In my hand, I held the family I’d never gotten to have. A handsome young man grinned at the camera, his arm wrapped protectively around the beautiful girl smiling beside him—a tiny baby swaddled in her arms.
That beautiful girl was my mother and that baby is me.
Tears clouding my vision, I found myself stumbling backward, nearly tripping over the chair behind me. Oh God, I couldn’t breathe. It was too hot and I couldn’t fucking breathe.
Clutching the picture to my chest, I hurried across the room, threw open the office door, and burst into the hallway, gasping for air. The hall was thankfully empty, and I sagged back against the wall, breathing hard.
Glancing around, I felt as if I were seeing the clubhouse for the first time.
Everything felt different now—foreign.
And everywhere I looked, I felt her—the ghost of a girl I’d never gotten to know.
I could see her now, walking down this very hall. Young and beautiful. Pregnant with me yet still just a baby herself. And utterly without a clue as to the kind of world she’d stepped into. I wanted to reach out and grab her, pull her to me, and keep her close. Keep her safe from those who would try to take her from me.
I followed her ghost until my eyes stopped on a familiar shape skulking in the shadows by the stairwell. “Tiny?” I called out, squinting. “What the hell are you doing?”
Tiny shuffled out from stairwell, his eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry, Eva,” he whispered, his sad eyes finding mine. “I never wanted to lie to ya. ‘Bout your mom and ‘bout your old man bein’ so sick.”
I shut my eyes for a moment and then let out a sigh, and with it any residual anger I was harboring. There was no use in yelling at a bunch of old men who’d only been doing what they were told. It would only hurt both them and me, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. My mother was still gone, and Preacher was still dying.
“You can make it up to me,” I told him.
His head bobbed in earnest. “Anything, Eva. You name it, it’s yours.”
“You spent so much time with her—my mother.” I lifted the picture, showing him. “Will you tell me about her? I want to know everything about her, Tiny. Every single thing.”
A wobbly smile stretched across his sagging jowls. “Is that all? Where do ya wanna start? Shit, I still remember the day you were born like it was yesterday.”
He offered me his arm and I looped mine through it. Arm in arm, we headed toward the living room.
“Scariest fuckin’ thing that ever happened to me,” he said.
I bit back a laugh. “I love you, Tiny,” I murmured, shaking my head. “With extra sugar.”
• • •
It was nearly four in the morning by the time I dragged myself up to my old room. Pushing open the door, I cringed when it creaked, and then smiled, unable to remember a time when it hadn’t creaked.
The television was on, bathing the room in muted, flickering light. I took a moment to look over the familiar space—the posters on the wall, the framed photos, the rows of shelves filled with cassette tapes and CDs. It felt like home and yet… didn’t.
Eventually my gaze landed on Deuce. Lying on his stomach in bed, he wore only a pair of boxer shorts. His lack of snoring told me he wasn’t sleeping.
We hadn’t spoken since we’d left the hospital and he’d disappeared within minutes of our arrival at the clubhouse.
I sat down beside him, visually tracing the many tattoos covering his broad, muscular back, marveling at his beautiful body. Whereas my father looked ten years older than he should, Deuce looked at least ten years younger than he was. Not that it mattered what age he looked—Deuce would never not be beautiful to me.
“Baby? You awake?”
“Nope.”
“Are you ignoring me?”
“I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you, ain’t I?”
A smile tugged at my lips, and I bent down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. His warm, smooth skin twitched beneath my mouth, and a shiver shook through Deuce.
“We can talk about it if you want,” I whispered. “Don’t let it fester.”
Deuce sighed heavily, his big body lifting off the mattress. Flipping onto his back, he folded his arms beneath his head—a move that caused his impressive biceps to shift and swell beneath his colorful skin.
“There ain’t shit to say,” he muttered. “You know I hate this fuckin’ city, hate this fuckin’ house, hate this motherfuckin’ room. But those are my demons, darlin’, and you’ve got bigger shit to be dealin’ with.”
