Prizefight: The Hell Raiders MC Goes MMA (19 page)

              “Thanks for coming to get me, Lo,” Ma said as she interrupted my thoughts about Meg.

              “No problem, Ma. I’ll get one of the guys to bring your car to you later. Make sure it’s locked.” Ma dug her keys out of her huge ass purse and beeped the locks. We both got into the shop truck and I started it up.

              “Sure was nice of that Meg to help out. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

              “Yup, definitely nice of her.” I shifted the truck into drive, keeping my foot on the brake, knowing exactly where mom was headed with this.

              “You should ask her out.” All I could do was shake my head and laugh.

              “Straight to the point huh, Ma?”

              “I’m old, I can say what I want. Meg is just the thing you need.”

              “I didn’t know I needed anything.” I pulled out of the parking lot and headed to Ma’s house.

              “You need someone in your life besides that club.” My mom grabbed her phone out of her purse and started fiddling with it.

              “We’ll see, ma. Meg didn’t seem too thrilled with me.” She definitely liked what she saw, but it was like she couldn’t get away from me quick enough when she saw that Ma was going to be ok.

              “Well, you are pretty intimidating, Lo. Thank goodness you didn’t wear your cut.”

              My leather vest with my club rockers and patches was a part of me. “What the hell is wrong with my cut? If some bitch can’t handle me in my cut, she sure as shit doesn't belong with me,” I growled.

              “Not what I meant Lo. That girl has been hurt, you can see it in her eyes. You’ll have to be gentle with her.”

              My phone dinged. I dug it out of my pocket and saw my mom had texted me. “You texted me her number, ma?”

              “Use it, Logan, fix her,” she insisted.

              I sighed and pulled into mom’s driveway. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be fixed, ma. Maybe she has a boyfriend.”

              “She doesn’t. Call her, or I’ll do it for you,” she ordered.

              I knew my mom’s threat wasn’t idle. She totally would call Meg and ask her out for me. Fuck. “I’ll help you get your shit inside ma.”

              “I’ll make you lunch and then you can call Meg,” Ma said, as she jumped out of the truck and grabbed some bags.

              I watched her walk into her house and looked at the message she had sent me. I saved Meg’s number to my phone and grabbed the rest of Ma’s shit and headed into the house.

              Looked like I was calling Meg.

=======

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Kincaid
, from Marie James' Cerberus MC series.

By

Marie James

Kincaid

Copyright © 2016 Marie James

Editing by Mr. Marie James & Hale’s Harem Betas ;)

Cover design by Kari Ayasha of Cover to Cover Designs

EBooks are not transferrable. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

“Weapon!” I hear one of the SWAT guys in front of me yell. The sound of weapons discharging rings out, lasting mere seconds.

I’m fourth in line behind three Denver Police Department SWAT Officers, which means we split off in all directions once we cross the threshold into the dank, dark home. The smell inside is putrid and makes me immediately feel the need to shower. Most meth houses are like this, and I cringe knowing that a child has been living in these conditions.

One officer begins checking pulses on the three individuals in the living room. Another officer splits off into a bedroom to clear the closet, and the third clears another bedroom, leaving me with the kitchen. I can easily tell there are no other visible threats, but a sound from behind a closed door draws my attention. With my M4 at the ready, I turn the door knob and tug the door open.

“Holy fuck!” I gasp when I see a woman curled up on the floor of the tiny closet. “Josie? Joselyne Bennett?” I say doing my best to gain some composure.

“Yes,” she mutters weakly.

I would’ve never told Kaleb this, but I was certain we’d find Josie dead if we ever found her body at all. My chest constricts the way it always does when a situation turns out opposite of how I imagined it. Absolute, pure joy is what I’m feeling at the moment, but my face falls when I see the condition she’s in. She’s not out of the woods yet.

“Girl, we’ve been looking for your ass everywhere!” I can hardly contain my joy at knowing my cousin will not have to deal with the death of the woman he loves.

“Jesus didn’t know I was in the closet?” she asks with a hoarse voice.

Jesus? She’s delirious, no doubt from being starved and hog-tied in here for weeks.

