Havoc- Reapers MC Boxset

by Elizabeth Knox

  I pulled my hand back to my side and looked over my shoulder, my breath still hitched to the back of my throat. That must’ve been Carter. God, it took her long enough to come all the way down here.

  I didn’t let the time pass too long for me to get to the front door. When I opened it, sure enough, there was Doctor Carter smirking back at me.

  “Good to see you, Rob-dear.”

  “Likewise,” I mutter.

  She was a stubby looking platinum blonde with thirty years of experience in her experience with obstetrics. I’m pretty sure the entire neighborhood has called her at least once to handle their litters since she’s only a heartbeat away. I moved aside, and she stepped in, her duffle bag weighing her down to the floor. I offered to take it from her hands, and she gladly let me. As she pushed her thick red glasses up the bridge of her nose, the Doctor examined the house around her.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve been here.” The woman tutted as I guided her to the living room,

  “Not since Ashley was born. It feels colder since her mother left us.”

  I interrupted her, pulling her from her trip down memory lane back into reality “She’s over here, Doc.”

  “Ah, there’s my girl.” The woman passed me and started over to her slump body.

  I followed her with the duffle bag across my shoulder while she took the time to inspect her wounds. The weight of it slid off my shoulder as I carefully placed the massive thing on the coffee table. Doctor Carter shook her head, and I felt my stomach go sick with her silent reflection.

  “Norma,” I say.

  “Find me some scissors, Blackjack.” She finally spoke, and I stilled. “We can’t move her legs too much the way she is now.”

  Chapter 4

  Ashley

  I don’t remember waking up; I don’t even remember being moved into my old bedroom. I just felt the pain, the swirling pain that didn’t stop. It was like a record on repeat, my own personal hell.

  “No,” I whispered slowly, my voice feeling ever so real.

  The little white bed frame stilts were beside my legs, and I could see the little angel perched on the mirror of my vanity desk. As I slowly sat up, I felt the rustle of sheets sink away from my shoulders. A cramp came down on my abdomen, but it was nowhere near as sharp what I had felt before. The nausea was still sitting in my stomach though.

  I took a deep breath to catch a hold of my lungs and stop my heart from trembling in my ribcage. As soon as I exhaled, I coughed at the chilly wind tickling the inside of my neck.

  My throat felt so raw.

  Had I been crying in my sleep all this time?

  The thought made me feel so tired as I blinked the tears from my moist eyes. With a steady hand, I rubbed away the salty drops that stung to my cheeks. My eye didn’t feel as bruised anymore. If anything, the swelling went down a couple notches, and my skin was naturally smooth again. I looked up at the vanity mirror before me and saw myself for the first time in what felt like forever. My face was just as it should have been.

  I pulled my thick hair back to take a better look. The bruising had paled into a soft lavender shadow across my brow so that it was barely noticeable.

  My hands were just about to pull the covers off from my body when suddenly, I found myself stopping. The sheets were clenched in my hands, but I couldn’t bear to pull them away. I hear the sound of the doorknob starting to turn, and I nearly jump from the shock.

  I watched the door as it slowly pushes away from the frame to reveal a man I hardly expected to find in my bedroom.

  Blackjack, otherwise known as Rob.

  “Rob,” I mutter softly.

  His dark eyes looked at me for the first time in years, surprised to see me awake.

  “Ashley.”

  I took a deep breath as he stepped into the room. There was that warm, sweet drop of surprise overwhelming that sick feeling in my head. Robert “Blackjack” Walters and I were friends from the past—but after all this time, we’re more likely acquaintances.

  The thing was, I didn’t know why Blackjack had that effect on me. Of course, he was one of the most genuine of men in Montana aside from my family of men; he was also one of the most down to Earth bachelors that made every single (and married) woman cry the day he left for the military.

  Every woman except for me. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. He avoided me. Or maybe I avoided him. Our history is complicated, but right now it comes rushing back like it was just yesterday. I never could understand why I had these feelings for a man who was fourteen years my senior. A man that I shouldn’t have wanted. A man that shouldn’t have wanted me.

  “How are you feeling?” He asks as he sat beside me on the bed, snapping me out of my trip down memory lane. Based on the white container he was carrying, I could assume he wasn’t just stopping in to say hello.

  “Better than yesterday.”

  His expression changed in that instant.

  “It’s been four days since you came home, Monroe.”

  My eyes widened, “You’re kidding me.”

  Blackjack shook his head with soberness. I touched my palm up to my forehead, struggling to believe this was real.

  I’d been clocked out for four days, and the world was still spinning around me. My father. Jesus, he must have thought for the worst when I passed out in front of him. Thank God that Cracker was with him this entire time. And Blackjack—I wouldn’t even be awake by now if it weren’t for him.

  Suddenly, he puts his warm hand on mine, and I stilled in that frame. It was so warm.

  “You mind if I strip away the old bandages for you?” He asks me with a soft look.

  I shake my head. “Not at all.”

  With a hand at the blanket, I pry away the sheets and a slow exhale of relief escapes my lungs. No blood. Just clean, fresh sheets below my mummified legs. They were bandaged up pretty good given that the bruises bad enough to stop me from walking.

