Craving Absolution (31 page)

Brenna and Dragon had done a good job with that one. Trix had just graduated with a degree in business or some shit like that, and had already found some cushy job in Portland, which was probably why she and Cam were fighting. I didn’t understand how we kept making these girls who were fucking princesses, all with a good head on their shoulders and a backbone of steel, yet all our boys seemed to be little assholes who couldn’t keep it in their pants. It was probably a good thing Brenna and Dragon had stopped having kids after Leo; I couldn’t deal with another one of their boys going after Lily in a few years.

“
You need another beer, handsome?” Farrah asked with a tilt of her head.

Goddamn, the woman got more beautiful every time I looked at her. I shook my head as she sauntered toward me, and couldn
’t help the smile that pulled at my lips. She wasn’t trying to walk that way, but I was pretty sure she was sore as hell after the way I’d pounded her earlier. I’d probably have to be a little more careful in the near future.

I pulled her onto my lap as she reached me, and laid my hand on her head as she pressed her face into my neck. Poor baby.

“You just sit here with me, Ladybug,” I ordered her, kissing her face. “Dinner’s over, people are relaxing, nothing more for you to do.”

“
I think it went good, don’t you?” she asked sleepily, her body already relaxing into mine.

I looked around the yard filled with people.

Dragon and Grease were bullshitting by the horseshoe pits Cameron had begged me to build after we’d moved in. I hated them because all I could see every time I looked at them was one of my little girls impaling themselves on one of the posts.

My sister was yelling at the group of kids that had just come running around the corner of the house, their faces red with guilt.

Vera and Gram were sitting at the picnic table in the grass with Poet and Slider, our youngest, Lily, on Slider’s knee. I wasn’t surprised she was sitting with her grandpa instead of running around with the rest of the hellions. The girl was born a watcher; she preferred to stay on the sidelines instead of being in the thick of things, exactly the opposite of her sister.

Where the fuck was Cecilia?

I looked around the yard and finally found her standing with Leo and Brenna under one of the trees that peppered the property.

“
Three feet!” I bellowed, startling Farrah, who must have already fallen asleep on my lap.

The yard grew quiet as I stared at Cecilia until she finally turned to look at me in exasperation.

“We’re standing here with his
mother
!” she yelled back.

I almost laughed when I saw how hard it was for her to keep her cool.

“I don’t give a good goddamn if you’re standing there with the pope! Back the fuck up!” I snarled. That little prick better move before I put my boot in his ass.

She threw her hands up and took an exaggerated step back before turning her face back toward Leo.

Fuck.

Farrah giggled into my throat, and my chest grew warm.
“You embarrassed her.”

“
Don’t care.”

Everyone was still glancing our way in amusement, waiting to see what I
’d do.
Shit
. Like they hadn’t done the same exact thing when their daughters started dating. I knew for a fact that Poet had knocked the shit out of Dragon when he found out Dragon had knocked up Brenna.

Speaking of knocked up
. . .

“
Got an announcement!” I yelled, feeling Farrah’s body tense against me. She still hated being the center of attention. “Farrah’s pregnant!” I raised the beer bottle in my hand in a toast, and then finished it off in one go.

“
Crazy fucker!”

“
Congratulations!”

“
Whoa.”

“
Seriously?”

“
You just couldn’t hold it in, could you?” Farrah whispered, kissing the side of my neck.

I leaned down to kiss her but stopped, my eyes growing wide as Cameron called out quietly from the back door
, “Trix is too.”

My head snapped toward where Dragon had been standing, but he was already stomping toward the house with Brenna close behind
, trying to catch him.

Oh
shit
.

Mom and Dad: We did it again. Can you believe it? Thanks for the coffee ;) Love you.

My girlies
: I love you. Thank you for always being so patient with me, and telling all your friends that your mom is an
author
. I know you think it’s cool, and I can’t even describe how that makes me feel. I think you’re pretty freaking cool too.

My sisters
: I love you.

Toni
: You’re the cheese to my macaroni. Thank you for loving Farrah, and just plain
getting
her. You’re one of my biggest cheerleaders, and I never want to do this without you. I hope you know that I’m forever cheering you on too. Love you.

Ashley
: Thanks for reading and pushing me . . . and talking me down off the ledge when I was freaking out. Stay awake tonight, because I’ll probably feel the need to text you at two in the morning . . . again.

Madeline
: You, my friend, are bad luck. Or maybe it’s me that’s bad luck. Or maybe together, we’re a bad luck duo, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Let’s toast to luck changing, synced cycles, and many more books that just can’t stay in our heads but beg to be written down.

