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

by Kristine Allen

  My hair looked good, at least. It had gotten darker as I got older, so I had some rich, mocha-brown lowlights woven through it. Reaching up to fluff it was a mistake, because the aching souvenir of Lawrence’s irritation shot through my shoulder and back. “Blonde highlights would have looked better. That mousy brown makes you look old and boring. Don’t ever do that shit again.” The rattan cane, which was his weapon of choice against me, leaned ominously in the shadowed corner of our room, purposefully left as a reminder that my choices were not my own.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to take slow, deep breaths to calm my racing heart, the way Kayde had taught me when I was young and afraid of heights. As it always did, the thought of Kayde brought back memories of the last time I’d seen him—the first time I shared my body and soul with him. It had been the sweetest, most perfect moment of my life, until my baby boy came into the world.

  Hearing footsteps approaching the bedroom, my eyes opened, meeting Lawrence’s in the mirror over my shoulder. With a dismissive glance at my clothing, he pointed to the shoes I had set out to wear today: a comfortable pair of black ballet flats.

  “You’re not wearing those, surely? Wear the heels. They will help you look classy—well, as classy as someone like you can look. Where’s Tyler? He should be up and ready.”

  Fuck. I knew this was going to be a problem. I’d never really figured out why, but he hated when I let Tyler go places without me being along, and he really, really hated Amy. Then again, the feeling was mutual. Even though she didn’t know the extent of the abuse I suffered at his hands, she knew he was a controlling asshat, and she made little secret of it when she was around him.

  Trying to sound nonchalant but firm and secure in my decision, I walked to the open closet to grab the heels he insisted I wear. “I didn’t feel a funeral was an appropriate place for a three-year-old.” Balancing on one foot to reach down and slide on first one shoe, then the other, I wobbled slightly before standing up. Slipping my purse over my shoulder, I pretended to be looking for something incredibly important inside it to continue to avoid making eye contact.

  His softly spoken words should have been a flashing, screaming warning. “Exactly where is he, Serafina?” Inwardly, I cringed at his use of my full name, mostly because it always sounded like he was chastising a five-year-old, which was exactly how he made me feel. Trembling hands clutched my purse handles tightly to hide the telltale signs of my fear. Showing fear to Lawrence only exacerbated the situation, as if he fed on my weaknesses.

  Barely a whisper, my response was sure to anger him. “Amy stopped by earlier and offered to take him for the day since she was off today.” Unable to keep from glancing his direction to read his response, my body followed my hands in its uncontrolled shaking. The flare of his nostrils and clenching of his jaw were the first signs he was about to explode. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Not expecting him to move as fast as he did, but knowing better, when his fingers wrapped around my throat and began to squeeze, I felt the familiar panic breaking loose within me. It became more and more difficult to slip air into my lungs. It was like breathing through a straw, and my fingers clawed at his hand even though I knew better than to fight him. Burning fires of Hell consumed my chest as my body fought for much-needed, life-giving oxygen.

  “I fucking told you I didn’t want him being around her. She’s a whore and isn’t fit company for our son.” Our son. I fucking hated when he called him that. He had been trying to get Ty to call him Daddy, but in the uncanny way small children and animals have of sensing the bad, dark ugliness in people, he had yet to comply. Black spots swam in my vision, and I knew I would be unconscious soon if I didn’t get some air. The tips of my toes barely touched the ground, and one of my hands clutched his wrist while the other curled around the fingers that continued to squeeze the life out of me. Vaguely, I felt my shoes fall off my feet.

  Abruptly, he released the pressure around my throat, and in reflex, my body gasped to fill every single square inch of my lungs with the crisp, sweet air around me. Crumpling, I had to catch myself before I fell to my knees. Daring a quick look in the mirror, I noticed the bright red splotch around my neck was the perfect shape of a hand. Dammit.

  “Get your fucking shoes on and let’s go to the old bat’s funeral.”

