Kennedy (The Phoenix Club Girl Diaries #1)

by Addison Jane

  At a time when I was feeling vulnerable, and to be completely honest, a little fucking crazy, the club’s values brought me back down to the ground solidifying the choices I’d made.

  I was at a point where I actually thought maybe I was crazy. Maybe I was some kind of psychopath or sociopath or just fucking mentally deranged. I’d always been a weird kid growing up considering the way I constantly avoided contact with other people.

  It kind of made me a loner of sorts.

  And I liked it that way.

  But now, I was also dealing with the fact that I had murdered a man with my bare hands, and I had very little fucking recollection of it whatsoever. It was like I was in this constant battle with my brain, searching every pathway, every fucking door or room inside my head, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, while lawyers called me a liar, and the church described me as a monster and an abomination.

  I wasn’t a monster or a fucking psychopath.

  I was a protector.

  And the more I considered it, the more I realized there was nothing anyone could fucking tell me that would make me change the choices I’d made. If you were going to come after the people who I cared about, I was going to defend them, and the lengths I would go to do that were off the fucking chart.

  Alias was serving a life sentence. Unfortunately, he was never getting out of that place. But he made sure when I got out, Digger was waiting for when I would show up at the clubhouse, and he could hand me my prospect’s cut.

  That’s one day I would never fucking forget.

  That’s for absolute fucking sure.

  “You’re slow today,” I taunted Myth as he came at me, swiping and jabbing. He frowned, throwing another left hook but almost missing my hand pad completely, his aim fucking shit. “Bro—”

  “Go again,” he ordered, and I eyed him for a second before finally nodding in agreement and raising my hands.

  He still wasn’t moving as quickly as I knew he could. This kid was a first-class fucking fighter. Not only boxing but MMA too—he had championship titles in both, which wasn’t usually a thing. Most guys in those sports stuck to what they knew, what they were passionate about. Myth—he was an indecisive motherfucker, so he just decided to do both.

  “Okay, stop! Timeout,” I called, taking a step back. I could tell he was instantly annoyed, but it wasn’t with me. “Okay, we talked about my problems, now what the actual fuck is going on with you?”

  His brow knitted together, and he pulled his shoulders back. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grated, holding his fists up as if he was ready to go again.

  I pulled the pads off and tossed the fuckers on the ground then folded my arms across my chest.

  He glared at me for a moment. “How fucking dramatic of you.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s that time of the fucking month,” I told him with a straight face. “Now talk.”

  “Goddamn you’re a stubborn bastard,” he cursed, ripping off his gloves and tossing them onto the floor of the ring. “Steve, my old manager, rang last night. He’s had someone request a fight.”

  “Who?”

  I knew there must have been more to it than that. Since Myth walked away from the ring a few years ago, he’d never looked back. At least I thought he hadn’t, but maybe I was wrong.

  “It’s a guy who I was meant to fight in the underground, his name was Jester. Dunno if you remember him. The kid was fucking crazy, reminded me of the Riddler or the Joker from Batman.” Myth walked over to the edge of the ring and grabbed the top rope which ran around the outside.

  I nodded. “I do. He was fucking certifiable.”

  I used to go to a lot of Myth’s fights. When you get into underground fighting, things aren’t as controlled. There are rules, and there are people there who try to enforce them, but the reality was, there’s a reason those people are fighting in the streets and not in legal establishments and in legal fights.

  It’s usually because they don’t like to follow the rules. And when there’s that amount of money on the line, sometimes they like to make sure things would go their way. So the club often went with Myth to fights, so we had his back. There were only a couple of times we had to step in, but it was still a scary fucking environment to be around at the best of fucking times.

  “Yeah, so apparently he climbed the damn ranks since I left. I’ve been keeping an eye on things, but man, I never expected him to get to the place he’s at now. He’s the man to beat. And they’re saying I’m the only one left on his list.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “What do you think?”

  “You’re thinking of doing it?” I asked, confused now. “I thought you were done with that?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Man, I am. I can’t say I don’t miss it sometimes, but I can definitely live without it. That ain’t the point, though.”

  I walked forward, holding my arms out. “What’s the point then, ‘cause I ain’t getting it?”

  Myth turned his body and leaned back into the ropes. “The point is that I know how these guys work. If he wants a fight, he ain't gonna stop till he gets me to agree to a fight.”

  I was starting to get it now. “You’re worried about what he’s gonna do to force you into accepting the challenge?”

  “Damn fucking straight I am,” he answered with a smile. “The motherfucker is the kind of crazy that should have been put down already.”

  Even through the smile I could see the nerves on Myth’s face. He was one of the most fearless, most fucking confident guys I’d ever met, but he was looking like at any moment he could be sick. That was what it was like for guys like us who were more concerned about the wellbeing of the people we loved as opposed to our own.

  “Talk to Shotgun, see what he thinks. Maybe we can go one night and scope it out. See what you could be up against.”

  His eyes met mine, and he nodded. “Yeah, man, maybe that’s a good idea.”

  I stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder. “Brother, I got your back. You know this.”

