by Hazel Parker
JAXSON
As soon as I saw her, I wanted her.
But I knew I couldn’t have her.
I’ve taken over as president of the Kinsmen MC.
My father started the club and now it’s left to me to keep things going.
Every inch of my life is boring and routine, until she walks into my bar.
Sweet brown eyes, wavy dark hair, kissable lips…I was done for.
If I have just one taste of her, I can let her go – at least that was the plan.
Now the club is in trouble, and it’s up to me to save them. Isabelle White starts to be the only thing keeping me together.
I just hope I can save the club, without losing her in the process.
JAXSON
KINSMEN MC BOOK 1
HAZEL PARKER
J.C. ALLEN
Copyright © 2019 by Hazel Parker
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
1. Jaxson
2. Isabelle
3. Jaxson
4. Isabelle
5. Jaxson
6. Isabelle
7. Jaxson
8. Isabelle
9. Isabelle
10. Jaxson
11. Isabelle
12. Jaxson
13. Jaxson
14. Isabelle
15. Isabelle
16. Jaxson
17. Jaxson
18. Isabelle
19. Jaxson
20. Isabelle
Epilogue - Jaxson
Also by J.C. Allen
Derek
1
JAXSON
The stretch of the open road is this only thing I can enjoy these days. The feeling of my bike riding across the asphalt, winding down the road, with only me in control of it. I need to have the control.
Unfortunately that gets interrupted for me when I reach the Club entrance, Kinsmen has been in my longer than I can remember but after Dad passed, it’s only been haunting me every day I show up.
I park my bike in its usual spot in the back and kick my leg over the bike before the engine is even off. Walking inside, I greet the usual people on the way that I see everyday. Joe, the mechanic, Sean, our bouncer, and Frank, the cook and occasional server when people actually order food.
The club has always moonlighted as a bar and tap room, our day job, I suppose.
I walk to the back to start what I came to do in the first place. Which is my everyday task of pretending to work in the office before I end up kicking back with one of my brothers. Today is different, though, because Mom walks in with her usual smile a few hours before her usual lunch time drop off.
“Jaxson, I brought you some breakfast.” Her smile widens as she sets down an ordinary plastic container. I smile back at her, still finding it hard to believe why people say I’m a spitting image of her. With our same brown hair and brown eyes, I suppose they might be right.
“Thank you.” It’s only just after eleven, and I already smell that she brought me her signature biscuit recipe. I’m not watching my waist line or anything, so it doesn’t really matter that I eat them every fucking day.
“You’re welcome. Try not to work too hard today.” She gives me her stern look but at twenty-eight, it only makes me smile now.
“You’re telling me?” I ask her, raising my brow as I look down at her. Way down, because she’s a measly five foot two and I’m six three.
“I have the safest job in the world.” She says sarcastically, an ER nurse is far from safe and I agree. But it’s a small town. The worst injuries she’s seen have been here at the club.
“I’ll be back before dinner tonight though, you and your brothers should come. I haven’t seen you all together in a long time.” She sighs. In her scrubs and leather jacket, she still looks like the mom I’ve always had. But in the past year, it’s been hard to see the light go out in her eyes a little bit after our dad died.
“Well we aren’t in high school anymore, Mom, we won’t be together everyday.”
She smiles at that, but it’s one of her sad ones and I feel semi bad for it.
“Fine. Just ask them.”
We say our goodbyes and then she’s gone. I’m alone in my office for the better part of the afternoon, again avoiding doing any actual work. The biscuits only keep me occupied for so long. I answer some of the phone calls from the local businesses that we work with for support, being a part of the community is what actually makes it easy to be part of a club. The misconceptions get in the way a lot but they’re true, for the most part. We just do our shit and don’t cause any trouble we don’t have to.
After that, I start looking over the prospects. It’s nothing official, just notes that I keep, detailing how much I do and do not like certain people. The thing about prospects is how fresh and irritating they actually are. Thinking being in the club means they can wreak havoc on the city just cause they have the cut. I’ll be fucked if I let just anyone join, it’s the first year after Dad passed and it’s up to me to not fuck it up.
Our clubs weren’t like the others. Irish origin, small town in Minnesota… we kind of get to make our own rules. But it doesn’t mean we can tarnish the name of MC clubs. It’s like a brotherhood, a comradery so deeply instilled that you couldn’t shake it with a hurricane. So I can’t let just anyone in. The three prospects we had last year—bad idea.
It gets to three pm before I even think about calling my brothers. I know where Matthew will be because he is fully devoted to the club, more so than me. We all grew up together, my three brothers and I, but Simon distanced himself as we got older and then completely last year when dad died. Zeke is the youngest and still follows everyone around, which is fine, he’s only twenty one. But Matthew has been in for a while but is always there if I need him.
I find Matthew exactly where I suspected, under the hood of his Mustang he never drives, because like the rest of us, bikes are what we know. I decide to throw a wrench at him to get his attention, it lands on the back of his jean-clad thigh and he barely winces as he looks up.
