by Jax Hart
Copyright 2017 by Jax Hart. All Rights Reserved.
Edited by Brianna Taylor
Formatting & Cover Design by Debra Martinez
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
FOREWARD
Dear Reader,
This book and these characters wrote their own story. I thought I knew where the road was going but just like in life—Shanna and Duke had their own ideas. She’s a stubborn one and took a different path more than a few times, but in the end, she still got where she needed to go. The detours were on her terms, not mine. And like a good man, I let her make her own decisions.
Enjoy.
JAX
For all my beta readers, especially Marcy, this story wouldn’t be as good without you. And for my Ma and my sisters, Tracy and Laura, thanks for supporting me and not letting me stop writing this story and for getting me into this mess in the first place.
“Every time I tell him I don’t want him. It’s a lie. He’s in my blood, and I’m in his.”
The house is quiet. Hopefully, my prick father is out riding with his club.
“John. Oh god, John! Give it to me harder.”
Squinting in the dark, I wish I could go blind. My old man’s ass is as white as the moon as he pumps into my aunt, Dee. She’s sitting on the kitchen counter with her heels digging into his back.
“You both, friggin’ disgust me.”
They don’t stop; both of them are caught up in some sick game. Making my way past them, I almost trip on the empty bottle of drugstore vodka lying empty on the hall floor.
Finally, in the solace of my room, I crash onto my bed and raise an arm over my head.
I fucking hate it here.
Today’s my eighteenth birthday. Instead of coming home to cake and balloons—I came home to that shit.
Grabbing my pillow, I hold it over my head, trying to drown out their moans. They’re getting louder, at least they are taking it to the bedroom.
“Oh, fuck this,” I mutter when the headboard on the other side of the wall starts slamming so hard, my bed shakes.
My old man’s fucking huge, but so am I and I have youth and sobriety on my side. Maybe I’ll give myself the birthday present of knocking his drunk-ass out.
Jumping off my bed, my hands reach for the doorknob, yanking so hard I’m surprised I didn’t rip the damn thing off. I’m about to tear ass into my father’s room, not caring he’s screwing my aunt while she’s squealing like a pig. But I stop short at the intruder watching them from hall.
A breathtaking brunette stares at them naked and writhing on the bed like snakes. She clutches her sides like he just ripped her heart out.
“John!” she screams, over their grunts and pants.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here Layla?”
“I-I thought… ”
“Jesus, you thought what? That I loved you? That you had the only warm pussy in town, I’m sticking my dick in?”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
“Get the fuck out boy. This is nothin’ to do with you.”
His bloodshot eyes meet mine behind her.
“No. You get the fuck out. It’s because of you and that skank-ass-bitch, that Ma’s gone.”
“You’ve got some damn nerve, speaking to me like this.”
“FUCK. YOU.”
His face turns red, finally climbing off my aunt; he lunges at me only to get caught in his pants that are twisted around his ankles.
“You’re nothing but a drunk-fuck, high on your own power. I’m done. You’ll never see me again.”
He tries to stand with his fist cocked. I save him the trouble, cold-cocking him with one right-hook.
Dee jumps off the bed screaming with her tits bouncing around.
“Whatever. I’m getting the fuck out of here. Thanks for ruining my birthday Dee, just like you ruin everything.” Shaking my head, I pass the beautiful stranger, “He’s not worth it,” before turning to my aunt one last time. “You’re pathetic Dee, just like him.”
Her mascara runs down her cheeks as she cradles my old man’s head against her breasts. Giving them all my back, my gut churns because I always knew this day was coming. I just never pictured that it would be today.
My hands shake as I stuff my duffel bag. I’m not scared of anyone but striking out on my own with nothing but my bike and a bag of clothes seems stupid. But I can’t take back my vow. My old man will piss on me every day if I do.
“I’m getting the hell out too. Where are you heading?”
Looking over my shoulder, I see her standing in my doorway. She’s petite, but a fucking knockout for an older woman. Damn, I don’t understand how my old man bangs all these hot chicks when he treats them all like shit. Maybe, they think he’s some sort of badass god for starting one of the most powerful MC’s on the West Coast. But to me, he’s only my douche-bag father—sometimes cool, but most of the times nothing but a prick.
“California,” I answer gruffly.
“Me too, they say it’s the land of dreams. Can I bum a ride?”
“What’s wrong with your car?” I nod to the beat-up Chevy parked out front visible through my window.
“I just wanted to leave under the radar, you know?” She answers, swiping a tear.
I shake my head, not willing to get caught up in whatever mess my father started. “Sorry. I’m going alone.”
“I get it. You’re smart. I hope you go far Duke.”
I look up sharply, surprised she knows my name, but I don’t reply. I just race past her out the front door, down the steps to the detached garage.
