Demented Sons Series Volume One: Books 1-4 (Demented Sons MC Iowa)

by Kristine Allen

  Charrissa, my fellow book-junkie. Thank you for reading Mason while Bobby was sick on my couch from “Texas Cedar Fever.” Also, thank you for helping moderate the newly coined Facebook Group “Kristine’s Krazy Fangirls.” I miss you, and you need to move back to Texas soon.

  Once again, thank you to the fabulous author, Sybil Bartel. Sybil, you are my hero. Your ever positive nature, steamy-hot books, and general awesomeness, inspired me to get moving on Mason and get him out to the best readers in the world, all as quick as I could. Keep the fans happy! (By the way, if you haven’t read Sybil’s books yet… what are you waiting for?!)

  Clarise of CT Cover Creations, you did it again! Thank you for making Mason as gorgeous and perfect as Colton. You made them both look so amazing, especially sitting side by side! You’re a true genius.

  The ladies at Hot Tree Editing gave my words polish and professionalism and there is never thanks enough for that! (I know if any of you read this part, you’re probably cringing at all of my grammatical oopsies since I’m writing how I speak. Heehee.) Thank you Virginia and Kristina, for loving my characters and catching all my faux pas.

  Stacy at Champagne Formats, you are absolutely a formatting Goddess and you can tell your children I said so! When my major fiasco happened with Colton, you calmly fixed everything and turned my world right-side up again. Mason will be just as beautiful “between the covers” thanks to you. I still thank my lucky stars I chose you to handle my formatting needs! (Thank you to Sybil for that too!)

  And as always, my last-but-never-least, a massive thank you to America’s servicemen and women who protect our freedom on a daily basis. They do their duty, leaving their families for weeks, months, and years at a time, without asking for praise or thanks. I would also like to remind the readers that not all combat injuries are visible nor do they heal easily. These silent, wicked injuries wreak havoc on their minds and hearts while we go about our days completely oblivious.

  To Beth, Zach, Rhiannon and Rhys. You are bright lights in a dark world—never let anyone, or anything, eclipse you. You constantly inspire me and make me proud. While being known as an author is exciting, amazing and makes me happy, the four of you gave me the best title ever… Mom. I love you with all my heart.

  SITTING IN THE DANK, dusty cave on day three of our boring-as-hell recon mission, watching trucks move in and out of the small village below, sucked as bad as the first day. No, we didn’t just sit there with our thumbs up our asses watching through Walmart binoculars, but the details of what we were exactly doing are ones I can’t share. Now don’t get me wrong, we weren’t complaining. The alternative to boring was the possibility of some of our team members not making it home. So we’d take quiet and boring anytime. Wait, that makes us sound like pussies. We’re not. We’re fucking Marines, but only a dumb fuck has a true death wish.

  Since our arrival in that shithole, we’d lost a brave, young Marine while on our way to the barren hillside cave complex we were set up in. Fuck if I knew how these people live there and like that. Anyway, we lost SGT Daniels due to poor fucking intel and a route that left us exposed and flapping out in the wide open like the proverbial sitting ducks. Despite knowing the proposed route was shit, we followed orders because orders were fucking orders. Bet the stupid fucking higher-ups wished they would have asked us, since we were the ones who had been traversing this godforsaken place time and time again, not them. Then again, maybe not. Maybe they didn’t really give a flying fuck.

  The loss of SGT Daniels was locked away in my mind to be dealt with at a later date. None of the team could afford the distraction of grief until later.

  I was a long way from Iowa and my old life, in more ways than just distance. Crazy thing was, if I survived this deployment, it would be my last, and this time next year, I would be back home. My plan to get away from everyone and everything back there had been accomplished, but it had left me hardened, and if I was honest with myself, completely soulless. My ghosts followed me and haunted me daily. You can run from shit, but you can’t keep it out of your head.

  When I joined the 2nd Recon BN, Force Recon Company, I knew I would end up in dangerous situations, but I didn’t care. No, I wasn’t reckless in that I would put my fellow Marines in jeopardy, but if I needed to die to save them, I would do it in a heartbeat. That was loyalty, not reckless heroism.

