Styx and Stones: A Demented Sons MC Texas Novel

by Kristine Allen

  “I made you dinner!” She looked so proud of herself.

  “Did you now? What did you make, because it smells delicious?”

  “Chili!”

  “I can’t wait. Let me shower real quick and I’ll be out.”

  “Sounds good. When I hear the water shut off, I’ll dish a bowl up for you.” Her eyes twinkled, and she grinned.

  “Perfect,” I said, then kissed her softly, making sure not to get my scrubs near her.

  Making quick work of my shower, I pulled on some sleeping pants but decided to forgo a shirt that I’d be taking off soon. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anyone coming over.

  I was towel drying my hair when her hands slipped around my waist and her cheek pressed to my back. Pausing, I placed one hand over hers. In that moment, I realized that I was happier than I’d ever been, regardless of the bullshit going on around us. The crap with my club, the bullshit stalker, Grace, her ex, none of it mattered.

  The only thing that was important was her happiness and safety.

  “Hey,” she said softly, her breath teasing my back.

  “Hey,” I responded, holding her hand flat to my chest. My heart beat into her palm, and it was metaphoric for how she held it in the palm of her hand.

  “You ready to eat?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Reluctant to let her go, I waited until she tugged at her hand.

  “I can’t get your food ready if you don’t let me go.”

  “Don’t wanna,” I joked before raising her hand up so I could kiss her fingertips.

  She giggled against my back before her lips pressed a kiss to me. It sent shivers skating across my shoulder blades. Gripping her wrist, I turned and held her close to me. The laughter in her eyes as she tipped her chin up to look at me made me grin like a fool.

  “Feed me, woman, or I’m going to bed hungry.”

  “Why would you go to bed hungry?” She looked confused.

  Raising a brow, I didn’t say a word. The flush on her cheeks told me when she figured out what I was referring to. Rolling her eyes, she stepped back. “I’ll go dish up your food, but you better put a shirt on.”

  “Huh? Why?” Puzzled, I watched her leave the room.

  Pausing, she looked over her shoulder. “Because if you don’t, you’ll be going to bed without supper.” With a smirk, she hurried to the kitchen before I could tell her to fuck supper, because we were fucking.

  Chuckling to myself, I grabbed a T-shirt and was tugging it over my head as I stepped into the kitchen. The smell of some amazing chili hit me, and my mouth watered.

  “You want cheese on it?” she asked, dishing me up.

  “Hell, yeah. Thanks, babe.”

  When I tried to get the bowl from her, she pointed to the table and ordered, “Sit.”

  “Arf, arf!” I barked like a dog.

  “Good boy,” she said as she laughed.

  The first bite to hit my mouth was a spicy blend of deliciousness. “Damn, this is good,” I groaned.

  “Well, I’m not a great cook, but I have a few things I’m really good at.” She shrugged and sat across from me.

  While I ate, she chattered about her day. I loved watching her talk.

  Once I’d had my last bite, I pushed the empty bowl to the side. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

  “Of course. I’m just glad you liked it.”

  Trying to decide how to ask her, I finally opted to simply spit it out. “Who’s Billy?”

  Shocked, she stared at me with a gaping mouth. Her fairy-tale eyes blinked at me before filling with tears that she quickly blinked away. “Who told you about Billy?” was her whispered response.

  Sighing, I set my napkin by my bowl. “Your dad asked me if you’d told me about Billy. Things were pretty crazy at the time, so I didn’t ask. The last thing I wanted to do at that time was bring up something that might upset you further. If—”

  “He had no right saying anything to you.” It was with difficulty that she swallowed and took a shaky breath.

  “I was going to say that if you didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t have to. I’ve had the guys helping me try to figure out who it might be that’s been harassing you. They’ve been looking into your ex, my ex, and anyone else it could possibly be. Then I began to wonder if it was this Billy guy your dad said something about.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, then stared at her as she traced the grain of the tabletop.

  “That would be impossible,” she said, barely audible.

  “How do you know that for sure? Let me at least have Check look into it.”