I stared at him a moment, hating him for clinging to things that couldn’t be changed, while also loving him at least a hundred times more for always being so glaringly, unapologetically him.
“I don’t want to deal with my own shit right now,” I told him. “Right now I want to pretend that I don’t have any shit to deal with at all.”
“That still don’t mean we should talk about mine.”
We fell silent, watching each other in the semi-darkness.
“Are you coming with me tomorrow—back to the hospital?”
“That’s a dumbass fuckin’ question, Eva.”
Again the silence stretched between us, my gaze wandering away with my thoughts.
“He loved her, you know,” I said suddenly.
“Babe.” Deuce’s tone gentled. “He ain’t never stopped.”
I nodded distractedly. “She loved him, too. I know she did.”
When Deuce didn’t say anything, only continued to watch me, I bent down and pressed a kiss to his lips. His large hand cupped the back of my head, and his mouth covered mine. Demanding lips, rough strokes of his tongue, he nipped my bottom lip before breaking the kiss.
“That was so fucking hot,” I told him breathlessly, eyeing him hungrily. “What gives you the right to be so old and yet so fucking hot?”
He snorted. “You are one crazy bitch.”
Straightening, I laughed at him. “That’s all you got? I’m a crazy bitch?” Brow lifted, lips twisted, I blew him a kiss. “You are getting soft, aren’t you? Old, and soft, and sweet.”
Grabbing my wrist, he set my hand on top of the bulge in his boxers. “Yeah? That feel soft to you?”
I shrugged. “Kinda…”
Deuce let out a low growl, and a heartbeat later I was laid out flat on the bed, his big body hovering over mine. His hips dipped and mine arched, and our mouths met in an explosion of need. Clothing was shed, as were any reservations. Frenzied, we touched each other in ways we hadn’t touched in years. My staccato breaths joined the fray.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this, so turned on, so crazy needy. Nothing more than a thrashing mass of flesh and bone, desperate for more of him.
“I wanna see you,” he said, reversing our positions.
Straddling his hips, I watched as Deuce’s eyes traced a greedy path over every inch of my bare skin. Lips parted and breathing hard, his hooded gaze met mine and the way he looked at me? I felt young again. And beautiful. And oh my God, so fucking alive.
One hand planted on his chest, I rushed to guide him inside of me. And as our bodies connected, a gasp and a growl collided in the space between us.
I bent to kiss him. Our mouths fused together, I snapped my hips forward, eliciting a throaty groan from Deuce. Panting and eager, I began to move.
His thumbs hooked beneath my hip bones. Calloused fingertips dug into my backside, stilling me. My eyes fluttered opened, finding his.
“Babe,” he said, low and raspy. “I want it fuckin’ slow.”
Shivers raked up and down my spine, and I sighed against his mouth.
Then I gave it to him slow.
Epilogue
A light breeze blew lazily past me, bringing with it the scents of freshly cut grass and newly blossomed flowers. Several strands of my hair lifted, and the remaining tears on my cheeks dried up and disappeared. A short ways off in the distance a small flock of geese had congregated, occas
ionally honking as they shuffled through the cemetery.
Preacher’s funeral had ended hours ago, and it had been a service any biker would have been proud to receive. Bikers from all over the country had come to pay their respects. Personal stories had been shared—some happy, some sad, and others so vulgar I’d felt compelled to cover my young son’s ears. Then my teenage daughter Ivy had sung one of Preacher’s favorite songs a cappella, only managing a few lines before everyone else joined in.
Later at the graveyard, hundreds of motorcyclists had lined their bikes along the narrow pathways, engines revving. “Preacher!” they’d shouted, their fists raised. “Preacher, Preacher, Preacher…” Louder and louder they’d chanted his name as if the louder they shouted they might somehow reach him.
I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the remaining motorcycles parked along the cemetery path. Only family and Silver Demons remained now. They talked quietly amongst themselves, leaving me to my grief.