  “Can we get back to this bullshit now? I can feel my manhood shrinking as we have this sweet, near-and-dear moment.” He walked forward and picked up both his gloves off the ground.

  I chuckled, turning and gathering my own. “Well, you were punching like a little bitch, so…”

  “Put the fucking pads up.”

  Should have probably kept my mouth shut.

  KENNEDY

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I jackknifed in my bed, sitting up straight and forcing my eyes open.

  “What the f—”

  “Kennedy!” Crow’s booming voice resonating through our apartment door, and in less than a second, my feet hit the floor. “Open up!”

  I sprinted to the door almost slipping on the woolen mat that decorated the living room floor. Crow never came to the apartments, he stayed away from this hellhole, always. He kind of reminded me of someone who was really wealthy, who liked to keep the help separated from the home, expecting them to do their job but never actually be seen or fucking heard.

  Where we lived was like the slums, and he was way too good for this life. To be honest, it suited me just fine because I liked to keep as much distance between the club and Brooklyn as humanly possible. My work at the club was just the means to an end, and Brooklyn already knew more than what she should. But I was more afraid that if the boys at the clubhouse really got a good look at her, that they might decide to try and change the rules of the game on me.

  Because Brooklyn was beautiful.

  She was tall, slim with curves in all the right places, and long blonde hair that just brushed her lower back. She had confidence, she had an attitude, and both were a lethal fucking combination when mixed with men who liked to break any woman who refused to bow at their knees. And Brooklyn—there was no way in fucking hell you would find her bowing for anyone.

  I raced over to the door, quickly checking over my shoulder and hoping my little sister had either already
left for school, or that she was smart enough to stay in her bedroom while Crow was present.

  Jiggling the lock, I finally got it to click before quickly tugging the door open with force.

  I gasped.

  Crow was on the other side, his hands braced on either side of the doorframe, his head hung low, and his long dark hair covered his face.

  “Hey, sorry,” I murmured, wiping at my face and trying to get my eyes to actually focus. “I was sleeping.”

  He looked up at me, his thick bushy eyebrows mixed with deep sunken eyes made him look haunted. If I could take a picture and put it on a “hey kids, don’t do drugs, because this will happen to you” poster, I bet I could save a few lives.

  “You need to get your shit together in a bag and get to the clubhouse,” he ordered. The rasp of his voice mixed with the thick smell of smoke wafting off him, told me he was under a lot of stress, and had probably been up the whole night with a cigarette in his hand. Whatever had stirred him up last night enough to call church, had him in full panic mode.

  “Okay…” I drawled, still a little sleepy and confused. “What shit do I need?”

  “We’re going on a run to Phoenix,” he explained, but you could tell he was annoyed that he had too. His fingers were tapping on the wooden doorframe, his eyes lazy and lacking any kind of emotion. They were dead. “Bring something sexy and pack enough to wear on your back, I don’t have fucking room for your shit in my bags.”

  I cringed.

  That ride was at least six hours.

  With my backpack on?

  My muscles were going to be fucking aching.

  “Okay, I can be at the clubhouse in like forty-five minutes?” I still hadn’t figured why the hell he had to come to our apartment to tell me. He could have called my cell. He could have sent one of the boys. Fuck! He could have sent like a fucking carrier pigeon. “Is there something else you nee—”

  “Kenz?”

  I cringed, my hand tightening on the door handle, my stomach dropping when I saw the way Crow’s eyes lit up. “Ahhh… Brooklyn, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Wish I could say the same,” she hissed back, making my entire body cringe.

  Fuck.

  What the hell was I going to do if he came after her? If he tried to fucking hurt her?

  A million thoughts rushed through my mind about what I would have to kill him with if he came at her, and then whether I would hide the body or if we would just run and not look back.

  My brain was about to explode.

  And then he fucking started to laugh. “Cute.”

  I looked over my shoulder to see my little sister standing in the doorway to her bedroom wearing a short pair of pajama shorts and a crop t-shirt. She was gripping the doorframe tightly, her eyes narrowed as they flicked between Crow and me.

  I turned back and his smile vanished. “Clubhouse. Thirty fucking minutes, not any longer.”

  Fuck.

  “Sure.”

  He backed away, his eyes drifting to Brook then back to me before he turned and stomped off down the hall. I slammed the door and rushed back to the bedroom. I had less than twenty minutes to prepare myself physically and mentally for the ride ahead, and also pack enough clothes for however fucking long into a small backpack.

  Then jog down to the clubhouse because when I heard the sound of his engine start-up downstairs in the lot, I realized he wasn’t going to fucking wait for me. Why would he?

  “Where are you going?” Brooklyn asked, standing in the doorway to my bedroom while I tossed some panties and some lightweight tops and pants onto the end of my bed.

  “Phoenix apparently,” I grumbled, picking through what I had and holding my breath as I shoved them down into the bottom of my backpack, hoping like hell I wasn’t going to get down there and the weather be fucking freezing.

  “What the hell did he come over for? Just to tell you that you were going on a run?”