  Scrambling to return my shoes to my feet and snag a scarf from the hook in the closet, I rushed after him, wrapping the scarf expertly around my neck. Not that I ever would, but in my mind, I silently plotted how I could kill him.

  The large Catholic church had been filled to the rafters with mourners. Abuela had been a long-standing member of the church and a well-respected member of the community. Though she had aged quite a bit over the last few years, she was still relatively young, and her death was completely unexpected.

  Though I knew he would be here, the sight of Kayde’s imposing height standing at the front of the church took my breath away. There was a man about his height who stood sentinel next to him the whole time, but I didn’t recognize him. His grandfather sat hunched on the pew, surrounded by Kayde and his uncles. In spite of the tall guard around him, Gus appeared forlorn and alone, a ghost of his former self. As if Abuela was his life force and he was slowly wilting without her.

  The firm hand resting at my lower back guided me into a seat just as everyone was standing for the beginning of the funeral Mass. The priest’s words slid over me in a blur of muted sound. My eyes stayed on Kayde, and my mind screamed for him to look back at me. To see me. To save me. Even though I knew it was an impossible fantasy.

  Not once during the service, nor his eloquent but heartbreaking speech, did he notice me. Déjà vu rained down on me, throwing me back to the day Tyler was buried. Soon, I was lost in mourning Tyler, my mother, the closeness my family once had, the loss of Kayde in my life, and my brother, who once upon a time would have been here holding my hand, but now could barely stand to look at me because I reminded him of the loss of one of his best friends.

  Before I knew it, the family was saying their last goodbyes at the coffin at the front of the church. As they made their way down the aisle as they moved to leave the church, my mind again screamed for Kayde to telepathically hear me. He was supporting his grandfather though, and not once did his beautiful smoky eyes even stray from his goal of the open doors spilling in the bright, warm sunlight. The cheery rays were such a contrast to the gloomy atmosphere swallowing every person within the church.

  The man who shadowed Kayde turned his head as I gave one last internal cry to Kayde before he stepped through the doors. His startling, bright turquoise eyes bored into mine, and I felt like he read the writings on my very soul. The contact was brief, because he stepped outside after Kayde and disappeared as he was swallowed in the bright light of the day. My body gave a shudder as if cold fingers had trailed down my spine.

  Curling my hand through the crook of Lawrence’s bent arm in hidden aversion, I walked with him as we followed the trail of mourners up past the casket to say my last goodbye to a woman who was as much my grandmother as she was Kayde’s.

  Tears rained down my cheeks, hot and unfettered, as I reached out to lay my fingers gently on Abuela’s cold, stiff hand. “Love you, Abuela, forever and always.” As I spun on my heel and turned to walk down the center aisle, I saw Lawrence had his lip curled in distaste as he gazed down on her with hooded eyes.

  Before I knew it, we were parking and walking across the uneven ground to the bright blue awning shading the final resting spot of an amazingly wonderful woman. My heels sank into the soft ground with each step—the exact reason I wanted to wear the flats.

  The crowd had already swelled rows and rows deep around the tent. Piles of single roses lay on top of the shining coffin, surrounding the huge spray of Abuela’s favorite flower—purple irises. Holding my handkerchief to my face to catch the tears I couldn’t control, I lay my single red rose amongst the others. More sweet, loving words were spoken. More tears. More heartache. Too much fucking sad
ness. Handfuls of dirt were tossed reverently with sorrowful finality. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse.

  “Please, let me go offer my condolences?” Surprisingly, he nodded his approval.

  Picking my way carefully across the ground, I hurried as fast as I could, my focus trained on Kayde where he stood next to his grandfather. Just as I closed in on them, I carelessly forgot about my shoes. Stumbling after my heel slid deep in the ground, I expected to face-plant in the green grass at their feet.

  As large, warm hands wrapped around my waist, my hands grasped solid, muscular arms and my cheek pressed into firm pectorals hidden under a crisp, black shirt. Slowly, my eyes lifted until my vision was tunneled on blue-gray eyes flecked with slate. “Sera.” My name was whispered ardently.

