Jaxson (Kinsmen MC Book 1)

by Hazel Parker

  Black combat boots and dark jeans that fit the thighs in the right places and—other areas, up to a tight gray flannel shirt and black leather jacket over it. Then a sculpted, hardened face; full pink lips pursed in permanent irritation, and brown eyes that should otherwise be kind but are very, very mean.

  “Isabelle.”

  I literally gulp, in surprise and a little bit of fear, but not in that way, before I drop the notebook and I stand up. He is still incredibly tall, handsome, and smells oh so divine.

  “Jaxson.” My fingers feel slick with sweat already, under my sweater I feel drenched and overheated. Just from him looking at me.

  “Are you here to tell me I don’t belong in grocery stores either?” I clear my throat, telling myself he is just a man and that I shouldn’t be afraid to talk to him.

  “No.”

  I think I almost see him smile until he furrows his brow and seems to survey his surroundings.

  “Are you in high school?” he seems to scoff at his question under his breath, like he can’t believe it.

  I laugh once and his eyes dart to mine quickly, looking me over from head to toe. And he does that twitch with his lips that makes me think he might smile.

  “No. Grad school.” I softly explain.

  “How old are you?” He asks, his voice is so gruff, I almost want to ask him why he is so angry.

  “That’s none of your business.” I let out an incredulous laugh.

  “Fair enough.” He clears his throat and stuffs his hands in his jean pockets, as if there is even any space.

  “Is that what you came up to ask me?” I distract myself by grabbing two notebooks and two packs of pens so I can busy myself by walking to the checkout. I’m surprised that he follows.

  “No. I didn’t expect to see you, I came to get ointment.”

  That makes me stop right in my tracks and I find his brows raising up as his cheeks even darken a bit.

  “For my hand.” He pulls his left hand out of his pocket to show me what he is talking about.

  His knuckles are barely bruised but the skin is peeling over his pinky a bit. I take his hand without thought looking to survey it and quickly release it once I realize I was just holding onto his hand.

  “Hmm. Looks rough.” I turn and continue to the register. I always use self checkout but this time I go to a real teller.

  For the protection, I suppose.

  “I wanted to apologize.” He forces it out like he isn’t used to saying it. And I don’t think he is, either.

  “For what?” I wait patiently as the young cashier rings my items. I snagged candy bars on the way, not at all embarrassed by eating candy alone and having witnesses.

  “I was rude. I shouldn’t have been. Even though I was right.”

  I ignore looking at him, rolling my eyes at him too. He is inches away from me and yet I feel like he is on top of me.

  Suffocating me with his intensity and aura. I wonder who the hell Jaxson is and why he has such an effect on me.

  “What an apology.” I pay my total and snag my one bag, heading out the door.

  “Well, it is one.”

  “So I should just accept it and move on?”

  “I mean it, Isabelle. No need to hold a grudge or whatever.”

  I ignore him, not only is he an asshole, but he’s an arrogant asshole. I reach my car and wish I had diverted him or not gone to my car. But I don’t think he’s a creep or a serial killer, it doesn’t come off that way at all.

  “I’m not. Thank you, for your version of an apology. But it doesn’t really matter to me. I don’t know you, you don’t know me.” I turn around and face him, mustering up every ounce of courage I have ever had. “You said you don’t want me around, I’m not around. You’re coincidentally in the same place I am and I can’t help that. But you were very adamant about never speaking to me again, so what changed that?”

  Jaxson stares down at me, barely missing a beat, unlike my breath. I figure he doesn’t even plan on answering me, and so I load my bag in the car and move to follow it inside. I’m pissed, even more than that. I’m frustrated yet again and hate how I feel tears pricking my eyes.

  Jaxson doesn’t mean anything to me, he doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t, at least. I just met him and it was barely a meeting. Despite naturally lacing his fingers with mine and holding my waist, brushing his lips against my ear—I have no idea who he is.

  He could be a criminal biker dude. He could be on the run. He could be the opposite, I don’t know.