  Afghanistan was the fucking shits. You never knew when you might stumble across a raggedy-ass group of Taliban stowed away in a hillside or when they might try to sneak up on you. Despite what intel you received, the friendlies could end up wolves in sheep’s clothing. You trusted lightly and always covered your ass.

  Barely twenty when I joined, I was now twenty-five. Most people looked forward to turning twenty-five because their insurance dropped. Me? I looked forward to it because it meant I was closer to being done with this shit. God willing, I would celebrate my birthday with my family next year. My mother’s heart had been crushed when I told her I had dropped out of the University of Iowa and was joining the Marines, but I needed an escape. Now I was ready to return home. Home….

  The thought had no sooner flitted through my head when the unmistakable crunching, ripping roar of artillery hitting in our “backyard” disrupted my thoughts. Yeah, that Hollywood bullshit of booms, whistles, and shit? Don’t believe it. You rarely heard it until it was on top of your ass. Yeah. No more “boring.” Goddammit. Every Marine in our party jumped to position as we assessed the damage. Our ears were ringing, and everything was muffled as we reacted the way we were taught.

  Semper Fi.

  “Feel Invincible”—Skillet

  “THIS IS BULLSHIT, KASSI, and you know it! I hate you going there to dance, knowing all those fucking perverts are staring at you and touching you. It’s not right. Let me get a job to help with the bills so you can get a normal job somewhere.” Matt followed me across our tiny living room to the front door as I prepared to leave for work.

  “Watch your mouth, Matthew. And no! For the last time, you are not getting a job. I want you to be able to concentrate on school and football this year. It’s your senior year, and it’s important for you to excel so you can have a chance at some good scholarships. They’re watching you for football and academic scholarships, and that’s important. I’ve got things covered. Also, no one’s allowed to touch us on stage unless we give permission. Okay? So don’t worry about me, I’ve got this.” We had this same argument nearly every night I went to work at the Emerald Shamrock. No, it had never been my ambition to be an exotic dancer—oh hell, I was a stripper, let’s be honest—but it paid the bills better than the waitressing position I started with, and certainly better than working at the hardware store.

  Once Matt graduated high school and went on to college, I wouldn’t have to struggle as much because, God willing, I would be a nurse by then. My first year had been almost a waste because the curriculum each semester was different between a bachelor’s and an associate’s degree in nursing. Some of the classes applied, but most wouldn’t until I was able to go back to finish my bachelor’s. If everything went well, I would be able to go back soon after graduating as an Associate Degree Nurse. The end of my final semester was fast approaching. Until that day came, during the week I was taking my required courses and clinicals, and on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I took off my clothing for a leering audience.

  Yeah, that was my life for the time being, but I would make it through this.

  “Oh come on, Kassi, my grades are good every year. You know they have been. I’m sure taking a part-time job isn’t going to kill my grades. Besides, I don’t even know if I want to go to college right away. I’ve been thinking a lot about joining the Marine Corps after graduation. And I hate that you gave up your dreams and opportunities for me.” He tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and looked away from me. My heart dropped to my feet when he said that.

  “Don’t be hasty, okay? Wait to see what offers you get before you decide to run off to
the military. Those recruiters will make everything sound right as rain, and then once you sign on the dotted line, they tell you ‘oh, sorry, but you belong to Uncle Sam now, so you’ll do what we want.’ I don’t want to see you shipped off to Afghanistan and then get a knock on the door that my little brother is gone. Please, promise me you’ll wait.” This was driven by the fact that our dad had been a Marine for a single enlistment before he met mom. When he came home after his four years as a Marine, he had been out with friends and met mom at the bowling alley, and the rest was history. I came along nine months later.

  My eyes plead with him as he looked at me out of the corner of his eyes before he tipped his head back and glared at the ceiling in frustration. Tossing my bag that held my costumes on the old microfiber couch we had grown up with, I stepped closer to him and held his shoulders to make him look at me.