  Then my name was spoken by another, hated voice. “Sera, are you going to introduce us?” My lids dropped over my eyes in resignation.

  “Kayde, I’m so very sorry for your loss. I’d like you to meet Lawrence.” Not.

  “Her fiancé.”

  What? Since when? My horrified expression might have been comical at any other time, but seeing Lawrence extend his hand to shake Kayde’s made bile rise in my throat, and my expression was the least of my worries. Screaming in my head for Kayde not to touch the vileness that coated the man who swore he loved me, but treated me like he hated the very air I breathed, had me missing the rest of what Lawrence said, but not the flare of Kayde’s eyes and the rasp of his indrawn breath.

  Unmindful of my inner turmoil, he shook the proffered hand. “Kayde. Sera was like my little sister growing up. I’ve moved away, so I had no idea. Congratulations.” Only someone who knew the handsome man in front of me would know his words were laced with anger and disgust. My heart cracked and splintered at the thought of that disgust being directed toward me.

  “Well, again, I’m sorry for you and your family’s loss. Serafina, shall we?” Lawrence started to step away with his hand firmly on my elbow, steering me back toward the car. In a moment of desperation, I broke free and rushed back to Kayde, just as he started to turn back to his family.

  Whispering rapidly before Lawrence could come retrieve me, and knowing I would surely pay for this, I rushed to speak as I nearly crushed his fingers in mine. “Meet me at the San Fernando Cathedral. Tonight at seven o’clock. Please.” My eyes begged him to understand my fervent need for him to comply with my request before I spun to return to Lawrence before he had to retrieve me.

  “Sorry, I spaced out thinking about Abuela while you were talking and forgot to offer my condolences. Thank you for being so patient.” Stupid! Hoping he didn’t remember I actually had expressed them, I prayed. My grateful, meek tone made me want to retch all over his suit, but it was worth it because he gave me one of his condescending smiles and continued to lead me farther away from the man I wanted more than anything, but knew I could never have. Risking one last glance over my shoulder, I saw his stoic form, unmoving, as he stood staring in our direction with narrowed eyes.

  “Hate Me”—Blue October

  SERA’S VEHEMENT REQUEST HAD been circling in my head all afternoon. It had me curious and worried at the same time. Something was very wrong, and before I left here, I was going to find out what the hell it was. Which was why, after a nearly ten-year silence between us, I was preparing to knock on Miguel’s door to try to talk to my childhood friend, because Christian’s black truck was parked out front.

  Waiting with my hands in the pocket of my jeans, I glanced up the street, taking in the old neighborhood. Once upon a time it had been a lively, nice area. Now it was a little shadier and run-down, but many of the same older people still lived here. The kids, like me, had long moved away. None of the people talking in their yards or the kids playing in front of the houses were familiar to me.

  The sound of the lock clicking preceded the knob turning and the door swinging open. The same battered wooden screen door was all that divided me from the face of my old friend. It was so much the same, but so very different than the boy I grew up with. In his eyes was a cold hardness that had never been there before. His expression was shuttered, and he just stood there silently, expectant.

  “Can I come in? Or do you want to come out?” Even though I had changed out of the stifling suit from the funeral into a worn pair of jeans and plain white T-shirt, it was sweltering in the late afternoon sun, so I hoped he would allow me to enter. Indecision colored his face before he rolled his eyes, shoved open the screen door, and stepped to the side for me to pass.

  “Dad is napping. We can sit in the living room or the kitchen, whichever you prefer.” Without waiting for me, he headed down the narrow hall of the entryway.

  “Kitchen is fine.” He abruptly made a detour to the right into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he leaned over and reached in. Pulling out a couple of Coronas, he held them up.

  “Beer?” His offer was flat and short.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Secretly, I wished for something stronger like tequila or whiskey, even though I didn’t really drink, but beer would do. Following his example, I popped the lid off on the bottle opener mounted on the side of the cupboards, then sat across from him at the table.