My hand grabs the pull and with one strong tug, the door lifts revealing the bay littered with tools and auto body parts.
Ripping off the cover to my work of art, I get ready to ride.
“You better make it. It’s a long way to California,” I command. But I know she’ll make it. I re-built every piece of her.
Opening my piece-of-shit father’s toolbox, I lift the heavy pan filled with screwdrivers, and pliers, finding the thick envelope underneath. It’s filled with money; blood money he earned riding and doing illegal shit.
I’m taking it.
It’s the only way I can screw him; the way he’s screwed me and so many others. Looking up, I see my father’s mistress followed me like a lost kitten.
She is so lost, even I can see that. Her eyes are haunted. She looks like a broken doll that was once loved but now is f
orgotten. There’s a few grand in the envelope. Sighing, I open it.
“Here.”
Taking five hundred, I slap it into her palm, shoving the rest in my back pocket. I put my helmet on, kick off, and race away into the dark summer night.
It’s not long before I reach the city limit sign. Pulling off to the shoulder for a second, I rev the engine and flip the town the bird goodbye.
“Mama, can you make pancakes tomorrow?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
Closing my eyes, hugging my teddy to my chest, I smell mama’s perfume as she leans down tucking me in.
She brushes the hair from my face and cups my chin, “Promise me you’ll always be strong, Shanna.”
“Okay, Mama,” I reply sleepily.
She turns off my bedside lamp, humming under her breath.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“What does it mean to be strong?”
She sighs, looking past me out into the dark. “It means don’t let anyone, especially a man let you forget your dreams.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind sugar, go to sleep.”
She moves off the bed going towards the door.
“Mama, will you sing my song?”
She pauses in the doorway. Under the light from the hall, tears show on her cheeks.
“Mama?”
She walks back, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“Blackbird fly away, you are grown you don’t have to stay. Blackbird don’t you cry; you don’t owe anyone a goodbye. Fly, fly, away tomorrow is a new day.”
My lids drop. Mama kisses the top of my head, humming the rest of the last verse.
Present Day
LEAVES CRUNCH UNDER the heels of my heavy black boots as I cross the lot filled with beat-up cars. I stop only to whistle in admiration at the motorcycle parked close to the front. The chrome catches the moonlight making it shine like silver.
Reaching into the pocket of my jacket, grabbing my smokes, I light one up enjoying the chill of fall before entering the packed bar. I’ve been trying to quit. But they calm my nerves and I’ve been on edge since the day I rode back into this podunk town.
Nodding at the bouncer, I walk past him to the side of the building. Cupping one hand to my mouth while the stick lights, my eyes close, savoring that first moment when the warm smoke enters my lungs. I inhale deeply, scanning both the front and back lot with cold eyes. Leaning back against a tree with the heel of my boot resting against the trunk, I probably look like a man who is just enjoying his smoke.
But, I’m not.
I was trained by the best never to let my guard down and I won’t, especially since I know she’s inside.
My lips tip up as I bring the cigarette back to my mouth. I’m gonna see her soon and it has become the highlight of my day—hell maybe even the highlight of my life.
Every night when I stop in, she pretends not to notice me, but by the way her back straightens every time I saunter in, it’s clear she does. The back door bangs open, my body coils like a spring ready to take action but it’s just some worker hauling bins of empties to the recycling container. This bar used to be a real shithole. It’s been cleaned up since the days I raced these streets; owning them like only the young can. But these days on my old man’s Harley—I’m more of a demon than a man and definitely no boy.
Taking a long drag, my eyes look up to the sky. If he’s up there—he’s laughing his ass off. But knowing who he was… there’s a good chance he didn’t go up.
He went down.
I slowly exhale, one tip of my boot dips into the dirt. My head hangs, remembering how the damp air chilled me to the bone as I watched my old man’s casket get lowered into the ground.
It was dark gray—just like the sky was overhead.
I held his worn leather jacket in my arms staring at the back embroidered with the logo of the motorcycle club he started in this town so many years ago. A clap of thunder sounded from the sky, and I raised my head feeling the regret and pain wash over me with every cold, hard pellet of rain that smacked my face. My fists squeezed the coat, one last time before I tossed it down in the ground with him.
That jacket was a part of him. He never took it off. As a kid, I often wondered if he slept in it. He certainly always fucked in it. I didn’t understand what those patches meant, or the pride he felt wearing it. The patch is a symbol of a brotherhood that goes deeper than any religion. You agree to live a life outside the black and white. The only rule of law is the laws of the MC and if you break them—you end up buried in a back field.