  “I didn’t throw away my dreams, Matt…. I’ll still finish nursing school. It’s just going to take me a little longer to get my BSN, and by a different route, but I would do it over again as many times as needed in order to keep us together.”

  Since our parents died, I’d struggled to keep what was left of our family together. Both Mom and Dad were only children, and our grandparents had passed away at various intervals as we grew up. The only family we had left were some distant cousins near Chicago. Tooth and nail, I had fought to gain custody of Matt so he didn’t go into the foster care system. The state didn’t want to grant custody to me at first because I was only nineteen myself, almost twenty. They didn’t think I was prepared to take on the responsibility of becoming a mother figure to a fifteen-year-old.

  At the time, I was working at a hardware store in Ames and had finished the first year of nursing school at Iowa State. Now I was almost done with nursing school. Literally, I had less than a single semester left. Well, for my associate’s degree anyway. My plans had originally been to go to Iowa State University to get my Bachelor’s in Nursing. Matt was right that I gave up my scholarship, but I didn’t regret it. A scholarship didn’t keep me and my brother together.

  So, I had moved home, enrolled in the community college, and was lucky enough to get into the program relatively soon thanks to my grades, the classes I had already taken, and my scores on the nursing entrance exam. Initially, I was working at the hardware store here that was affiliated with the one back in Ames, but the pay sucked.

  Unfortunately, after our parents died, we had to sell our childhood home because I just couldn’t afford the house payment and taxes. Mom and Dad had a little more debt than we realized, so almost all the life insurance they had went to bury them and to pay off their bills. We had enough left over to get a reliable car and pay the deposits on this one-bedroom apartment. Because he was a growing young man, I felt he needed his own space to get away to do homework and just be alone, so I gave up the single bedroom for Matt. I slept on the couch in the living room, and we just made it work. We shared the closet, since it was the only big thing in the whole apartment, spanning the entire length of the bedroom.

  After custody was finally granted, I quit my job at the hardware store and took the job at the Shamrock so I could support the two of us and afford to attend community college. It also gave me weeknights to be around to help Matt with school work, study my own stuff, and have dinner at a decent time. It worked, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exhausting. Sometimes I slipped back into my “anger stage” of the grief process and found myself being furious at our parents for leaving us and taking away my dreams. Though my mother died instantly in the crash, my father had survived… for a short period. He made it through surgery, but while in ICU, his heart just stopped. The doctors said his heart had been weak and the surgery was just too much. Maybe, but I believed he just gave up when he found out my mother didn’t make it.

  Blame was easy to throw around when I was angry. Part of me was still in disbelief and anguish, questioning why my dad didn’t fight harder. Why couldn’t he have been strong enough and fought for us?

  Those were the times I really had to dig deep within myself to remember they would’ve never purposefully left us alone. We’d been a close family, and it never occurred to any of us that we wouldn’t be there for each other forever. Sometimes shit just happened and life sucked.

  Not to mention, it had been scary as hell being the main parental figure for my brother, knowing I hadn’t made all the best decisions growing up. Yeah, here I was, far from perfect and yet responsible for guiding my brother toward success. Between the grief of losing both of our parents in one fell swoop and the sudden changes we were forced to deal with, it was rough at first. It took some time, but we worked through it and learned as we went along. Never did I try to be his “mom” though, and we both relied on each other to pull things together.

  Now, a little over three years later, my little brother was nearly a grown man, I just turned twenty-three, and I was praying to finish nursing school without anyone finding out I worked as a stripper.

  Ugh!

  That was the biggest reason we moved over to Spirit Lake after we sold the house, fear of running into the people we knew from our small town every day and having them ask what I was up to now. Thankfully, I had been able to land this job through a girl I used to work with at the hardware store. Her cousin was one of the other dancers, and they helped me get hired on a mostly cash basis with my position being listed as “waitress” so I wouldn’t have the awesome, extraordinary job title of “stripper” show up on a background investigation later or, God forbid, to hit the CPS radar since they still liked to nose in our business every so often. Which was asinine considering my brother was dang near an adult. They were such a pain in our ass. Everything added together made me feel like I continuously walked a tightrope.