  Talking a long pull of the icy brew, I watched his movements almost mirror mine as the cold, golden liquid washed down my throat. Setting the nearly half-empty bottle on the table, I rolled the cap in my hands, pressing the uneven ridges into the skin of my fingers.

  “I’m sorry.” We both spoke the words at the same time. Letting go of a self-deprecating laugh, I shook my head. “Sorry, you go ahead.”

  His eyes closed, and his head tipped down so far, his chin rested on the top of his chest. When he raised it again, his eyes held sadness and remorse. “I’m sorry about Abuela. But I’m also sorry about… well, the past. We’re almost thirty years old, and we’ve wasted so many years. Fuck, man, we used to be inseparable. The three musketeers, right?” At the reminder of the brother we lost, his eyes clouded again.

  “I miss him too, man, but you’re right. We have wasted a lot of years. I know I let you and Tyler down, and it’s torn me apart for years. But I just needed to get out of here. I….” My words trailed off because I didn’t know how much to say.

  “You know I knew, right? Yeah, I was pissed at you because we were supposed to be a team, but I knew how hard it was for you to see them. My anger was directed at the fact that you didn’t talk to me before you went off and became a soldier.”

  “Marine.” The correction slipped out without thought, and we both laughed.

  “Yeah, one of the guys at work was a Marine. I always do that to him too.” A small smile creeping out, he lifted his beer to his lips again.

  “Not was. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

  At that, he laughed outright.

  “Yeah, I get that from him too. As a matter of fact, he said he knew you. Went through boot camp with you, I guess.” My confused look must have been humorous because he chuckled again. “Yeah. Taylor Zimmerman. He was from up by Austin.”

  “Holy shit. Small fucking world. Yeah, I remember him. Never saw him again after we left boot camp, but always wondered how he ended up. Tell him I said hello.”

  “Six degrees of separation and that shit, right? Anyway, if there is anything I can do to help Gus, please have one of your uncles get in touch with me. Okay?”

  His words sobered me.

  “Thanks, man. I really appreciate that. He’s so damn lost right now. I’m really worried about him. I can’t believe my mother couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Then again, I don’t really know if my uncles were able to get in touch with her. She’s always got a different number. Fucking vagabonds in this day and age. Jesus. Sometimes I can’t believe I came from them.” Actually, I was mad as fuck at my mom. I couldn’t give a shit about my dad, but goddamn it, that was her mom. It didn’t surprise me though. Only about half of my birthdays did I even get so much as a card. It was like once they dropped me off with my grandparents, I cea
sed to exist for them. I’d never understand it. If I ever had a kid, I’d never abandon him or her. Never.

  “Look, the other thing I came to talk to you about is Sera.”

  “I figured.”

  My eyes met his in surprise. Yeah, he said he knew how I had felt, but it surprised me he would think I might still be hung up on her. I fucking was, but I wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

  “She wants me to meet her tonight. But she’s engaged. I’m not sure, but I think something’s going on.” At that, his eyebrows damn near shot to his hairline.

  “What? That’s the first I’m hearing of that! I mean, I haven’t been the best brother, in all honesty. She’s another one I owe an apology to. After Tyler… man, I was fucked up. I pretty much pushed everyone away. Seeing her was a reminder that I hadn’t been there to save him. He was my fucking partner. I was out sick, and so he was on his own that day. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.” He looked so broken. My heart went out to him. Partly because I completely understood.

  “¡Chingados! Man, I get it. It has eaten me alive knowing I was supposed to be with y’all. Regret is a bitch of a pill to swallow.” Finishing my beer in two more swigs, I set the bottle on the table and continued to twirl the cap in my fingers.

  “That’s the thing. I saw a therapist a while afterward, at the insistence of the force because I wasn’t dealing well, and I’m finally starting to figure out that we can’t control things that happen around us. Maybe when it’s our time, it’s our time, and it doesn’t matter how good we’ve lived our life or how many people love us. It’s just our time. It still sucks, but I’m trying my damnedest to come to terms with all this shit, you know?” His brown eyes met mine and held.