  All I know is that I have dreamt about him and that’s weird. It’s more than weird. And that I have experienced more confusion with him than with my last boyfriend. How can he tell me not to come around and that I don’t belong anywhere near him and then confidently approach me in a convenience store? It doesn’t make sense.

  “I shouldn’t have said that to you before. I was just worried. Seeing you there at the club.”

  “There were other women at the club.” I say matter of factly, I’m blocked between my open door and him and he recognizes I have no way out until he pleases. He easily takes control of every situation and it isn’t fair.

  “Yeah but not like you.”

  “Like me?” I gape.

  “Yes. Innocent. Clueless.”

  “How many times will you insult me in twenty four hours?”

  “I don’t mean—Jesus you just know how to twist my words?”

  “It’s not twisting, you just called me clueless. Unless clueless means something different to you.”

  “I mean that those other women come looking for trouble, wanting the danger. Expecting something to happen to them. That’s not you.”

  I open my mouth to speak but I have no way of telling him he is right. That isn’t why I went, and it’s not what I want out of life at all.

  “And I was right. Guys fight in the bar all the time, you could have gotten hurt.”

  “Well I wasn’t. And I can take care of myself. Regardless.” I purse my lips up at him, and once again I could swear, he is about to smile.

  “I know that. I just… didn’t want you to have to.”

  “Why, you don’t know me?”

  “I want to.” He snaps his eyes closed and exhales as if he didn’t mean to say that.

  I raise my brow at him, waiting for an elaboration or something. When he opens his eyes again they are the softest I have ever seen them, he even relaxes his jaw a little. I have a feeling that rarely happens.

  “I don’t meet women like you around here, Isabelle. It doesn’t—I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “Well, you could mind your own business, that’s for one.” I cross my arms and he feigns a hurt voice.

  “Hey, I’m trying to be nice here.”

  “You should try harder.” I laugh a few times, he even chuckles a bit. I wish he hadn’t, he really has no business getting any hotter.

  “I will. If you’ll let me. Maybe we can start over.”

  “So instead of meeting in a motorcycle club we’ve met in a grocery store?”

  “Seems like as good a start as any. My parents met in a pub.”

  That makes me smile, because the mention of his parents make him seem more human. Like a regular man and not some handsome god with boundary issues. And control problems.

  I take a deep breath and go against my conscience, despite whatever the consequences may be.

  “Okay… fine.”

  5

  JAXSON

  “You’re pissed.”

  “I am more than pissed.”

  Zeke only laughs at that, as if it is funny. I suppose it is, in hindsight. Or maybe I will find it funny tomorrow, when I am no longer in the middle of this situation. Bar room brawls are not what this club is about.

  “You should be glad.” Matthew says some stupid shit. Behind the bar, he is smiling wide as can be, leaning his hands on either side of the bar as he laughs at my expression.

  “Excuse me?” I grab broken glass from th
e ground and stick it in the sharps bucket.

  “I mean, better they did it now then before they joined the club. Before I figured out they were air heads.” He shrugs. He has the other prospects, which seemed to be doing fine.

  “Yeah. I guess. I’m just not one for picking up glass and—” I stop myself before I give too much away. About Isabelle, specifically.

  I can’t get the look in her eyes out of my head, frozen on the spot to two guys acting like animals. And then with me, being told to leave. I probably could have done it in a better way, but I was bothered enough by her just being here. By her being in any sort of danger, in the wrong place for her; and I still have no idea why.

  “And?” Matthew prompts me. I ignore him and continue with the glass on the floor. They must have broken at least five cups. Not like we have the best cups in the universe, but still.

  “Nothing.” I cut him off.

  He laughs because he knows he is getting to me.

  No way will I tell them about Isabelle now. They will just convince me to give in to my urges, and I’ll listen. And I know what they are. To have her right here in this club, bent over the table—any table, in one of the back rooms even though it’s for all the hook ups the guys have, and I swore I would never use it.

