by Max Henry
“You’re an early riser.”
I turn from where I’d been watching the sunset brighten the day on King’s parents’ back porch and smile at his mom, Addie. “Dante had me up with a nightmare, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“Lloyd at his damn club again?” His mother sighs.
I smile, a warmth spreading through my chest at knowing I can trump her with the answer. “No. I let him sleep in. He’s still in bed.” And looking as ruggedly edible as ever.
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she nods as though acknowledging the feat. “You are a good influence, then.”
“You had plenty of reason to doubt that I would be,” I admit.
She flaps one hand at me, the other wrapped around a mug of tea. “Nonsense. We all make mistakes—how do you think I ended up with his father?”
I catch her deadly serious expression and blanche. Addie bursts into laughter, and I soon follow, her dry wit infectious.
“I’m serious though,” I say, once the giggles have died off. “I’m sorry for the influence I had on him cutting you both out for a while there.”
“That wasn’t you, sweetheart. He made that choice himself. I’m just glad he’s coming around now.”
“I’m what?” King asks in a sleep-roughened voice.
I drink the man in, more potent than a short black in nothing but his worn dark denim jeans, studded belt, and a contented smile.
“Nothing you need to worry your sleepy head about.”
He smiles, crossing over the porch to lean down and give me a good morning peck on the lips. “Hey, baby.” King straightens out and acknowledges his mother. “Hey, Mom.”
“Late night?” she asks over the rim of her mug.
“Yeah.” His hand hovers at his side, his fingers twitching in search of mine. I take it, and the gentle squeeze he gives me has worry thick in my veins. “Could you please give us a minute?”
His mom nods, bending at the waist slightly to see around him and check I’m okay with a lift of one eyebrow.
I give her a smile and grip King’s hand a little tighter.
He watches her go, his thumb tracing a line back and forth over my knuckles. “Try not to worry, babe.” He turns and kneels on the porch beside me. “It’s to do with club business, so I didn’t want her knowin’, gettin’ involved, you know?”
“I understand.” I place a hand to his face and lean in to give him another kiss, morning breath be damned.
We’ve got seven years of making up to do, and our few weeks, no matter how intense they’ve been, are nowhere near enough yet. Progress has been small, but it’s progress all the same. I’ve accepted that he’ll never tell me what they get up to at the club, and I’m okay with is, as long as he lets me know when the runs are going to be volatile so I don’t worry every damn time he rides off for no reason. Perhaps ignorance would be better, but I also don’t want to be that woman who sits at home telling herself that everything is okay when I should be listening to my gut. If something’s going to go wrong, I want to be at least marginally prepared should he not come home when he said he would.
On the flip side, he’s agreed to let us live off-site while the house is finished—hence why we’re living at his parents’ place like a couple of love-lost teenagers. Neither of us wanted Dante to see anything he shouldn’t, simply because we were around if and when the club’s problems came home to roost. King didn’t elaborate, but in his words, “the enemy’s come a knockin’ before, babe.”
Dante enjoys the change. Most days he’s out with King’s father after school, learning how to drive a tractor, what to do to set the milking shed up each afternoon . . . small tasks that Addie’s told me they’re setting aside pocket money for in a savings account.
Life is . . . normal. Or at much as it’ll ever be.
“Did I wake you when I got in last night?” King scrunches his brow with worry.
Truth is I kind of wish he had. But he’s tired after a long day; I get it. And when he makes the effort to come back to me, no matter the hour, I can’t complain.
“No. I couldn’t even tell you if it was this side of midnight or not.”
“About two thirty.” He smiles at my frown. “It’s necessary, babe.”
“I just don’t like you riding when you’re tired, is all.”
He takes my chin in his hand and dots his thumb to my lips. “I wouldn’t put myself at risk if I thought I was too worn out.” The humor drains from his face. “But I do want to talk to you about what we were discussin’.”
I hold my breath. What else should I do? He’s about to break a cardinal rule and talk to me about club business. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. After all, it kind of involves you.”
Okay, now I’m lost. What the hell could his club be discussing in the early hours that involves me? “Don’t leave me hanging.”
He swallows and pushes to his feet. My nerves are instantly shot. My skin breaks out with a rash of heat, my gut roiling.
“You met Vince’s kid’s friends, yeah?”
“The Butcher Boys? Ty, Bronx, and what’s his name?” I click my fingers and will it to come back to me.
“Malice.”
“I knew it was an odd name.” My foot taps a constant beat while I wait on the bad bit.
“It’s a nickname. Anyway, they’ve been doing a job with us to alleviate problems with none other than your lovely ex.”
“Carlos?”
“Is there another ex I should know about?” He twitches a smile, and it relieves me somewhat.
“No.”
“Things aren’t going as planned, anyway. We’re pretty sure Carlos is going to drop us in it, all for petty payback.”
“You never did tell me why you never finished him off all those years ago.” The nail of my middle finger picks mindlessly at my thumb—apparently my foot tapping isn’t enough to relieve the stress at talking about the one person I’ve been happily avoiding.