As I stared at his leather cut on the coffin with the patch staring back at me, I cursed and in a split-second—I jumped in the hole and grabbed it off the coffin. The cemetery worker operating the Caterpillar practically shit his pants because I had stepped right onto the casket, using it as a spring to vault back out.
I scooped up a handful of fresh dirt, tossed it down and said, “Rest easy old man. I fucking loved you—even though you could be a bastard.” Then I turned on my heel and walked away. I hadn’t stepped one foot back in the town limits of Springdale in over two decades.
He was a stubborn bastard and like father, like son—so am I.
I kept my last word to him; leaving that day I turned eighteen, determined to show him I could make it on my own. I rode out of Springdale on my refurbished Ducati, down the Pacific Coast Highway to Sacramento never coming back. Shortly after I arrived in California, I enlisted and served three tours in Iraq. He never wrote or sent e-mails. But I heard through the old friends that had no choice but rot in Springdale or pledge to Creed that he was proud of me for becoming a Marine.
Days turned to weeks and weeks blended into years. When I had enough of war, I got out, opened my chop-shop but shortly after, the request for “favors” started rolling in. I had no choice but to stay loyal or risk the wrath of the northern California chapter of Creed.
I won’t lie—doing “favors” for them has made me a rich man, but you wouldn’t know by looking at me since I’m decked out in worn leather and tats.
My old man stayed one proud son of a bitch until the day he died. He stayed here, in this rural town in Oregon, letting me continue to go my own way. We never reconciled, each of us thinking there would be time.
Taking one last drag, I shake my head, flicking the ash. I'm a fucking mess riding on a road to nowhere. I don’t have a family, a girlfriend, or even a goddamned dog to greet me when I get home. How the hell did I get here? I’m approaching forty with nothing good in my life.
“Can I bum a smoke?” Some saucy brunette asks slinking closer, “Duke? I thought it was you.”
Puzzled, I look at her face caked with makeup, not being able to place her.
“You don’t remember me do you, sugar? It’s me Cheryl from high school?”
“Sorry. It’s been awhile.”
“That’s okay. You’ll remember me real quick if we go somewhere quiet, ya’ know?” The tips of her black nails creep up my forearm.
“I gotta take a leak,” I mutter giving her my back, hoping she takes the hint and goes away. I feel her waiting, thinking I’m actually considering taking her up on her offer. I don’t want to be rude to her but I’m definitely not some horny teenager taking whatever piece of ass I can find.
With a sigh, I walk past the side of the bar that resembles more of an oversized shack than a place of business. Christ, there’s nothing decent in this town except for her.
I wanted to get the hell out of Springdale, as quickly as I could after the pathetic funeral my old man had. But, I felt the least I could do was stop by the place where he used to sit, drinking with his club. I thought I would just raise a glass—maybe a whole god dammed bottle before crashing on his couch and taking off the next morning.
It's been two weeks since his funeral.
I'm still here.
Because everything changed by the one decision I made that day. That old bastard is having the last laugh for s
ure because when I left his grave and came straight here, I found her—Shanna. Who knew a beast of a man like me would be brought to his knees by a five-foot-three, curvy brunette full of sass? I’m a selfish prick because I vowed she’ll belong to me despite our almost two-decade age gap.
Every fuckin’ inch of her.
It’s screwed up because she could do better than me; a worn-out soldier who has seen too much and prefers the grease and oil of machines over people.
But fuck it, I’ve walked through hell and survived.
I’m taking what I want now.
Her.
Pushing the back door of the bar open, I halt. Desire rushes through me. It’s so intense—I pause letting the force of it rip right through me. All the blood in my body rushes down south. I’m already hard and hurting, my dick letting me know it’s her that he wants.
Fuck.
Sucking in a breath through my teeth, my fists clench. Her lush ass is barely covered by her shorts. I’m going to kill every man in here whose eyes are glued to it.
I know they are probably thinking the same dirty thoughts I am. But she’s mine—I’m not going to be able to take this shit much longer.
I can’t wait to fill her with every inch of me while watching her pouty lips say my name. I want to feel her short puffs of breath on my neck as I pound into her. I want to hear her soft cries in my ear as she comes.
Christ.
I run a hand through my dark hair taking a deep breath and walk over to the bar on stiff legs, taking a seat next to Roger, a.k.a., “Meat” all while trying to ignore the painful erection dying to break free from my pants.
“Here,” Meat says sliding over a shot of tequila. “You’re gonna need this if you’re gonna sit here staring at her tits all night.”
I take the shot.
It burns, but not as much as I’m burning to make her mine.
My eyes follow her movements as she bends down and reaches in a cooler for some beers.
“She’s gonna hate me.”
“Before or after you do her?”
“Probably both,” I mutter sliding the empty shot glass a few inches across the shiny black bar.