  My eyes flicked to my watch, which had belonged to our mother, before returning to Matt. Hell if he wasn’t starting to look more and more like our dad every day. It was both heartbreaking and heartwarming to look at him. We had the same dark brown, nearly black, hair and sky-blue eyes. To me, of course, that was where the similarities ended, because where I was lean and willowy like our mom, he was getting broad and muscular like our dad. Everyone said we could be twins, but we didn’t see it. Man, he was going to break hearts in college. Already, he looked more like a man than a boy as he dropped onto the couch with a scowl.

  Preparing to leave for work, I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek and ruffle his hair. Geez, it felt weird to feel stubble on my little brother’s cheeks at the end of the day. My hand then rested on his cheek for a minute before I pulled him in for a quick hug.

  “We’ll talk about it again. Okay? Love you, little brother. No wild parties while I’m gone.” My words were a standing joke, because that was something I had no worries of whatsoever. We had both been so afraid of CPS getting involved in the beginning, and then being separated after we worked so hard to stay together, that we never threw parties or did anything to have attention drawn to us, even now that we were almost in the clear. Thankfully, Matt was a responsible young man who had always been mature for his age. His face lit up as he wiggled his eyebrows at me and grinned; then the mutinous expression returned before he answered me.

  “Just please be careful, sis. Even though I’m almost old enough to be on my own, I don’t want to lose you. Physically or mentally… you’re all I have.” The last was spoken so quietly I wasn’t sure that I was meant to hear it. He got back up and followed me to the door. My arms wrapped around him in a brief, but tight hug. Gathering up my bag again, I scooped my keys off the hook by the door. Before I could catch further lecturing by my younger brother, I quickly descended the stairs outside our apartment and climbed in our dark blue Honda Accord and backed out. I cast one last wave to my brother before he went inside, and I put the car in drive and headed to work.

  “Bring Me To Life”—Evanescense

  “YOU’RE UP IN FIVE, Sparkle!” I double checked the bobby pins holding my wig to the wig cap, ensuring th
ey were secure, and took a last look in the cracked mirror at my station. Crazy what a blonde wig and an elaborate rhinestone-encrusted eye mask did to totally disguise my appearance. Looking back from the mirror sat a stranger’s image. No matter how many nights I saw this blonde woman staring back at me through the glass, I couldn’t reconcile her image with my own. Maybe that was a good thing. Shaking my head to dispel the image from my head as I stood, the sound of the crowd cheering signaled the end of Candy’s routine and told me it was time to shake my money-maker, so to speak.

  My eyes closed, and I took a deep breath, inhaling the persona of “Sparkle,” and strutted out onto the darkened stage to take my opening place. The lights on stage were out until the first strains of my favorite routine song began. As Jason Derulo’s “Talk Dirty to Me” began to play, the spotlight lit me up. The heat from the light warded off the chill I was experiencing, being so ridiculously scantily clad, and the familiar smells of smoke, spilled alcohol, body odor, sweat, and cheap perfume assailed my nostrils.

  My costume for this routine started out with a short, silver, fringed skirt, which barely covered my ass, a cropped, sparkling silver top that tied between my full breasts, a silver and black lace bra, and a lacy black thong with rhinestones decorating the front. Yeah, not much.

  The club followed a combination of dress codes that were required by law and imposed by the owners, the Demented Sons MC. Our nipples remained covered by various pasties of our choice, thank God, and we wore the skimpiest thongs we could get by with because it generated better tips. After nearly three years of this, I had grown comfortable with being nearly nude on stage. Whether that was good or bad, I wasn’t sure, but I had perfected stepping into Sparkle’s persona, which was brimming with attitude and confidence. In a way, it was like becoming a completely different person; one with endless spunk, sexual confidence, and total control of her world.