“I struck a deal—he leaves you and our club alone, I let him walk.”
“Why? Why didn’t you just finish him off?”
King looks to the wood beneath our feet and itches above one eye. “I could have pulled the trigger on him, but I was still at the point where I hoped that the right attitude would stop the cycle. I didn’t want to kill another man for the sake of it if the bloodshed could be avoided.”
I should respect his decision, but the majority of me is still mad that the situation they’re in now could have been avoided with a single twitch of a finger.
“Why are you telling me this, then?”
King stops his fidgeting and reaches out for my hand. I take it in mine, and he hoists me out of the seat, pulling me flush against his body, large hands to my backside. “I’m going to be gone for a couple of nights.”
My heart beats so hard I swear it’s going to leave a bruise on his chest. “And?”
He reaches up with one hand to stroke the hair off my face. “I’ve called in a favor.” He tips his head briefly to the side in thought. “Well, it’s more a favor to him.”
“You might as well be speaking in tongues for all I know of what you’re trying to say.”
“You remember Sawyer, right?”
“I never met him, but I know he’s one of yours, and also Carlos’s first son.” I look away as memories of my conversation with Carlos, of the knowledge that Sawyer witnessed his mother’s death, surface.
“What?” King tips my chin back to face him. “What are you thinkin’?”
“Carlos told me once that Sawyer watched Carlos kill his mother.”
King swallows hard, and nods. “That’s right, yeah. You understand why he hates Carlos so much then?”
“I could see why, yes.” I offer a weak smile.
“In short, baby, while I’m takin’ care of club business across state . . .”
I lift my eyebrows, ready to shake the rest put of him if he doesn’t just spit it out.
“. . . I’m takin
’ Sawyer off the chain. I’m lettin’ him go after Carlos.”
The world stops. There’s no sound but that of my breath as it ebbs and flows, my heart as it pounds slow and heavy in my ears. It’s the last piece of the puzzle, the final thing that’ll set us free from all of this harbored fear.
I place a hand over King’s heart and look him square in the eye. “I want proof.”
“Of what?” He knows—I can see it in his eyes. He just doesn’t believe I’d ask for it.
“Of his death. I want Sawyer to bring me back proof that he’s really gone.”
King’s hand fists in the hair at the back of my head, pulling me into his chest, hard and tight. He dots kisses on my crown and murmurs into my hair the words that have me impatient to reach the end of this chapter of my life, desperate to start the next.
“Whatever you want, baby. I’ll make sure you get it.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tonight.”
NOTE FROM MAX
So what’s next, huh?
Well, I couldn’t carry on the finalities of King and Elena’s story without giving the game away for the next two books. They’ll be there throughout Tormented and Existential, and you’ll see the relationship deepen between these two as they finally find balance in their lives.
As hinted, Sawyer’s story comes next—Tormented. I’ve adjusted the order of the series slightly. How does he fare against Carlos? What happens to bring the drug lord’s reign to an end? Well, you’ll just have to read to find out. ;)
If the Fallen Aces are your first books of mine, and you’re wondering what some of the details are behind why King ends up working for Carlos and who the Butcher Boys are … then I suggest you read the Butcher Boys series—it’s all explained in there. They’re available on all major platforms.
Any questions, feel free to get in touch with me through Facebook or my email. I’m happy to do my best to answer everything for you ;)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
You think after this many books I’d have some sort of routine, method, or way of not losing my sanity while trying to meet deadlines.
Well, some things never change.
I don’t. And so my biggest thanks goes to my hubby as usual. Thanks for letting me dance on the verge of craziness while I wrap up another book. Thank you for letting me find balance between being a mother, wife, and author without criticising my short-comings, and waiting patiently for me to work out the parts that don’t work so well on my own.
I’m getting there ;)
Thank you to Abbey, my PA extraordinaire. We’re two halves of the same crazy pea-pod at times and I’m thankful you took me on when I reached out to you for help. You honestly take a load off and nudge me when I need it. Thank you.
And to the bloggers—thank you again for supporting me and sharing the word. If you would like to be a part of any future sign-ups and exclusive content shares, then hop on over and join my Blogger only group on Facebook here.
Same as last time, I’m sleep deprived, and supposed to be somewhere else, so if I’ve missed anybody, just know that I love you and thank you.
Onto the next . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Originally born and bred in Canterbury, New Zealand, Max now resides with her family in beautiful and sunny Queensland, Australia.
Life with two young children can be hectic at times, and although she may not write as often as she would like, Max wouldn’t change a thing.
In her down time, Max can be found at her local gym, brain-storming through a session with the weights. Or, she may be out bumping, and jostling her way along a dirt track with the family in hubby’s 4WD.
FOR ALL UPDATES AND ANNOUNCEMENTS – SIGN UP TO MAX’S NEWSLETTER:
http://eepurl.com/6bb6f
BE SURE TO FOLLOW HER AT:
Facebook - Profile
Facebook - Page
Goodreads
Twitter & Instagram: @maxhenryauthor
FOR EXCLUSIVE NEWS AND EXCERPTS - JOIN MAX’S FAN GROUP, THE MADHOUSE!