  “Some girl, probably.” Zeke snickers his annoying chuckle of a laugh. I look over and glare at him, he always had a boyish look that made it hard to stay mad at him. I’m not that much older than him, but he will always look young to me. Like a kid. I about shit myself the first time he got on a real bike, Mom said I was just officially a big brother. He has lighter hair out of all of us, always wears it messy under a baseball cap and made his cut into a vest. He is most definitely still a kid at heart though, knows how to get me to loosen up.

  “Shut up.” I shake my head almost immediately. I shouldn’t have said anything at all.

  “See, told ya.” Zeke lets out that irritating snicker again and even Matthew joins him.

  I shake my head at them both and flip them off before I go to grab the broom. I get the last of the glass off the ground before I return to the main room. They’ve put the chairs back up where they should go. The place looks like nothing even happened. It wasn’t the first fight to be in this place and I know it won’t be the last.

  “So, who is she?” Zeke pops open two beers and coaxes me to the bar. We sit with Matthew while he is closing up, which just includes wiping everything down and plugging the liquor bottles.

  “There is no she.” I mutter, then take a sip of my beer. Zeke doesn’t buy it though, and I knew he wouldn’t.

  “Come on, I wouldn’t tell a soul. Not even Mom.”

  He laughs, and I look at him from the corner of my eye. That would be the most important thing, actually. If she keeps telling to find an old lady, I might shoot myself in the foot. I know where she is coming from, wanting someone to take care of me or whatever. But that’s not all they’re for, and she is very old fashioned.

  “I don’t know her. I saw her in here yesterday and then again tonight. I told her to leave.”

  “What?” Matthew says with a laugh. He stops what he is doing, throwing the blue towel over his shoulder, and leaning on the bar in front of us with both hands.

  “I second that.” Zeke burps obnoxiously. I again roll my eyes at them and take a swig of my beer. It isn’t even my favorite.

  “I… this place is no good for a girl like her. She seemed nice and sweet.”

  “Maybe that’s her cover. Besides, you can’t just tell a woman what to do.” Matthew laughs in a way that says ‘even I know that’ and shakes his head at me.

  “I know that, it’s not like I—she was. And I’ve never seen her around anywhere before. She’s new to town. And this isn’t the place to get acquainted with the locals.” I spin my beer in my fingers and avoid their gazes as my brows tighten up. I swallow back the acid from the beer and think things over in my head.

  I know I was wrong. And I probably hurt her feelings, too. But I don’t plan on ever seeing her again. I think I got my point across to her.

  “Whatever dude. That was still pretty shitty. And even I know that.” Zeke smirks at me. I look over at him and lose whatever irritation I had, it’s just the way he is. He’s never been in a relationship before, not a real one at least, and not lasting more than a month or so. It’s not even that he is a womanizer, he just knows how to have fun and that usually involves women for him.

  “I get that. But… I don’t know. She wasn’t like the women that come in and out of here, I could tell.”

  “Well you never know, she could have been your old lady.”

  I frown at Matthew. He brazens his hands and gets back to cleaning down the bar.

  “I second that.” Zeke chuckles.

  “Alright, I get it.”

  I finish my beer and then set off to close up the place. I shut all the lights off, except the ones out back. I end up stopping in the back office, the one Dad used to use. No one has been in there regularly since he passed, none of my brothers either. But something comes over me and I walk inside.

  The draft hits me first, and it still smells like his old cologne and occasional cigar. Mom tried to get him to stop smoking them. It didn’t work, this must be where he went to do it.

  It’s a small space. It opens up to the wooden desk and office chair he probably hadn’t replaced since he opened up the club here. Our cut is displayed above the desk, plastered on the wall, a bookshelf comes up around it with books no one has probably read in years. The far left wall has motorcycle parts on the ground, and the other side has a huge wall of family and club pictures. Some of them are even from back in Ireland. We have only been to the original club once because we hate flying. But there are only two of us, we don’t have a national charter or anything or a higher power telling us what to do. It’s why when we’re strapped for money and resources, there really is nothing we can do. Like right now.