  A tear tracked down her cheek before she met my gaze with her watery one. “Styx. There’s no way it’s him, because he’s dead.”

  “What? Holy shit. I’m sorry. I had no idea. Why didn’t you ever mention him?” My voice dropped as she sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

  “It’s not something I talk about. It’s been seven years now.”

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay.”

  “No. Maybe I need to let it go. I’ve suppressed it too many years, and I knew it would come out one day. My therapist warned me that I’d only be able to compartmentalize for so long. It was easier than remembering though.” Her eyelids dropped closed before she leaned back in the chair and huffed out a breath. When she opened them, her green eyes were shining with unshed tears.

  I held my tongue and let her talk.

  “Billy and I dated for three years. By the end, it wasn’t the passionate young love it was before. We were getting ready to graduate. I’d be leaving for Stanford, he’d be going to UT. It seemed silly to do long-distance, so I broke up with him at the beginning of December. He was devastated. He’d begged me not to do it. Then he’d gotten angry. Assumed I’d been talking to someone else. Which I wasn’t. I’d never have done that to him.”

  Another deep breath, and she continued.

  “Right before New Year’s, he wanted to come over to talk. He’d seemed to have come to terms with it, but we had a lot of history, and I’d hoped we could be friends. I’d answered the door and he asked me to talk to him outside. Feeling guilty for hurting him and not having the desire for my parents to hear the conversation, I closed the door and stepped out onto our front porch. He begged me to take him back. Said he couldn’t live without me.” Her voice cracked, and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  “When he pulled out the gun, I freaked. Begged him to give it to me. By then he was crying yet angry.” Tears began coursing down her cheeks again. Torn between wanting to hold her and giving her the space to talk, I grabbed her hand over the table and quietly waited while she composed herself enough to finish.

  “He looked me in the eye and told me he’d love me ’til the end of time. Then he pulled the trigger. I screamed, but then I ran to his crumpled form. Foolishly desperate, I picked him up to hold him. Unrealistically, I thought I could save him. It was the most horrendous thing I’d ever seen. When my dad came rushing out, I was still screaming. God, blood was everywhere. On the porch, my clothes, my skin, it touched every single thing. Dad called 911, then pulled me away from his lifeless form. It was the single most devastating thing I’d ever experienced in my life. His family blamed me, which really hurt, because I was close to them. Especially to his older sister, Bri. All of our friends pitied me, and I forever became the girl whose boyfriend killed himself in front of her.” Her face was pale, and her fingers shook in my hand.

  That was the last thing I’d expected her to say. Then I wondered how Check hadn’t found this out. “Fuck, I don’t know what to say.” It seemed so inadequate.

  “It’s okay. Thank you for not offering up empty platitudes. I got so tired of people saying how sorry they were. It finally had me wondering if they really were. Or were they only saying it because they didn’t know what else to say? Because they thought it’s what they should say?” She sighed, then looked down at our clasped hands. “Thank you for listening to me.”
r />   “Anytime. His name was William?” I asked.

  A sad smile curled her mouth, “No, not really. His name was Charles Frederick Buford Billingham. The fourth.” She said it with full pomp, then shook her head. “He hated it, so he went by Billy because of his last name.”

  I smiled, appreciating that he’d be frustrated and hadn’t wanted to go by an antiquated name.

  “How’d you meet?”

  “I was a cheerleader at his baseball game the end of our freshman year. It was a small school, so the cheerleaders rode on the same bus as the baseball team. We talked all the way home, and the rest was history.”

  Letting her tell stories of things that had happened, or he’d done, had her laughing at the good memories. It also left a smile on my face as I watched her relive the good times of her childhood. From the memories she sifted through, it was also obvious he suffered from depression and possibly a personality disorder. Yet, she never mentioned him being in therapy or on meds.

  It made me a little sad, because it likely went untreated or undiagnosed. The situation may have ended differently if it hadn’t.