  Blackjack had opened the container and prepped the gauze rolls and ointment bottle beside my feet. I watched him as he stood up to peel away the remaining bandages as carefully as he could. Whenever I so much as flinched, he automatically stopped his peeling and resumed once my leg settled down. The process was half as bad as waxing but knowing that he was gentle made me feel safe. Honestly, I haven’t felt that way in a while.

  Despite that, Harry was still out there probably hunting me like a dog. If they realized that I’m out of reach by now, he just as well landed himself in a shit bath with Grizzly himself. Somehow, that made me feel better.

  “So, what happened?” He finally asks me while squeezing the ointment into his palm.

  I looked up from my lap to catch his eyes. He looked hard at me right then, as serious as ever. I didn’t expect him to ask so suddenly, but I knew that my father sent him in for a reason other than to change my bandages.

  He wanted the truth.

  “It was late,” I finally find my voice, “Harry came home drunk that night.”

  Blackjack nods slowly, eyes focused on the bruises as his hands rub the ointment over my calves. I bit the inside of my cheek when I felt the sting sink into the sensitive bruises. That didn’t stop me from talking, however. I skipped forward to the threat.

  “I went upstairs after he beat me and I heard his friends come into the house. Only it wasn’t just a couple of guys from the bar.”

  My voice grew hard, “It was the Bears’ Prez.”

  Blackjack looks up at me with confusion in his eyes.

  “Grizzly, himself?”

  “The big lug,” I confirmed.

  With a steady breath, I kept going.

  “I don’t know why it’s come this far, but Grizzly himself wanted to save me for an opportunity.”

  “What opportunity?”

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head, “It’s a plot to take down the Reapers.”

  “Leverage.” He states firmly. “But why?”

  “That’s the question.” I bit my bottom
lip in thought, “I couldn’t dig any deeper once they were passed out drunk in my living room. I just knew I had to get out before they could use me to their advantage.”

  “You did what you needed to do.” He assured me and took my hand again, giving it a soft squeeze. “But how did you come back looking like this? Did they hit you?”

  I blinked, unsure of what to say. This was unraveling quickly, and I didn’t know if I was ready to accept what just happened in that kitchen. The table, my phone, his pipe.

  Harry—my husband of all people.

  “He beat me when he found out I was pregnant,” I say it coldly like it has no effect on me. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I want to break down crying, scream from the unfairness of it all, but it wouldn’t do me any good.

  Blackjack’s hand stopped squeezing at that moment. As I looked up, I could see that the line of his mouth was thinning. He wasn’t even looking at me, but I could see it plain and clear. The words that can’t describe what to say.

  Usually, people would automatically apologize—but what for? This wasn’t his fault. None of this had anything to do with him. And yet I knew he wanted so very much to speak out before me. It was in that anger; it didn’t scare me.

  And it didn’t matter.

  I needed to hear it come out of his mouth. Plain and clear.

  “Rob, please,” I say softly, overlapping his hand with mine.

  He doesn’t look up at me, but he knows what I’m asking for.

  “Did I lose the baby?”

  The anger had left his face and ran away with my hope. He was silent as I searched his expression for answers. There were only three words he could admit to.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  A cold dread filled my heart as I sat before him. I closed my eyes slowly, broken to the point that it could overwhelm me at last. He leaned forward and took me into his arms. I couldn’t catch myself in time to stop crying. I rid myself of his hand and clutched to his shirt for dear life as I felt every part of me dissolve into those tears.

  My forehead was buried in his chest as I felt the sobs drown my thoughts. He held me close to his body, arms pulling my broken pieces together. The palm of his hand strokes my back while his lips hovered above my ears, whispering in those thick “ssshh”s.

  “You’re going to be okay.” Rob’s voice coaxes, “Fucking hell, you’re a survivor, Ash..”

  I couldn’t respond without another wave of cries, so I shut myself up.

  His hands made my back feel so warm—so safe. A soft kiss presses up against my throat, and I closed my eyes at that moment.

  “God. Why did I let you leave?” He mutters with a soft kiss pressed to my throat, “I’ll never let anyone fucking hurt you again.”

  A part of me wanted to believe him. The other part wanted me to go back to sleep. This entire conversation drained the energy out of my body. I could only release his shirt into its crumpled form before wrapping my arms around his body to pull me closer to his warmth. The embrace calmed me down enough to the point that my heart could finally settle down.

  I sat there in the quiet with his hand slowly stroking my back. A soft shudder left my breath as I slowly sank back into myself. His hands guided me back to bed as I slid under the covers once again. I could close my eyes at that moment, and he would address the covers back up my legs until they reached my shoulders, shielding me from the cold. His fingers smoothed my hair away from my face and just as he would take his hand back—I reached up to take his palm.

  “Please don’t leave.”