Find us here!
TWENTY-EIGHT
Elena
Is this what death feels like? This unwavering ache that grows until it seems as though the weight of my emotions will crush my lungs and stop my heart from beating? His smell, his touch . . . he has no idea how close I am to breaking, to giving in. But one glance over at our precious boy as he sleeps like the angel he is reminds me why a mother’s sacrifice is the greatest gift she can give her child.
I’m doing this for him.
I’m doing this so our child isn’t used as a pawn in a crazed power struggle between two warring factions. If Carlos ever got hold of Dante . . . I can’t even think what would happen without feeling as though I’m going to be sick.
If keeping him safe from harm means I live every day aching for the part of me that’s missing, so be it.
“We should go,” I whisper, removing my hand from King’s face.
He sighs and drops his forehead to my chest as he pulls me tighter into his hold. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing it to hurt you.”
A moment passes with him breathing evenly in my lap, his hands flexing on my lower back. I give in and run my fingers through his hair, fighting the ever-present tears at the feel of his blond locks in my grasp again. I trace the shell of his ear, the contour of his beard on his throat, the fine lines that mar the sides of his eyes. I take everything I can from this moment before it’s gone too soon.
“Do you not think I could keep you both safe?” He pulls free to look me square in the eye.
I swallow hard and search his dark green irises for a shadow of doubt. But there’s none. He honestly believes he could. “Not forever,” I admit. “It would only take one day, one moment where we both let our guard down, were complacent, and he’d be there.” I rest my palm on his chest and whisper, “You know that too.”
A storm rises in his expression, the love lost, and a deep-seated frustration replaces it. “Would you stay if he wasn’t around? You said you can’t compete, but if there was no threat, would you stay?”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ll kill him tomorrow if it means you’ll stay.”
“No, King. No.” As much as I love the thought of Carlos being out of our lives for good, I can’t start the cycle again. “We’ve been there before. Look what happened. I was damn lucky to get away from him; I’m not bringing that kind of trouble back to your club, to these people, if it can be avoided.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him short.
“Our happiness isn’t worth the misery or death of any of your people.” I rub a hand over my chest, trying to fight back the ache at the anticipation of his reaction to my next words. “The only way you could take out Carlos and only put us at risk is by leaving your club behind, taking them out of the equation.”
“I’m not leaving this life,” he says sadly. “Don’t ask me that again.”
“I know you won’t, and I’m not asking you to. I’m simply pointing out that we can’t have our cake and eat it too.” My despair fades as my familiar anger at his stubbornness flows in. “You made the choice about us when you told me your club comes first.”
“Why is that such a problem for you?”
“It just is.” Perhaps it makes me selfish, but I want the man, all of him, not the leftovers this bunch of outlaws would give me. I want a husband, a father for my son, not a caregiver who pays our rent and visits a few times a week.
I want happily ever after, not settling for seconds.
“I want too much of you,” I whisper, “so it’s easier to not ask for anything at all. That way I’m not disappointed at how little I get.”
“Fuck.” He pulls away, rising to his feet, and stalks across the room to the bar. I eye his back as he stretches over the top of the counter and rips out a half-full bottle of Jack. He’s bulked out, if it were even possible. His shoulders are wider than I remember, his thighs
thicker in his jeans.
“You’re looking good,” I say, trying to steer the conversation to something lighter as he downs a hearty swig of the hard stuff.
King wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at me with the eyes of a predator. I slip off the sofa and move across to Dante, scooping him into my arms. I have no doubt King wouldn’t hurt us, but that glare—it’s the look I imagine he gives his enemies, people like Carlos.
“I helped Mom out with the farm for a while. Dad injured his leg a few months back.” He throws back another slosh and grimaces, hissing between his teeth as he lowers the bottle. “If you’re ready to go, don’t let me stop you.”
“King . . .”
“What?” he snaps.
“I didn’t want to leave on bad terms,” I mumble as I stoop to collect the baby bag with my free hand.
A cold, callous chuckle erupts from his throat. “Fuck me. You walk in here and taunt me with our child, then rip my fuckin’ heart apart by smashing any last hope I had of us bein’ something, then tell me you want to leave on good terms?” He laughs, loud and scathing. “How else did you think this would turn out?”
“Why are you being so cruel?” Can’t he see what I’m saying? Can’t he understand?
“Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“This is best for Dante,” I plead. “Don’t make things like this.”
“You started it.” He throws back another gulp.
“I guess I’ll just go then.” Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I focus on the sob stuck in my throat and turn for the door. “I still love you,” I say. “I always will.”
“Strange fuckin’ way you have of showing that.”
I hesitate at the door and look down at Dante as he stirs in his sleep. “I guess I just love this guy more. At least, enough that he’ll come first over you, over us.” Turning, I hold King’s heated stare. “I’m sure you can understand that, given where we are, huh?”