“You being here is a miracle, darlin’, but this ain’t heaven. My name is Diego Anderson, and I have a cousin that’s going to be beside himself knowing we found you.”

I can tell she’s trying and failing to open her eyes against what has to be blinding light for her.

“Kaleb,” she whispers, and I can see the tremble of her lip.

I step out of the way as the SWAT team leader enters the room. I leave the room to head outside planning to call Kaleb, but I find him standing in the hallway looking into one of the bedrooms. He’s sobbing uncontrollably having no concern for the tears rolling down his face.

I walk up and clasp him on the shoulder. “Kaleb,” I whisper trying to get his attention. “She’s asking for you, man.”

He turns so quickly toward me he nearly loses his footing. I look past him and wince as a clearly deceased woman comes into view.

“What?” he asks with a slight shake of his head.

“Josie, man,” I tell him gently pulling him from the doorway and down the narrow hall. “Keep your shit together in there, Kaleb. She’s been through hell and looks it,” I warn him. “But you have to keep it together, man.” He nods as he makes his way into the crowded kitchen.

At the sight of her curled up on a filthy blanket just outside of the door he gasps, both in relief and torment from seeing her like this. I keep my hand on his back until he crouches down beside her.

“Kaleb,” I hear her whisper.

“I’m here, Josie,” he returns leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Short of her never being abducted in the first place, this is the best outcome anyone could’ve ever asked for.

I’m trying to be as quiet as I can, but I can’t keep the hiss from slipping past my lips as I wrap the thick, elastic bandage around my ribs. I should probably go to the hospital, but I know there’s nothing they can do about ribs even if they’re broken and not just severely bruised. They don’t hurt as bad as they did last time, and I know it would only mean more trouble for me if I alerted anyone to my injuries.

Using makeup too dark for my complexion, I apply liberal amounts around my eyes and my left cheek. I get better at this part each time I upset my husband. I wish I could figure out a way to keep from making him angry, and I wouldn’t have had to watch YouTube videos on how to cover bruises and the proper way to breathe with broken ribs. It’s a very sad day when society has such problems that necessitate videos for abused women. It makes me wonder what women did decades ago when they didn’t have the wonderful internet to help them.

I do my best to cover the gash on my swollen lip with lipstick and think about what caused this latest episode.

“Care to explain this?” Bobby asks holding up a small envelope.

I’m very familiar with the tattered container. My heart immediately begins to pound in my chest as my steps falter. I just got out of the shower, and the only protection I have from what I’m certain is going to be a horrible beating is the thin towel I have wrapped around my body.

My eyes cut to his and back to the evidence in his hands. That envelope contains every penny I’ve been able to hide from him the last two years that I’ve been working at Drifter’s. It’s not as much as one would think considering I’ve been stockpiling for what seems like forever.

“Explain!” he shouts waving the five hundred and twenty-three dollars in front of me.

“I’m saving for your birthday,” I respond quickly and cringe when I realize my mistake.

“My birthday was last month you stupid bitch!” He pockets the money, seething with anger.

His first strike is a closed fist to my mouth.

I inch myself closer to the mirror to inspect the shield I have to use more often than not. I’d been saving that money to finally leave him for good. He’s alienated me from my entire family. Well, I only have a few cousins left. My parents have been gone for years, and I’m an only child.

I have no one; he’s made sure of that. At only twenty-four years old, I’m a shell of the person I used to be. I’ve been in this situation so long I don’t remember the last time I woke up feeling safe or without worry of being hurt before the sun set again.

I met Robert Mikaelson at a party my junior year in high school. He spent the next couple of years alienating me from my friends and family. By the time I graduated high school, he’d moved me out of Utah away from my cousins and the aunt who took me in after my parents died. I haven’t spoken to them since. Six years we’ve been in Colorado; six years he’s been all that I know. It’s exactly the way he wants it.

***

Like he always does after an incident at the house, Bobby is sitting in the corner of the bar watching my every move. His mood seems better now than it does most nights, and I know that’s because he’s drinking away the five hundred dollars I’d been saving. I’ll never see a penny of it.