  I spun around and threw my hands into the air. “Because he’s unpredictable, and he’s an asshole. And goddammit, I wish you would stay hidden when he’s around and keep your mouth closed.”

  She pulled back at the harsh tone of my voice, her eyes widening in surprise. It only took a few seconds, though, and she pulled herself back together. “Like hell I’m going to let that man think that I’m scared of him.”

  “But I am,” I threw back, my voice getting a little too loud. Brooklyn didn’t move or say anything at my outburst. I inhaled deeply, reaching up and running my fingers through the top of my hair, pushing it back from my face because I was starting to feel too hot. “I am absolutely fucking terrified about the day he’s gonna come after you. I’m petrified he’s going to see just how you’ve grown up. How beautiful you are. How tenacious you are. And he’s going to take that as a challenge.”

  She licked her lips and shuffled uncomfortably on her feet.

  “Brook, this isn’t about you looking tough, or you proving that you’re strong. I know you are,” I muttered, turning back to the bed. “This is about not giving him an excuse to test it out.”

  I managed to fit everything I thought I might need inside my bag while Brooklyn stood quietly to the side, leaning against the wall. I tossed the backpack over my right shoulder before tugging it over the left.

  I could see the way my words were working their way through her head. I wrapped my arm around her neck and pulled her toward me, pressing my lips to her forehead. Brooklyn was strong, she was passionate, and she refused to be broken. I was proud of the women she was becoming because she was trying her best never to become the type of person who would let others dictate her life or bring her down.

  She was trying her best never to become me.

  That was all there was to it basically.

  There was just a slight problem with that, though. Like I said, in the eyes of a man like Crow, an independent and strong woman is something he saw as a challenge, something he’s determined to bend and mold.

  It was dangerous.

  And Brooklyn wasn’t aware of the consequences.

  But I guess that was why I was around. Brook was still a kid, she still had growing to do, mistakes to make, and plenty of life lessons to learn. I’d been looking after people in my family for years, and I’d had to make my own decisions, ones that would not only impact on me, but impact on all the people around me.

  You couldn’t be selfish.

  “You need to look out for yourself,” I told her sternly, pulling back and looking down into her eyes. “Sounds like Laken will be around if you need anything.”

  Her head bobbed up and down softly. “Please be safe and come home.”

  I smile. “Home.”

  REPO

  “You need some help, Repo?”

  I looked up from the motor where I had my arm buried deep up to the elbow. Angel was standing beside it, her hip propped against the panel above the front tire. She was watching what I was doing, a curious frown on her face. “You interested in motors?”

  Angel was a girl that Meyah and Dakota had met at college.

  She’d worked at Empire for a couple months before deciding to move into the clubhouse as a club girl just recently.

  She was a sweet kid, a hard worker and reasonably quiet, so we hadn’t had that many interactions above me telling her what I wanted to drink across the bar. The club girls were helpful around the place, they kept the clubhouse clean, they kept us boys from eating out every fucking night because we couldn’t be bothered cooking for ourselves, and they made sex easily accessible.

  At least, for some they did.

  I didn’t use the club girls.

  The fact that I hated to be touched, complicated things a lot, and they were complications I just didn’t feel like I wanted to spend time explaining.

  That wasn’t to say that I didn’t fuck at all.

  There were a couple girls down in Dallas who, over the years, I got to know well enough and became accustom to what I wanted and what I needed
from them. I was down there for a week or so every other month, and during that time, I got what I wanted and what I needed.

  “I guess you could say that.” Angel shrugged. “I took a couple of physics classes while I was in college. It really opens your eyes to how things work and why the hell they work, because honestly, sometimes it still seems unnatural. Like boats floating and planes flying.”

  I chuckled softly. “Touché,” I replied pulling my hand out of the engine, covered in grease. I wasn’t exactly a mechanic, but since we’d opened the workshop attached to the clubhouse, we’d ended up with more people coming through than we originally thought.

  Crush, Spark, and Shotgun were all more than handy in their own way from the mechanic side of things to complete rebuilds. Spark, in particular, was the king of specialized parts for guys on the car circuit.

  That was essentially how things exploded.

  One of the local boy racers—or car enthusiasts—came to Spark to have some work done, and since then, the flow has been fucking extra.

  Between Empire at night and the garage during the day, the boys and I were completely run off our fucking feet. And yet, the only thing I could do to help was small shit like changing oil or tires or spark plugs. Anything that meant I wasn’t responsible for breaking one of these guys’ rides. Because if I’d learned one thing over the past couple of months, it was that these guys loved their cars just as much as we loved our bikes.

  Usually, the two worlds never really mixed.

  But there was a mutual respect there.

  And a shitload of fucking business for the club.

  Angel opened her mouth, but just as she did, the roar of a Harley pulling into the clubhouse at speed stalled her, and we both frowned. I reached back, patting the gun that was settled sweetly in my holster before I grabbed a cloth and stepped around Angel, heading for the parking lot. “Stay here for a sec,” I told her, just to be safe.

  It was probably only one of the boys. I was the only one at the clubhouse at that point in the day so it could have been anyone.