Kid: Cerberus MC Book 2

by Marie James

  “When Carla and the other kids leave for the zoo tomorrow, I’m going to finally make you mine.” I can still smell the beer on his breath and the callouses of his fingers between my legs.

  “Are you even listening to me?” My caseworker turns in her seat to glare at me. “You’re seriously becoming more trouble than you’re worth,” she says climbing out of the car and leaving me alone.

  My plan worked. I was pulled so quickly from that foster home, she didn’t even have a chance to grab my belongings. Hence, the reason she’s walking angrily into the store; she has to buy me a few things until the foster family can mail my other belongings.

  I open the door a crack once it becomes too stifling in the car. She didn’t leave the keys, which means no air. This in and of itself I’m sure is child abuse. I know there are better caseworkers out there, I just drew the short stick once again.

  I roll my head on my shoulders, praying my next foster home isn’t as bad as the one I just left. It’s always a gamble when I’m relocated with what I’ll end up in.

  I look around the car for something to do or eat. My stomach is growling since I haven’t eaten much all day. First the trip to the police department, then waiting for the caseworker to come pick me up. No one offered to feed me, and I’m too stubborn to ask.

  My bad luck continued when I got before the detective who wouldn’t believe me when I told him about Gary. It just so happens they go to church together, and Gary coaches his little girl's summer softball team. I hate knowing he may be abusing those girls as well. It should have been a clear sign to the detective when Gary decided he didn’t want to press charges.

  “She’s just a destroyed little girl. She’s going to have enough trouble making it in life. No sense in adding criminal charges for her to contend with,” I heard Gary tell the detective right outside of his office door.

  I spot a thick folder on the back seat. It’s familiar. My caseworker has it with her each time I’m moved to a new foster home. I reach for it, wondering if it would disclose some information about why I seem to land in the worst foster homes imaginable.

  I open it; the first page contains my information sheet. I flip through the paperwork on the left-hand side. School records, doctor’s information, and my most recent psychological report. That should make for interesting reading. There would be nothing like finding out that you’re crazy, and only equally crazy people will foster you.

  I’m reading about my diagnosed depression and social anxiety when the wind blows in from the gap of the open door, fluttering the pages on the right-hand side of the file. A scanned letter covered in red splotches catches my eye then disappears again as the wind shuffles the pages more. I flip through the file again until my eyes land on the letter.

  It’s a note, and I’m certain the red spots are blood. My heart thrums in my chest, growing erratic as I read my mother’s last words. My father had been cheating. He had a long-term affair with another woman. He had a whole other family. She couldn’t take the pain, the humiliation that went along with being a wife and a mother who lived for years without knowing her husband had committed such a betrayal.

  She wrote that she didn’t mean to kill him, but the argument got out of hand. He was going to leave her; she couldn’t allow that. She shot him.

  I found them dead after returning to the house after a sleepover with a neighborhood friend. I squeeze my eyes shut as the sight of my parents, crumpled side by side and covered in blood on the living room floor come back to mind.

  She wrote this note, then she shot herself. Not one mention of the child that would return home and find them. Selfish, both of them. He in his inability to love only my mother, and she in not allowing him to walk away while she cared for her child.

  It’s been four years since that day and I can still smell the iron in their blood as it saturated the carpet.

  I gasp awake, my body already responding to the pain of the memories as I’m wracked with sobs. Selfishness and betrayal killed my family. I’ll be damned if I let it take me too.

  Chapter 36

  Waking up on the floor of the garage is clearly not one of my better moments.

  “Hey,” I say roughly into the phone when Shadow picks up my call.

  “Rough night?” he asks.

  I know Emmalyn would have relayed last night’s events to Kincaid, who would have immediately shared the information with him.

  “The worst,” I say truthfully. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Give her time,” he says, repeating the same words Emmalyn told me last night.

  “She’s planning on leaving, man. I don’t have time to give.” I hang my head and rub my hand over the back of my aching neck.