I guess I should count my lucky stars that he didn’t hurt me as bad as he could. It’s certainly not the worst punishment he’s doled out over the years. I don’t even want to think about the time he did actually break my ribs. That pain was beyond excruciating. I know his excitement over having a wad of cash to spend played a large part in the lesser sanction.

I keep the fake smile on my face as I make my rounds in the bar, filling drink orders and delivering them. I quickly dash away thoughts of starting my nest egg back up, but the insidious thought keeps filling my head. I know I have to leave. I know eventually he’ll kick me in just the right spot, and I’ll never be the same again, or I’ll end up dead.

I’ve been hopeless for so long that the possibility seems more like a fairy-tale than a feasible outcome. Praying he dies in a car accident hasn’t worked no matter how many times I’ve begged God to take him away. I went to the police once. Once. That was all it took for me to realize that the fat guy working the front desk had no desire to help me. That cry for help landed me in the hospital for three days under the guise of falling down the stairs at the apartment complex. The doctors didn’t believe me but were too busy to dig any deeper. Thank God they didn’t, or I’d be dead right now.

Dead. Doesn’t seem like such a bad thing as I walk around barely able to take a deep breath with the pain I feel on the right side of my body. Steel toe boots, I’ve discovered, are no match for bones.

I can’t hide the genuine smile on my face when the bikers walk through the front door and make their way to the back corner table. There are four men rather than the usual three. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping the three guys would show up tonight. Well, two of them anyways; the third guy is kind of a creep, but the other two are super sweet and easy on the eyes.

I work my tables quickly so I can make my way to them. I’m certain their order will be the same as it’s been the last couple of weeks, but I go to them to verify since they have an addition to the group this evening.

I stop short when I get close to the table. Shadow and Kid, as they introduced themselves a few weeks ago, are very good looking guys. The man with them tonight? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a beautiful creature before. Tattoos cover both arms from the wrists, disappearing under the sleeves of his t-shirt. His baseball hat does nothing to hide his soulful brown eyes and perfectly pouty lips, lips that are turned up in a knowing smirk as I make my way to their table.

I steel my expression immediately. He has bad boy written all over him. I cut my eyes to the table where Bobby is sitting. Thankfully his face is turned up watching something on the huge TV on the wall. I pray these guys behave tonight. This is the first time they, along with my husband, have been here together. They haven’t been inappropriate by normal standards, but Bobby’s standards aren’t normal. He’s a wuss when it comes to confronting other men, so any perceived transgression will be taken out on me, of that I’m certain.

“Hey guys,” I say with a smile as I near the table. “What can I get for you tonight?”

Although the smiling stranger remains silent, I can feel his scrutinizing gaze on my face. I cut my eyes to him. Biggest mistake I could’ve ever made. Once my eyes meet his, I’m locked in place, and I can’t look away. It’s as if I’m entranced and it’s up to him to give me permission to break my gaze.

“Don’t worry, honey,” I hear one of the guys say breaking the trance. I look over and see that it’s the creepy one who spoke. “All of the ladies react that way when they see Prez.” Creepy guy slaps the tattooed bad boy on the back.

Prez? My eyes cut to the patch over his heart on his worn leather vest. PRESIDENT.

I blush at being called out for my apparent appreciation of the leader of their group.

“Enough, Wrench,” the president chides. “Hey, darlin’,” he says with a mischievous smirk that makes my stomach flutter.

“Coors?” I ask hoping for a quick escape. Anything to get away from this man and the mouth that my eyes can’t seem to tear themselves away from.

“Please,” the president says drawing my attention back to his pouty lips.

I clear my throat, spin around, and leave the table. What the hell is wrong with me? I give Bobby a quick glance; thankfully his eyes are still glued to the TV. Not once have I ever even thought about cheating on Bobby, and I’m not thinking about it now, but there is just something about that man that has me… interested. I would never cheat. It’s not a moral issue for me at this point but rather a means of survival. Bobby would put the last nail in my coffin if he even suspected the thoughts I just had over that stranger’s mouth.

I give my head a slight shake and head to the bar to fill their drink order. I have a bad feeling about tonight, and my gut instinct is usually right on track.