Donna
: Here we are again. Can you believe it? I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating—I would never be where I am today without you. Thank you a million times.

Pam
: Thanks for polishing my baby and teaching me in the process. Even though you have a ton of stuff going on in your life, you’ve still done a stellar job, and I can’t thank you enough or describe how much I respect you for it.

Kara, Jasmine
, and Sommer: Thank you for the beautiful cover!

My betas:
Gina, Kenna, Kim, Ashley, and Tania: Thank you for all your help. You guys are worth your weight in gold.

Bloggers
: Thank you for doing what you do, not only for writers, but for readers too—because I am both. You guys are so freaking cool and I’m watching you, and following you, and checking out your reviews and recommendations daily.

To
the bearded man sleeping on the couch: Thank you for once again giving me the nice comfortable bed to write on, and for mopping the floors and making dinner.

And to you, who is reading this
: I couldn’t do what I do, if you weren’t doing what you do. Thank you for falling in love with the Aces, for posting on my FB, for spreading the word, for reading and commenting and reviewing and making artwork. You’ll never understand how humbling it is that you’ve taken the time to do all those things. Thank you.

Nicole Jacquelyn is the mom of two busy little girls. She hasn’t watched television in well over a year, she still does things that drive her mother crazy, and she loves to read. At eight years old, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she told people she wanted to be a mom. When she was twelve, her answer changed to author. By the time she was eighteen, when people asked her what she wanted to do with her life, she told them she really wanted to be a writer, but the odds of that happening were so slim that she’d get her business degree “just to be safe.” Her dreams stayed constant. First she became a mom, then she went to college, and during her senior year—with one daughter in first grade and the other in preschool—she sat down and wrote a story.

Nicole may be found on social media at:

Facebook:
Author Nicole Jacquelyn

Twitter:
@AuthorNicoleJ

The Aces MC Series

Craving Constellations

Craving Redemption

Craving Absolution

UnBeloved

by

Madeline Sheehan

Prologue

It was misery that washed her color away, leading her off her path and astray. So she wandered through her life, unknowing and unsure, until realizing her path had always been right there in front of her from the start. Hidden in the shadows of despair, she found her path, her color, within her beating and beautifully bright red heart.

I wasn’t always broken; we are all born pure. It is our journey that burdens us and leads us astray. Our mistakes that beat us down and cover us in guilt and shame, burying us a little more with each successive hardship. It is up to us to dig ourselves out, to come to terms with our faults, to embrace not only our imperfections but those of the ones we love, and to once again find the path we strayed from.

I had been a simple girl. I grew up in a small town in Montana surrounded by down-to-earth, simple people with small, simple dreams. I loved my mom, my dad, and my big sister with all my heart. I loved books with happy endings and romantic movies, and couldn’t wait to fall in love.

Unlike my ambitious older sister, I was a born romantic. I’d been in love with the idea of love for as long as I could remember, full of flighty, fluffy notions of what happiness truly was. And to me, happiness could only be found within the arms of a man . . . a man who loved me.

I wanted butterflies, holding hands, stolen kisses in the backseat of a car, late-night phone calls, all of it. The anxiety, the desperation, that beautiful, agonizing ache called love. And so I romanticized everything.

I had no aspirations, no big dreams. There was nothing I was working toward, no great goals or accomplishments. Instead of college, I dreamed of marriage; instead of a career, I yearned for children.

Visions of traditional white weddings and babies danced in my head. I wanted three babies—one boy, two girls—a nice house with a white picket fence, a cat, and a dog. By the time I was fourteen, I had it all planned out. The cut of my bridesmaids’ dresses, my wedding reception’s seating chart, the color of my living room curtains, the decor of my children’s bedrooms . . . no detail escaped my attention. I wanted to live the fairy tale, to become someone’s everything and anything, to be his princess.

I wanted my happily-ever-after.

There was only one problem.

Instead of finding my prince, I found a whole mess of trouble. At the age of fifteen, I’d found myself pregnant; by eighteen I was married to a man I didn’t love; and by the age of twenty, I was running around on my husband with a married man.

Then, at the age of twenty-four, I gave my heart away to yet another man, a mistake that would once again drastically change the course of my life.

My weaknesses, my choices, and my decisions—the ones I made and the ones I didn’t—all took me down a rocky road filled with regret, heartbreak, and pain. And eventually, they nearly killed me.