  “There’s nothing wrong with keeping his memory alive. Nor is there anything wrong about you remembering the good times. His death isn’t what defined him as a person. He had a life that you can still cherish.” I wanted to make sure she knew I was okay with her talking about him. The last thing I wanted was for her to keep everything bottled up and suppressed.

  “Thank you. It was really good talking about him. Mom wouldn’t let anyone bring up his name, because I would start crying. Now I see that she was trying to protect me in the only way she knew how. Not that it was right, but I know she wasn’t malicious about it. Everyone we went to school with was uncomfortable and unsure of what to say after it happened. It was awkward, to say the least—well, that’s when people weren’t avoiding me.” She looked heartbroken.

  “Billy was going to go to UT to be a teacher. When I gave up Stanford to go to UT, my family was pissed. They didn’t understand why I’d give up my scholarship and dreams to honor Billy’s. He loved kids and all he ever talked about was being a teacher. When I thought about all the kids that would never know him, I rashly decided to do it for him.” She buried her face in both hands. I got up and walked around the table to crouch next to her. Folding her into my embrace, I kissed the top of her head as she wrapped her arms around me.

  Silent sobs wracked her body, and I comforted her the best I could.

  “Gwen, look at me,” I instructed her. After several sniffles, she leaned back and blinked at me. “God, you’re beautiful.” It wasn’t what I’d meant to say, but it came out because it was overwhelmingly true.

  A sniffly laugh burst from her. “I look like crap. My nose is probably red, my eyes are probably worse, my makeup is probably melted down my face.” She paused, and I cut in.

  “Stop.” There were no imperfections in my eyes, because for me, she was perfectly flawless. “I love every fucking thing about you. I love the way your face gets red when you cuss. I love the way you say my name. I love that you met my club and fit right in. I love your fairy-tale eyes. I love your silky hair getting tangled around my neck when we sleep. I even love finding your hair in my stuff days later. I could make a list a mile long of every little thing I love, but instead I’ll tell you that I simply love you. All of you. Unconditionally. I should’ve told you before, but I was a pussy.”

  The hitch in her breathing was followed by an airy exhale. Her soft hands caressed my face, then grasped my neck to pull me closer. Sparks shot through my entire body the second we connected. The tentative foray of her tongue along my lips drove me wild.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I rasped when we broke for air.

  “Okay” was her breathless reply.

  As we lay, limbs entwined, in the languid bliss after fan-fucking-tastic sex, I made a promise to her.

  “We’re gonna find out who the asshole is that’s fucking with you, and everything is going to be okay.”

  “Thank you,” she said as she looked up at me from where her head rested on my chest. Her eyes were heavy with sleep as she lay back down with her ear over my heart.

  It wasn’t long before her respiratory rate became slow and even. Unable to sleep myself, I twirled her golden hair in my fingers and prayed I hadn’t lied to her.

  “Ghost of Muskegon”—Pop Evil

  “Hey, beautiful, I’m running late. I’ll see you tonight. Have a good day, okay?” He swooped into the bathroom where I was finishing up my makeup to kiss me.

  “Will do. You too.” I grinned as he shook his head, laughing.

  “I love you,” he said before he stole another kiss. My heart jumped and fluttered.

  He hadn’t pushed me to return it, but I didn’t want him leaving without knowing. It wasn’t that I felt obligated, because I didn’t. I knew exactly how I’d been feeling, even though I’d worried I’d been rushing things. The difference between him and anyone else was that more than anything, I wanted his happiness. Because when he was happy, it made me happy.

  As he was about to turn to leave, I grabbed his arm. He turned in confusion. “Everything okay?”

  Since I’d told him about Billy the night before, he’d been worried about me. One of many things I loved about him. Placing my palm on his cheek, I bit my lip.

  “Babe, is everything okay? If it’s not, I’ll call in. If it is, I’ll make it up to you when I get home, but I need to get going,” he said gently as he placed his hand over mine.

  “I love you too,” I whispered in a rush.

