Angels and Ashes (Heaven's Rejects MC Book 2)
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Authors: Avelyn Paige
ANGELS AND ASHES
Avelyn Paige
Copyright © 2016 Lauren Davis as Avelyn Paige
KINDLE EDITION
Cover Designer:
The Final Wrap
Editor and Formatter:
Ready, Set, Edit
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This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.
Table Of Contents
Call Me – Shinedown
Bitch Came Back – Theory of a Deadman
Call Your Name – Daughtry
Things My Father Said – Black Stone Cherry
Drunk Enough – Angel’s Fall
All The Same – Sick Puppies
Trying Not to Love You - Nickelback
Hollow Man – Rev Theory
Thing for You – Hinder
Save Yourself – My Darkest Days
Broken Pieces – Apocalytpica
Familiar Taste of Poison – Halestorm
F*cked Up Situation – My Darkest Days
Careless Whisper – Seether
Monster – Skillet
Nikki
Raze is yours. Roman is mine.
Who Done It!
P.S. I win!
“Daddy’s home, boys,” I call out from the kitchen as the loud pipes from a Harley nearly shakes the house free of its foundation. “Colt, watch your brother while I go out to help your dad bring in his gear.”
Colt’s muted reply echoes from their room just before playful giggles flow out of the door. Giggles typically indicate those two are up to no good, but I’ll let their dad take care of any problems that occur today. It’s his turn anyway after yesterday’s marker incident in the newly-painted bathroom. I may live in a house full of troublemakers, but I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.
Reaching the front hallway, I peer out of the window and find that it’s not my husband’s bike that’s in the drive. His club president, Raze, swings his leg over his black Harley Davidson and begins to walk to our front door. A sense of foreboding rushes around me, causing me to stop dead in the hallway as the door slowly opens and reveals Raze’s large, hard body behind the door. My unease spills into the room when I watch his body shake with each step and his eyes are glued to the floor.
Shit. Something’s happened.
“Where’s my husband?” I meekly question. Raze doesn’t even lift his eyes to me—something is definitely wrong.
What the hell is going on?
“There’s been an accident, Darcy.”
A gasp escapes my lips as adrenaline pumps into my veins while the mental emergency checklist begins to unfold in my mind. Trips to the hospital with my husband became more of a regular occurrence the longer we’ve been married. I swear the man has a medical chart the size of that clumsy tool guy that was on TV in the 90s. It’s almost like a medical team family reunion when we breeze through the emergency room doors. It’s to the point that I often wonder if they have a frequent visitor express lane for us since we never seem to have to wait long.
“Do I need to get the boys and head to the hospital?” I ask while turning to get my purse from the hallway table. Raze reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling my attention back to him. I tear away from his grasp and glare at him for stopping me. I need to get to my husband, and he’s trying to delay me getting to his side.
“Which hospital did they take him to? Kindred or San Antonio? God, I hope it’s not Kindred during this time of day. It will take hours to get there with the rush-hour traffic.” Turning around once more to grab my purse, Raze’s large form steps in front of me and blocks me from my path—again.
“Darcy, I need you to listen to me. Brent’s not in the hospital. He’s dead, darlin’,” a sorrowful voice repeats to me while I blankly stare at the man in front of me.
How is it even possible that my husband is dead?
He left this morning with a smile on his face and a promise that he was taking us all out tonight to see that stupid Minion movie the boys have been driving us crazy about for weeks.
No, he’s not dead. There’s no way in fucking hell that he’s dead.
Lightness begins to fill my body when visions of my husband’s body lying in a casket spill into my mind. I start to stumble, and Raze lunges forward to catch me before I descend to the ground into a sobbing mess.
“Darcy.
Darcy.
Please, answer me, darlin’. You’re scaring the fuck out of me. Tell me you understand what I’m trying to tell you.”
Strong arms pull me against a hardened, muscular chest in an attempt to comfort me, but even without being in the right mind, I know it’s a futile action. His hands stroke my hair as I finally feel the tears pouring down my face. Shifting my face upward, my eyes connect with his own tear-stained face, seeing that his icy-blue eyes are as mournful as my own. The pain he feels is nothing compared to the pain writhing inside of me. I know he loved my husband in his fucked-up man version of the feeling, but he’ll never fully relate to the pain or hatred that I feel for that fucking club. He may have lost his brother to whatever claimed his life, but I lost the one person on this Earth who understood me and helped me give life to the boys playing in the sunroom next to us.
How do I even begin to tell them about their dad? Colt may comprehend that his dad’s not coming back at six years old, but three-year-old Wesson isn’t going to understand at all. My eyes shift to my stomach as tears well in my eyes.
Neither will the small bump growing inside of me.
Brent didn’t even know I was pregnant yet; I was going to make the announcement tonight at dinner that our family was going to be growing by one more—my anniversary surprise to him. Brent always wanted more kids, but after the difficulties we had with Wesson, our doctor had warned us our precious little boy would reasonably be our last child.
“How?” I quietly croak out. “I want to know how.”
Raze releases me from his grasp and pulls me into the living room by my wrist, sitting me on the couch. His hand falls from my wrist while he settles in beside me, his large frame causing the couch to dip under his weight. He sighs loudly and grabs for my hand again as he begins to stroke his rough thumb against my palm.
“He came by the clubhouse this morning to drop off some payroll checks for the guys and for Church. A couple of the guys needed some help putting an engine back into its mount, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to him before he left. I was out in the shop working with Slider when Voodoo got a call about an hour ago from the local PD. They’d found his bike wrecked about five miles from here on Mountain Avenue. By the time the ambulance got to the scene, he was already gone. We’d have never known until the hospital called you if one of Voodoo’s cop buddies hadn’t been working the scene. I didn’t want one of the cops coming to the house to tell you and scare the boys, so I waited until I had gotten confirmation and came to tell you myself. I’m so sorry, darlin’. I know he wasn’t ready to lose his family like this. He had too much to live for to die so young.”
My hand instantly flies out of his grasp and slaps him hard across the face. Raze doesn’t even flinch or react as a red imprint of my hand begins to materialize on his flesh.
“Too much to live for? Brent would have
died
to protect our family, and for you and that fucking brotherhood. You must think I’m stupid to not realize that you are such a fucking liar, Raze. I damn well know he wasn’t headed toward the club this morning. He told me that he had some business to take care of in San Diego and that he’d be home early since we had plans tonight. Tell me what really killed my husband, and stop sugarcoating your bullshit to me.”