Turning back to the simple cement tombstone before me, my gaze traced the engravings. Beneath Preacher’s name and the years he’d lived, BELOVED BROTHER AND FATHER was inscribed. And below that, “Ride forever free” had been etched in scrawling cursive.
My eyes filled with tears for the hundredth time today.
Memories assaulted me.
Preacher lifting me up onto his broad shoulders, showing me the world from new heights.
Inside the clubhouse, Janis Joplin on the stereo, standing on Preacher’s feet while we danced around the living room.
The first time I’d ridden on the back of his motorcycle, putting on a brave face while my hands fisted in his jacket, squeezing him as tightly as I could.
My chest grew suddenly tight, and my vision swam. Unable to catch my breath, my hands flew to my chest and I gasped, forcing my lungs to fill.
When you’re little, your parents are your whole world. But as you grow, you change. You become your own person, create a family of your own, and you start to forget. What a cruel, cosmic joke the world plays on us, causing us to remember… by taking them away.
“Oh, God, Daddy,” I whispered, swiping at my wet cheeks. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be in this world without you.”
“Mom?” Ivy’s familiar hand slid into mine and squeezed. I squeezed her back, always glad for her company.
“I’m okay, baby,” I lied, fighting back another wave of tears. Kids will do that to you—force you to be strong when you feel anything but. Although as I looked over at the beautiful young woman beside me, I could hardly call her a kid anymore.
She flashed me a sad smile that caused her dimples to deepen. Blonde and blue-eyed, she was every bit Deuce, and yet I could also see so much of me in her. In her eyes that were just a bit too big, and in her lips, thicker and wider than most. And in the generous curves of her body.
These were all traits I’d once thought I’d inherited from Ginny. I’d only just learned the truth—that I looked more like my mother than I did anyone else. What a difference a day can make. The turned-over earth beneath my feet was proof enough of that.
“I meant to show you this.” I pulled the faded photograph from my coat pocket and handed it to Ivy.
“This is my mother. Your… grandmother.” The foreign words tumbled awkwardly from me.
“Wow,” Ivy breathed, her eyes widening. “Is that you she’s holding—the baby?”
Pressing my lips together, I nodded sadly.
My daughter’s gaze darted between the picture and me, and another smile split her lips. “Oh my God, Mom, you look so much like her.”
My damned eyes filled again.
“And Grandpa was super hot…” Ivy’s nose suddenly wrinkled. “And I can’t believe I just said my grandpa was hot.”
Laughter bubbled up inside me. “He was, wasn’t he?” Wrapping my arm around Ivy’s waist, I laughed through my tears.
Deuce appeared on the other side of me. He ran a hand down the center of my back. “You ready to ride, darlin’?”
Instead of flying home, Deuce and I had decided to ride back to Montana on my father’s ’69 chopper. Preacher had loved that bike more than any other and had kept it in pristine condition all these years. And I knew nothing would make him happier than knowing I was keeping his girl on the road.
But I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. To turn away from Preacher’s grave, to leave this cemetery… it felt so final. I wasn’t ready to let go yet. I needed another moment with him.
Who was I kidding? I needed more than a moment. I needed to see his crooked grin once more. I needed to hear his smoke-roughened voice call me “baby girl” just one last time.
“I need a few more minutes,” I told Deuce. “Where’s Damon?” My eyes roamed the remaining people, searching for my son.
“Last I saw he was runnin’ around pickin’ out graves for everyone.”
While Ivy choked on her laughter, my brow shot up. “Seriously?”
Deuce shrugged. “Your son, babe.”
“Our son,” I snapped. “I didn’t make him by myself.”
Deuce’s hand disappeared from my back and appeared on my ass. Lightly smacking me, he said, “I’m only takin’ credit for the not-crazy ones.”
He moved to Ivy and tugged on her arm. “Give your mom a few more minutes with her old man.”