  I didn’t know if he heard me or not, but I could feel his hand slip away from mine at that moment. My fingers clutched to the pillow instead, eyes refusing to open and find him walking away. Instead, I heard a chair scraping the floor with him sitting beside me. His hand came down to mine, and with his thumb, he stroked circles along my wrist until nothing could hurt me in my sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Ashley

  Two full weeks had passed by in the blink of an eye. I didn’t understand how the time had passed this quickly, or where it had gone. It was nice to just sit back in bed and relax. For the first time in a very long time I had the pleasantry of relaxing. Deciding what I wanted to do every day. I was no longer told what to do, scared into doing what Harry willed me to do – for once, it was my choice.

  I found myself sitting back on my bed and watching the sunset through my window. It was different to be home now, after these years. I missed the skies, the way that the auburn would slowly rise from the clouds in a soft lavender mirage.

  I’d stuck to myself mostly, relaxing, allowing my body to rest and recuperate from my trauma. My only visitors were usually Dad or Blackjack. Dad took the time to catch up on the four years we’ve been without each other. He’d mention some of the local updates that were going on in the community––including the jackass Roach, that just so happened to give me a tough time at the gate.

  He laughed at the story Uncle Cracker told him about Roach and I meeting. Apparently, Roach received his fourth reprimand since he became a prospect. Truth be told, I wasn’t shocked. I wouldn’t have let him get up to four fuck-ups, but my Dad is a good man, he gives second, third and fourth chances.

  In the last week I’ve learned that the Reapers are doing well, very well in fact. Dad worked more and more to give us a better distribution channel. Right before I left he’d just made the decision to get back into the drug trade after being out of it for so many years. As soon as he’d announced his return, the flock of his supporters came running. It turns out that they never stopped supporting him. There was only one problem, some of the shipments were running short. He wouldn’t go into detail, even though I pushed him for answers.

  “It’s just business, baby,” he told me. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

  Or so he says.

  Even as a kid I could always tell when he was lying. He was always a terrible liar with me. It came with having to raise me by himself after my mom passed away. His troubles became my troubles. His worries were my inheritance. His voice was my mouthpiece and so the both of us were always there for each other. Before I left home, I took it upon myself to play a governing role in the club to help level the burden on my father. When I left to get married, someone else took over for me. To this day I’m not quite sure who exactly that was.

  I saw Blackjack swing by the room more often than I’d anticipated. He truly was the rogue gentleman that roamed these parts of Montana. Even I had to admit that watching him dress up my wounds was like a daily dosage of eye candy.

  Whenever he caught me staring, I’d end up shooting my gaze somewhere else––the window, my wardrobe, my lap, anything! Usually five minutes after that, he’d start a conversation with me that wasn’t on the topic of how many pain killers I’ve had or whether my wounds were feeling itchy. He asked me what I did for fun when I moved out of my house which surprised me. After everything, I least expected him to want to know what happened after I left.

  After I left him.

  “Fun? I didn’t really have fun, Rob,” I admitted to him on Thursday, “It was pretty uneventful. Having to stay at home all day long––alone.”

  “You didn’t have friends over?” He asked me with a puzzled look.

  “Harry didn’t want company.”

  “Jesus, Ashley.”

  “What?”

  “You really married yourself a sociopath.”

  At the time he caught himself saying that and ended up apologizing a boatload for being insensitive. I, on the other hand, thought the little slip was hilarious. That day, I laughed so hard I could’ve sworn my lungs were going to collapse.

  We kept up our conversations since then and it was refreshing to get to know him every time I snuck in questions. More so, he made me feel a little bit normal again. I really fucking needed that.

  Blackjack had treated me with so much care, making sure that my body was growing stronger by the second. It was comforting to know that he was l
ooking out for me, something I hadn’t experienced in a while since I’d left Montana.

  When I woke up today, I finally walked myself up to the vanity mirror across my bed. My reflection stared back at me as I took a step closer to the figure before me. Hands came up to my face, the pads of my fingers pressing up to my cheekbones as I checked the swelling. Everything had gone down––from my cheek to my eye.

  There was even a healthy tinted glow coming from the smoothness in my skin. Dad and Blackjack were both making sure I was eating normally again, I’d smelled freshly baked apple pie for the first time in ages – brought up with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s French Vanilla just the way Rob and I used to eat it years ago.

  I ended up smiling at the sight of me, so happy that I looked normal again. As I scooped up my blonde strands, I realized that even my hair was starting to regain its natural volume. When I let the soft strands leave my fingers, they fell across my shoulders in beach waves. I knew that being home was making me healthier, or maybe it was something else, either way, whatever it was, I put it in the corner of my mind while I got ready for the party going down tonight.

  My dresser was still stocked with clothes that I had left behind when I left with Harry on my wedding day. As I opened the drawers, a faint smile came across my face at my old shirts.

  God, I’ve missed this crazy place.

  I pulled out a spare denim three-forth sleeved top and put it over top my black cami. The tight denim hugged up against my shoulders, perfectly snug. When I looked at myself in the mirror, my surprised expression stared back. The top looked pretty damn good on me despite it being one of the many slutty items I wore in high school, but it’ll do for tonight.

  I took the end of my sweat pants and shrugged them down my hips till they dropped to my ankles. With a scoop of my toe, I pulled them up to my legs and folded them back into the drawer before replacing them with a set of faded jean shorts. I rotated the shorts in my hands skeptically, the waistband looking awfully convincing that it’d fit.