“Fuck off.” He greets, but with a smile as he straightens out. Just as tall as me, but way beefier, we look just about the same and are only a year apart. We got into the most trouble growing up.
“Mom wants us to have dinner with her.”
He rolls his eyes as hard as possible. Then he wipes his hands off on the rag and leans on the hood of the car.
“Are we twelve?” He sighs with dramatics. I chuckle under my breath and shrug.
“Might as well be. We should go, she’s lonely. Especially after Dad.” I look off past him and silence ensues as it always does with the mention of Dad. Jay Kinsmen was a legend in the mc community, everyone’s hero around here. But to us, he was just our Dad at the end of the day.
“Yeah. We should probably do whatever she wants us to do. I’ll fucking take a bed time story if needed.” He half chuckles under his breath and scratches at his beard. He’s been trying to grow it out for I don’t know how long, but it finally takes up half his face and makes him look like a fucking lumberjack on a motorcycle.
“I’m with you there. You gotta call Simon though.”
He groans the same way I do internally. Simon is… hard to deal with. Always has been, but he’s only gotten worse. I don’t know how else to describe my older brother other than he’s an asshole.
“I’ll call him. He’s probably at one of his site
s anyway.” He nods to himself and gets his phone out of his pocket, wipes the screen on his gray tee shirt spotted with oil.
“What are you working on out here anyway?” I ask him as he scrolls to call.
“Just tuning the engine.”
“Is there really that much more you can do to it?” I circle around the car, “it seems like any more you do to it will make it fall apart.”
He snorts, “Yeah right. It doesn’t work that way.” He cuts off to answer the phone. I briefly hear him ask and then have to curse him out. Probably because Simon says some stupid shit all the time.
“Yeah see you, fuck you.” Matthew hangs up. I chuckle at them. They’re actually the two out of all of use that get along the most. I don’t think I really got closer with any of them more than the other. Probably because I’m kind of in the middle.
“Is he coming?”
“Should be.” Matthew answers.
I hang out in the garage until he finishes his tinkering. We walk back in to see a few patrons at the bar, all regulars. It’s an incredibly rare occurrence for someone new to show up here, so we all take notice when they do.
And I do.
She sits at the end of the bar, like a sore thumb except she isn’t, because something about her just makes her… I can’t place it. I walk by and try not to stare so that Matthew especially doesn’t dog me about it.
We stop at the end of the bar where Frank offers us beers and we accept. While they chat, it’s my chance to look over at her again.
She is sitting at the far end of the bar, her striking brown hair shines under the dim lighting, that’s usually unflattering over the bar. But on her it just sets her on fire. Her big, soft brown eyes blink up at the television screen, every few seconds she’ll sip on her straw, at what looks like a plain vodka cran. I realize I’m staring but it’s too late, before she looks my way.
I glance off and it’s probably the most awkward thing to happen to me since high school, and in a small town, no one ever forgets the awkward things.
“Jax?”
“Huh?” I bring myself back to the situation, Matthew stares at me expectantly. I guess he asked me something.
“What?”
“We need another bar night, for the prospects and such.” He fills me in. I glance at Frank, who only shrugs like it’s official business and up to us, which it is.
“Let’s uh—” I’m distracted by the scratch of a bar stool and coins clattering on the wood bar top. I look to find it’s her, the woman leaving. And I watch her walk out the door without being able to say or do anything, which doesn’t happen. It shouldn’t at least, not to me. It isn’t the swing in her hips or drop of her shoulders, long hair flowing down her back… it’s just something else.
“Talk in the office.” I finish.
Matthew nods and we walk through to the back. A makeshift conference room of an oval table and chairs sit with out cut symbol over the table; a Celtic cross wrapped with skulls and a ribbon that says Kinsmen on it, it’s green in the center unless we have it in black and white on our jackets. I took mine off a few hours ago, but we usually wear it almost all the time.
“I don’t want them to think all we do is party.” I sit at one of the chairs and he drops next to me.
“It’s not a party, man. It’s drinks at the bar. Pool, darts. No big deal.” He shrugs.
I sigh and rub at my forehead. As soon as I sat down it’s suddenly felt like a long hard day.
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” I evade the subject.
“Head ass.” He chortles.
“Fuck off.”
We look at some of the prospects together but decide to get Zeke’s opinion on the others over dinner, or after, since Mom hates having business at the table. Simon will probably avoid the conversation all together but we’re used to that by now. I hope he comes around but I can’t force him to.
Matthew and I ride back to the house together coattail on the road. Some people honk at us on the opposite side, and I guess they know us, I just can’t see who it is from the bike, I drive way too fast. I’ve always had the same bike, only thing I changed was the seat when I got taller, the handle bars too.
On the way, I keep images of the mystery girl flashing in my head. I’m almost glad she didn’t pay with a credit card, I don’t think I would have stopped myself from looking at her name. Just to have something to put with the face. Her pretty fucking perfect face.