  Before I could blink, I was wrapped in his big tatted arms. “Fuck, Gwen.” He sucked in a breath. “Just fuck.” For a moment, he just held me. “Okay, I really need to go. You sure you’re okay?”

  Unable to speak for fear of bursting into happy tears, I nodded.

  One last kiss, and he was leaving with his small duffle bag that held his work stuff. “Save lives!” I hollered.

  “I’ll do my best,” he shouted over his shoulder as he rushed out the door. His truck started, and he was gone.

  I’d told Mitch that I loved him, but I’d never experienced the depths of emotions that I did with Styx. Everything with him was different. More.

  The garage door opened, and I heard the alarm disabled. I chuckled. He was forever forgetting something. Not that I complained, because it gave me one more chance to see him.

  “What did you forget this time?” I asked with a smile as I leaned over to finish my mascara.

  “Oh, I didn’t forget anything. You obviously have, though.”

  Dropping my mascara wand in shock, I spun around.

  “Bri? What the hell are you doing here? And how did you get in?”

  “Maddox gave me the code so I could get in after work one night.” Smugness seeped from her pores, and the implications of what she was saying made my stomach churn. He’d dated Bri? What the hell?

  “You dated him?” I asked, stunned.

  She scoffed. “I’d say we more than dated.” Her snide tone was lost under the blanket of confusion and hurt that he’d never mentioned dating Bri. It must’ve been after he’d broken up with Grace. What didn’t make sense was how he knew her. I had no idea she was back in this area.

  I pushed my hurt aside, needing to find out what the hell she was doing there. “He’s not here, and I’m living here, so you shouldn’t be here. The fact that you think you can simply enter his house when he isn’t home is disturbing and a little psycho.” Fighting to sound more confident than I truly was, I swallowed carefully.

  As soon as I called her psycho, her eyes flashed. But it was her behavior that deteriorated rapidly. What I hadn’t noticed initially was that her hand had been in her jacket pocket. I certainly noticed it when she pulled it out.

  Clutched in a death grip was a short-nosed revolver.

  Pointed at me.

  Her lip curled. “Recognize it?” She raised her brows and waited for me to guess.

&nbs
p; “Should I?” Trying to stay calm in the face of a crazy bitch holding a gun on me was the greatest feat of my life.

  “It’s the gun Billy killed himself with!” she screamed.

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  Shaking, I tried to figure a way out of this. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of one. My brain refused to focus.

  “Get your ass out of there. We’re leaving.” Carelessly, she waved the gun toward me, motioning me out of the bathroom.

  “What are you doing, Bri? We used to be friends,” I tried to reason.

  “Shut the fuck up. Our friendship ended the second you killed my brother.”

  “Bri, I didn’t kill your brother.”

  “Liar!” she screamed. “Now move!”

  Terrified that if I was walking in front of her, she might shoot me in the back, I hesitated. Uncertainty filled me. I wasn’t sure what to do.

  Until she cocked the gun and pointed it at my chest. “Okay, okay.” I held my hands up in a pacifying manner, heart racing—and not in a good way.

  Keeping my back away from her, I moved along the wall until I was backing into the kitchen.

  “Sit down,” she ordered.

  I sat. And tried to keep from throwing up.

  Keeping the gun pointed my direction, she dug through drawers, muttering to herself. Finally, she pulled out a notebook and a pen. Tossing it to the table, she motioned toward it with the gun. I had to admit, I wasn’t too fond of her pointer-tool of choice.

  “Start writing.”

  “What do you want me to write?” Though I tried not to, exasperation crept into my tone.

  “Dear Maddox,” she began. I stared at her in disbelief. “Write!” she demanded.

  Inhaling deeply, I placed shaking pen to paper. Nausea churning in my stomach, I wrote as she dictated my suicide note. By the time I signed my name, fat tears were pouring down my cheeks.

  “You can’t do this, Bri. People will never believe that I was suddenly suicidal. Especially not Styx.”

  “Don’t call him that. It’s a stupid name.”

  When my phone started ringing from the bedroom, I started to get up to answer it out of habit.