Would I change things if I could? Would I turn back time and do things differently?

Never.

This isn’t just my story, the story of a broken woman who lost her way. It’s also the story of my children, the men I loved, and the friends who were more family to me than my own.

This is the story of us all, all our fates intertwined. And for that reason alone, pain and death be damned, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Chapter One

It was a beautiful day. Montana was in full bloom, with nothing but green as far as the eye could see. The sun was shining, children were playing, and laughter was plentiful. All in all, it was just another typical summer barbecue at the Hell’s Horsemen motorcycle compound that, as usual, everyone was thoroughly enjoying.

That is, everyone except for me.

For me, the sun was too bright, the children were a painful reminder that my own daughter wasn’t present, and the laughter was just too darn loud. I felt suffocated by it all, wishing I were anywhere else, wishing I was anyone else . . . anyone but me.

“Dorothy?”

“Hmmm?”

I glanced up at the small group of friends encircling me: Kami, Mick and his wife, Adriana, and Eva, who was peering at me curiously. Those eyes of hers, too big and shockingly gray, seemed to see straight through me; no matter how desperately I tried to hide my feelings, she was always able to discern them. Although I supposed it came with her job.

Married to Deuce West, the president of the Hell’s Horsemen, one of Eva’s unspoken duties was keeping us women in line, ensuring any emotional problems we might have didn’t interfere with the men and their business.

All the same, she was the closest thing I had to a best friend, even if I wasn’t hers.

Kami, her childhood friend and the wife of another club member, held that precious title. I wasn’t jealous; I was just happy to be included in the inner circle. It hadn’t always been that way. Before Deuce had brought Eva home, life was very different inside the club for those of us who weren’t lucky enough to be married to one of the boys.

Women like me—sometimes called side pieces, muffler bunnies, seat warmers—were essentially club whores. Even though I had a somewhat elevated position within the club as a den mother of sorts, and was paid to cook and clean, I still had been considered a second-class citizen, expendable and easily replaced.

Eva had changed all that. She’d changed a lot about the way things worked, and during it all had become more like a sister to me than my own had ever been.

“I’m fine,” I lied, trying to smile. “The little one is kicking, is all.”

Being eight months along in my pregnancy, it was easy to blame my moods on the baby, but Eva was far from gullible. With her eyes full of pity, she nodded and turned away. I did the same, my gaze seeking out the reason I was here, standing amongst a club full of criminals and their families.

Already looking in my direction, Jase’s smiling eyes met mine. When his gaze dropped to my swollen stomach, his smile turned to a rather devilish grin.

Even after nearly seventeen years together, it was still painfully apparent how Jason “Jase” Brady, a married man with children, had been able to convince the dutiful wife and mother I’d once been to become his “club whore.” So much so that all I had to do was close my eyes and I could once again hear the bells jingling on the door, feel the wooden floor bend and creak below my feet, hear my own voice call out as it had on that day so many years before . . .

• • •

“Mornin’ Joey,” I had called out as I’d entered the neighborhood convenience store.

From behind the counter, Joe Weaver, a former classmate of mine, had glanced up from his Playboy magazine and flashed me a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth. “Mornin’, midget,” he’d said cheerfully. “You bring me any muffins today?”

“Sorry,” I said over my shoulder as I headed for the medicine aisle. “Teg’s got the flu. Poor thing has been throwing up all night.”

Grabbing what I needed, I headed toward the counter and began pulling my money from my pocket.

“Pete home with her?” Joey asked.

I shook my head. “He’s over the road again, this time for a month.”

“Who’s he haulin’ for now?”

“Not sure,” I said, shrugging.

My marriage wasn’t a typical one. We were more like roommates than anything else, roommates who couldn’t be bothered with each other.

His job hauling freight cross-country gave us the luxury of living apart from each other while still appeasing our parents’ wishes: to raise our daughter together.

But Pete usually didn’t tell me what he was doing or where he was going unless it directly concerned me, and I didn’t care enough to ask.

“He’s with a smaller company now,” I added. “Hauling paper, I think.”

While ringing up my purchases, Joey nodded distractedly. “So, your folks got Teg?”

I snorted softly. The idea of my parents ever willingly helping me was laughable. On a good day they considered me an embarrassment, but on most days, a failure they wanted nothing to do with.

“She’s with Mary.”