We pull in the back garage and Zeke’s bike is already there. Matthew and I walk in together, with our cuts on, though he changed his shirt since it was spattered with oil. Already, we smell what Mom is cooking in the kitchen.
We’ve lived in the same house since we were children. It’s modest, we each had our own rooms though, and a pool in the backyard. Land is just cheap here, though, and Dad was buddies with a guy in construction, the same one Simon works for now. The back door leads right into the living room, then a single hallway down to the kitchen where we find Mom. Upstairs is all one row down the rooms, though I haven’t been in that bedroom in years, for more than a few hours at a time.
“Hello boys, nice of you to finally show up.”
I glance at the clock and it’s after seven. Matthew and I must have really lost track of time.
“Whatever.”
I greet Zeke, who looks boyish as ever in his jeans and hoodie, but he has always looked that way. Or I just think he does since he is the youngest.
“I made steaks.” Mom shouts over the kitchen fan. She’s changed into her usual jeans and sweater she wears around the house and tied her long hair up.
As she smiles at us, her eyes crinkle and it’s the only place she actually shows her age sometimes.
“Thanks, Mom. I can finish up. You’ve been on your feet all day.” Matthew convinces her to sit, he’s the only one out of us that can cook real food.
Simon trickles in a few minutes later, looking like he doesn’t want to be here until he sees Mom. He looks the most like dad, out of all of us. A bit taller, darker hair and eyes, harder look to his face. Dad was like that, he looked mean, but he was probably the nicest guy in a room most of the time. You just had to get him talking.
“Thanks Mom, this is great.” Zeke breaks the silence that has been over the dinner table for half the meal.
“You’re welcome… so how are the projects going, Simon?”
He stops mid bite to answer. “Pretty good. We’ve had a few new ones come in.” He swallows. “How is the club?” he asks, almost like he has to force himself to or he doesn’t really want to know.
“Good.” The other three of us almost answer at the same time.
“Uh, we have a bar night tomorrow. You should come, bring the guys.” Zeke says to Simon. He usually gets Simon to come around, maybe it’s because he pulls the big brother card on him all the time.
Simon may not want to do the club thing, but he’s a family guy, and we’re brothers.
“That isn’t for sure though.” I say, kind of pissed that Matthew already said it was.
“Yeah, it is.”
I roll my eyes. But thoughts of the bar bring me back to the mystery girl.
I have to see her again.
2
ISABELLE
“It will be a few hours before it’s ready.”
The nice, but very sweaty mechanic is all but nice about telling me that. I nod slowly, looking around at the empty garage. Not sure why it would take a few hours, I nod again anyway and thank him.
“Thanks. I’ll just wait at…” I look around and notice there aren’t any chairs as I hoped there would be.
“You don’t want to wait in here.” He scratches at his bald head and already moves to walk away. “There’s a bar across the street at the club.” He practically waves me off so that I’ll leave. With no reason to argue, I do.
I step outside and the light spring air of Minnesota hits me hard. I hate small towns, I can see the border from here where I stand on a stretch of
land, with small shops spread across it. Soon, everyone will know about a new person in town. I would rather live close to the big city, but this is much cheaper, and the drive to campus isn’t that far.
Unless my car breaks down, and only by luck am I seconds from a mechanic. He was excited at first, that I went to him instead of this place across the street. I walk up along the drive and pass dozens of bikes, they look like the kinds from movies and shows, but I hope it’s just a coincidence. Until I see a logo printed on every other door and path on the way to the entrance. Something with skulls and a cross that kind of looks like a cult. But I doubt that would be out here in plain sight.
I feel dressed perfectly for the bar in jeans and plain gray tee shirt. I walk inside to the sound of alternative rock playing over speakers so soft I barely hear it, the television static from the games on them, and two guys playing pool towards the back. I’m not usually a timid person, I don’t think, but I walk down the bar cautiously until I reach a seat at the very end.
The bartender has his back turned to me, counting money at the drawer it seems. I clear my throat but it doesn’t reach. It isn’t until I pull the chair back to sit and the sound screeches against the floor that he takes notice.
“Hey, sorry I didn’t see you there.” He grins. I can’t really place his accent that comes with his deep voice. He has darker hair with lighter eyes, blue or green, I can’t really see from hair. But the gray hair at his temples tell me he is a bit older.
“No problem. Can I just get a vodka-cran please?” It’s my go to drink when I don’t know where I am, or if I’m not sure of the bar’s cocktails.
“Sure, Titos okay?”
I nod once. He smiles kindly and makes the drink. Even though he’s huge, muscled and all, he doesn’t seem like a scary guy. The two dudes at the other end of the bar, though, look like they belong on their monster bikes.
The place seems older but not like it’s out of date. The wall on my left has dart boards, pool tables under it, and the speakers in the back. The rest of the bar has small circular tables situated in the center, decorated with that logo sealed on the top of the tables. I wonder what it means, but not enough to want to ask.