Ivy slid her hand into Deuce’s and grinned up at him. “That means you’re only taking credit for me, right Daddy? Because I’m definitely not as crazy as Danny… right, Daddy?”
“You’re all fuckin’ crazy,” he muttered. “Every last one of you.”
Smiling, I watched them for a moment before turning back to my father. My smile falling away, I found myself dropping to my knees in the dirt. Placing my hand on the tombstone, I tried to think of something to say. Anything at all. But words eluded me.
What was there to say?
I miss you?
I love you?
Both of those sentiments went without saying. I would love him and miss him until my very last breath.
“Daddy,” I whispered as my eyes filled again and more tears fell. “I hope you… I hope… I wish…”
I never finished my thought. Preacher’s story had ended, and no amount of hoping or wishing would change that.
“Goodbye Daddy,” I finally said.
Standing, I squeezed my eyes shut and pictured him as I would always see him, as the strong, powerful man from my youth—tall and lean, his long brown hair pulled back, his warm, handsome smile, and his striking brown eyes full of pride and love.
Goodbye, baby girl…
Sneak Peek
Undying
(Undeniable #6)
Prologue
“I don’t just have a family. I have an empire.”
— Ivy Olivia West
A creation of chaos and lust, I was born into a world so foul, I made it my mission to find the beauty hidden within, to reveal the sun behind the clouds, the rainbows after the storms, the life that still exists even in death.
One part my mother, I had an infectious smile and a heart so big, there was room enough for everyone, no matter their sins. One part my father, I had a filthy mouth and a temper that could crumble mountains beneath the onslaught of my rage. And one part myself, I was spontaneous, determined, and wicked smart. I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted out of life.
Until I met him… and everything I thought I knew was stripped to the bone by the blade of his knife, ground to dust beneath the heel of his boot, forever lost inside his darkness.
My mother used to tell me that life wasn’t always pretty. Not all stories have happy endings, and that sometimes, life could be downright cruel.
But then she’d remind me that no matter the crime, no matter the cost, everything happens for a reason. And if I took the time to figure out the why instead of dwelling on the what, it would make all the difference in the world.
I didn’t know if I believed her anymore.
Ther
e are some things that just can’t be explained, let alone forgiven.
There are some stories that are just… ugly.
Chapter 1
Zachary “ZZ” Jeffries slipped the padlock onto the door of the last shipping container and slammed it shut with a loud click. After adding a metal shipping seal, he turned to leave, facing the remaining men on the docks. He gave them a nod to signify that everything was ready and they could start loading, and then he walked off.
As he headed in the opposite direction, the muffled whimpers and cries from inside the container became louder. A heady, adrenaline-inducing emotion powered through him, making his heart race. Unable to stop himself, he curled his fingers, balling them into clenched fists.
He knew what those women were experiencing, locked up in that dirty, dark container, their futures unknown. He knew all too well that raw emotion as your heart pounded and you could barely breathe because your own fear was fucking suffocating you. He’d been running from… well, from everyone for a long time now, so yeah, fear was his fucking middle name.
It was also what had kept him alive this long.
He’d turned the fear into rage. Fought his way to the top of the lowest of the low, and took his place on a throne made of garbage and rot.
He didn’t give a fuck if his empire was built on the blood and bones of innocent men and women, didn’t care that more people would have to die so he could continue his reign, continue surviving. This was his life now, this was what they had made him, the monster they’d forced him to become.
“Boss man.”
ZZ cut his eyes to his right as Tommy, one of his men, fell into step beside him as he crossed the docks. “What?” he snarled as he came to an abrupt stop.
Tommy swallowed hard, and ZZ fought the urge to laugh. They were all afraid of him. Even a mean old son of a bitch like Tommy was scared shitless that at any second, ZZ’s temper would turn on him. Once that happened, no one was safe. Not a single fucking person.
“Big guy wants numbers,” Tommy said quietly.