  My eyes settle on a picture of Dad with all of us, he seemed healthy at that time, I know it was a few months before he died. I don’t know if it was some sort of stress he didn’t tell any of us about, or if he was sick… but one day he was here and the next he was gone. I wish we had time to prepare. And that Mom didn’t have to deal with it. I promised him I would keep this place going, make it stronger than ever.

  It’s only recently, that I’ve wondered if I actually can.

  AS SOON AS I wake up, with a pounding headache, I rummage through my disappointing kitchen only to find I have nothing besides beer and two frozen dinners. I could say I live a simple life, or that I just don’t shop. My Mom would be pissed if she saw this place right now.

  I take a piss and shower, dress in jeans, flannel, and my cut. I woke up in the middle of the day but I’ll just ignore that fact.

  The roads are open, the weather exactly how it should be on a Sunday. I live right outside of town, for a bit of seperation from the club when I need it. So I have to actually go into town, for the convenience store. By the time I arrive, my headache is gone anyway and I would have taken my truck if I stopped for groceries.

  So it’s like I am just killing time until I spot a familiar mane of brown hair from across the store. I try to ignore the mother and her kids skipping as fast as they can away from me. I barely even look like a biker, compared to the other guys. It must be the heavy combat boots and recognizable leather jacket.

  I’m more than nervous, to talk to her. But I feel like I have to.

  “Isabelle.” I walk up to her.

  I try my hardest not to let my eyes settle on her pert ass as she is bent over. She rises slowly, looking at me with caution. I feel a sigh of relief escape through my nose at the look of her brown eyes, seeing them up close and in person again. I was settled on never seeing them again.

  “Jaxson.” Her voice is softer than I remember, or maybe quieter when the only background noise is the beep of the cashier and scratch of shopping carts in the distance. It even smells like a gr
ocery store, but her soft, floral scent overtakes it.

  “Are you here to tell me I don’t belong in grocery stores either?” she clears her throat and I can tell she is nervous. It’s… cute. That’s the word. It’s the perfect way to describe her.

  I keep my voice low and even. “No.” I fight the smile curling at my lips, I haven’t smiled in a long time, or genuinely wanted to unless I was at a family dinner.

  “Are you in high school?” the thought comes fast when I notice she is in a school supply section and looking at bright colored notebooks.

  “No. Grad school.” She replies, with a soft voice.

  “How old are you?” I ask, and my voice comes out rougher than I wanted it to. I almost sound angry, but the thought came quickly too. I’m a fresh twenty-eight, but she looks so young, I wouldn’t be surprised if she said she was twenty.

  “That’s none of your business.” Her laugh is more uncomfortable than anything else.

  “Fair enough.” I clear my throat and stuff my hands in my jean pocket, to keep from touching her. And to somehow hide the way my dick twitches at the sight of her. Those full pink lips she has, her soft skin…Jesus.

  “Is that what you came up to ask me?” She huffs out a breath, then grabs a pink and green notebook I fight hard not to.

  “No. I didn’t expect to see you, I came to get ointment.” It comes out wrong, before I think about it yet again. It sounded better than saying I need Aleve or some shit. Makes me sound old.

  I can tell she is also shocked about what I said by the way she stops and turns around, gives me a good ‘what the fuck’ kind of look.

  “For my hand.” I slowly respond, I even show her.

  That one knock out tore up my skin, I didn’t know his jaw would have so much kick back. Plus it was a sloppy punch, almost like my first.

  The way my body reacts, though, when she grabs me, is another thing I didn’t expect at all. Her soft fingers are the world’s greatest contrast to my rough and calloused ones. From gripping the bike and occasionally working in the garage. I watch her subconsciously bite her bottom lip before her eyes dart to mine and she quickly pulls her hand from mine. I fight every urge to grab on tight and not let her go. When she touches me… fuck.