t eat much lately so she’s lost some weight and I hate it, but again I don’t say anything. Sitting down on the couch at the opposite end, I eat my own food and stare at her. She works for a minute until her phone rings. I watch her face light up as she looks at the screen, and it hurts that it’s no longer me putting that beautiful as fuck smile on that perfect face.

  “Hey babe!” She answers excitedly. A beat passes before she smiles and says, “Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Closing her computer, she smiles from ear to ear. Slipping on her shoes and grabbing her purse, she walks toward me. Her hands curl under my arms, pressing herself into my back over the couch as I hear her sigh.

  Kissing me softly she says, “I love you baby, even though you don’t think I should. I love you even though you feel you hate yourself, and I love you even when you feel like hating me too.”

  With one last kiss on my neck, she leaves me. My heart squeezes painfully and the need to have another drink settles in my gut. Fuck, I hate myself.

  Nothing that happened that night ruined me or us…. His guilt did that.

  2

  Changes

  Lil

  I’ve had enough change in my life recently to last me a goddamn lifetime. I’ve lost my mom, I found out my psycho ex-boyfriend didn’t really get his brains blown out and decided to come back to life and kidnap me. Oh, and not to mention being beaten, shot, and almost dying, but you know what? I move the fuck on. The big change since is Tank. I want as much normal as I can stand, but he’s made that impossible for me. I want everything to go back to before that night, but that’s the thing with change, you can’t control the turn it takes. You can only move forward and hope for the best as you go.

  That night changed me. It was terrible, painful, and so goddamn scary, but in the end, I was alive. I’m thankful for every day I get and I will live every fucking second of it the way I want to. That night could have ended differently, but by some miracle, it didn’t. I know it affected everyone ‘cause I can see it, feel it, and hear it when they all look at me, but I push through it. We all do what we have to. We all move forward and live, except for Tank.

  Since being out of the hospital, I moved in with Tank. I thought we would move on and work toward getting back to our lives together, but instead it’s only become a daily struggle. I don’t know what else I can possibly do anymore to prove to him that he couldn’t have prevented any of it, so I push through because I love him.

  I started teaching an online college class and tutoring. It's not exactly what I want to be doing, but it's getting me closer to my end goal. It also gets me out of the house, the club, and gets me around different people. It stifles the need to head back to the city. I'm still working the books, and all the paperwork because it has to be done, at least until I can find someone else I trust to do it for me.

  Happy and Mini got a divorce. She left him here heartbroken and lonely. He's not the same man he once was and I hate her for that. I hate that she broke him. He doesn’t spend much time with me anymore ‘cause he’s
usually off on runs, on top of a new club whore, or sitting at the bar with Leo. I hope he’ll come back soon ‘cause I miss him.

  Gin finally asked Peaches to marry him and I couldn't be happier. They’ve climbed mountains to get here. After that night, Gin seemed to make a change. We are now in the throes of planning a huge biker wedding with Peaches being the bitchy bridezilla I always knew she would be. She wants flowers and silk, Gin wants leather and beer. I think we all know Peaches will win the wedding battle.

  Arms and Melli had a beautiful baby girl named Chloe. No one knew they were expecting, not even them. Tag is still looking for Mrs. Right, and his daughter Dallas is here too. She’s a sweet little thing. Stitch and Cali are the same free loving, wild souls. Everyone is still living their lives, doing the best they can.

  Two prospects have patched in, Kash and Blade. Blade’s fun with his sense of humor and smart-ass mouth. He's a good guy and fits in with this crowd nicely. I'm still not sure how I feel about Kash. He doesn't talk much, but Tank says he's loyal, smart, tough, and all in for his brothers. In Tank’s opinion, that's all that matters to the guys.

  Since they patched in the two prospects, the guys are recruiting for new ones. I'll never quite understand the allure of being a prospect. It's hard grunt work with little respect, long, excruciating hours, and pretty much zero down time. I’ve never seen a prospect “enjoy” being a prospect, but the thing I do get is the brotherhood they’re working so hard to be a part of. You join the club, you’re joining a family. We’re as tight as they come and I can see why someone would want to be a part of this, because this is a family I would love and fight with till my last breath.

  One of the biggest changes that’s happened is that Tank has become acting President of the Hell’s Disciples. My dad is still the President and running everything, but he wanted Tank to cover the shit he can’t, and for good reason. Shit really unraveled in the club a month after I came home. Things fell apart, while Tank tried to pick up the pieces.