At the mention of my older sister’s name, Joey grimaced, and my lips twisted as I fought the urge to laugh. Mary was no one’s favorite person. Like most people in Miles City, she was religious and a right-wing conservative, but she took it to another level entirely, talking down to people who didn’t share her viewpoints, incessantly preaching to anyone who would listen, and even those who wouldn’t. Needless to say, she wasn’t Miss Popularity, but she was the only real estate agent in town and so, whether they liked it or not, people were forced to interact with her.

“Poor kid,” Joey muttered, handing me my change. “Sick and forced to hang with Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”

“You gave me the wrong change,” I said, handing him back my receipt. “You still owe me three dollars, look—”

The shop’s doorbell jingled loudly, and I glanced over my shoulder half expecting to see Marty, the town drunk, stumble inside to beg for his morning freebies.

Instead, a young man dressed in military fatigues stepped inside the small shop. Carrying a large green duffel bag, he paused upon entering and pulled his kepi off his head as he did a visual sweep of the store. When his gaze reached me, my breath caught in my throat.

He was gorgeous. His eyes were a deep, brilliant shade of blue, his dirty-blond hair was cropped close to his head, and his features were hard and chiseled, tanned to a perfect golden hue. His figure tapered nicely from broad shoulders to trim hips. The man was absolutely gorgeous, and I was stunned.

Furthermore, I didn’t recognize him, and this was Miles City, Montana, a small town where everyone knew everyone. As far as I knew, we didn’t have any new arrivals.

“Bathroom?” He raised his eyebrows.

In answer, Joey pointed toward the back of the shop, and we both watched as he shouldered his duffel bag and started through the store.

“Stop droolin’, D.” Joey’s voice was pinched, as though he was trying not to laugh. “You’re lookin’ like a bug-eyed leprechaun. And it ain’t a good look for ya.”

My cheeks burning, I shook my head. “I was just wondering who he was, is all.”

“He’s one of Deuce’s. Transplant from the Wyoming Horsemen chapter, or so I heard. Name’s Jason Brady, and accordin’ to some of Deuce’s boys who work at the auto shop in town, he’s in the Marine reserves.”

Deuce’s boys.

Deuce, the president of our town’s local motorcycle club, was one of the most frightening yet intriguing men I’d ever met. And I used the term “met” very loosely; I’d had very little contact with the leader of the Hell’s Horsemen, only minor encounters here and there around town. Deuce was a very private person, but as far as I knew, he was a decent enough man.

Unlike his father, Reaper, the former club president, Deuce took take care of Miles City. He’d taken control of several failing businesses around town and brought them back from near bankruptcy, he constantly donated money to the public schools and library, and a few years back, when my parents’ neighbor had lost his wife to cancer and was about to lose his farm due to her exorbitant medical bills, it was Deuce who had picked up the tab.

Even so, there were rumors that Deuce was involved with business that danced around the law, but Deuce and his boys were good to us, so other than the rumors and the idle chitchat between the gossipmongers, usually no one gave it a second thought.

“Sell smokes here?”

Jason Brady emerged from the bathroom no longer looking like an American hero. Dressed in leather boots, leather pants, a tight black T-shirt, and his leather Hell’s Horsemen cut, he now looked like one of Deuce’s boys. Except he was hands down the most clean-cut biker I’d ever seen. And he appeared to smell good too.

But that was pure assumption on my part. Or maybe wishful thinking. Because for some reason, I really wanted to get close enough to give him a sniff.

“Name’s Brady,” he said, smiling over my head in Joey’s direction. “Jase Brady.”

“Joe Weaver.” Pointing at me, Joey said, “And this here’s little Dorothy Kelley Matthews, resident ginger midget.”

Jase’s friendly gaze dropped down to where I stood and he looked me over, an embarrassingly slow and thorough perusal of all five foot nothing of me, from my head to my toes and back up again.

I felt my face heat. Not only were my holey jeans and plain tee covered in the remnants from a full morning of cleaning, but my hair was piled on top of my head in a messy bun, and I was sweating from the midday heat.

“Nice meetin’ you, baby,” he said, his lips curving. The tip of his tongue appeared and he very deliberately ran it across his full bottom lip.

Then it wasn’t just my face overheating but my entire body. Feeling suddenly drugged and my thoughts muddled, I pressed my hand over my stomach and swallowed hard.

“You . . . too,” I whispered.

“You got a nickname, little Dorothy Kelley Matthews?” he asked. “’Cause that’s a fuckin’ mouthful right there.”

My breath shuddered from my lungs in small spurts of air. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I speak? Or move?

Jase’s lips split into a grin. “Not that I mind a mouthful of pretty girl . . .”