  “Fuck,” I hear him mutter.

  “I would say try to talk to her, but I’m not sure that’s the best thing either,” he suggests.

  “If I could go back,” I say more to myself than to him.

  “I know. If Kincaid hadn’t gotten that call from BT. If I hadn’t walked out. I knew you didn’t have a fucking clue. I didn’t know how bad your memory loss was until you grabbed Emmalyn’s ass. Only a man without his memories or one with a severe death wish would pull that shit. I failed you, Kid. You have to know how much I regret stepping outside that night.”

  Add one more person with remorse to my list. My actions have caused so much pain. “This isn’t on you, Shadow.”

  “This isn’t on you either.” He’s firm, almost forceful with his statement.

  “Doesn’t change anything. I still fucked Snapper. I still betrayed my girl, man.”

  He remains silent. I know he can’t refute the truth any more than I can.

  “What’s up with you guys?” I want to tell him to send the jet for me so I can help them out in Vegas, but I know he won’t. I still have staples in my fucking head, so I know I’m grounded for a while yet.

  “This shit should wrap up tonight. We should be home sometime tomorrow evening if nothing goes wrong,” he explains.

  “So BT is going to get to save his girl?”

  “Looks that way,” he says. “Not only that, but we have it on good authority that most of the major players in the SINdicate have set up a meeting for tomorrow night. Looks like we’ll take the whole damn thing down in one fell swoop.”

  “Incredible news,” I say with absolutely no enthusiasm.

  “Keep your head on straight, Kid. This shit will work out the way it’s supposed to.”

  We end the call, and I muster enough strength to climb up off of the floor and head into the clubhouse. My head is throbbing from the injury, the alcohol, and the reminders of my unfaithfulness as I walk into the main living area. It’s empty. Thank fuck Snapper is gone, but if the guys are coming back tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll be here too. The last thing I need is her walking around as a reminder to Khloe of what we did; I’m a big enough indication of that.

  I grab a quick shower and my keys. I can’t help but stop by Khloe’s room on my way out. I feel the tug in my chest, the pull of my soul reaching out for hers.

  I knock softly on the door, getting no answer.

  Emmalyn is walking out of her and Kincaid’s room. Spotting me in the hall, she offers me a weak smile.

  “Is she in there?” I ask softly.

  She nods and squeezes my shoulder gently as she passes by.

  I knock again.

  “Khloe,” I say into the closed door resting my forehead against the impersonal wood.

  “Go away,” she says meekly from the other side.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “I can’t, Kid,” is the only response I get.

  “I’m not giving up on us, Sweet Girl,” I promise before walking away. The sound of her sobs hit me as I leave the hallway.

  I walk straight from her room to my bike. Staying here and not kicking in her door isn’t an option, so I’ll ride.

  I climb on and rev the engine to life. The noise and the vibration are painful in my ears, bu
t I welcome it. I pull out and head east, wishing I had a time machine so I could go back and erase my colossal fuck up.

  ***

  Just like always, I end up at the chocolate store in Albuquerque. I grab Em’s favorite truffles as a peace offering for assaulting her when I first returned to the MC. I’m sure she’s forgiven me, but this may help clench her mercy. I’m still surprised Kincaid didn’t kick my ass. He may be waiting until I’m healed, or even better until I got my memories back so the ass kicking would have more of an impact. As if the knowledge of gripping her ass isn’t enough.

  I deserve everything I’m getting, though, so I would welcome it. Physical pain is always easier to deal with than the emotional bullshit.

  I’m hurting, no doubt, but I wouldn’t give up my time with Khloe just to avoid what I’m feeling now. I’d consider relinquishing all of our involvement, every kiss, every tender touch if it took her pain away though. I’m sure she’d feel the same way, especially if there’s no chance of forgiveness.

  The ride did some good, but it didn’t have the effect I was hoping for. It didn’t wipe the slate clean. The fresh air and warm sunshine didn’t lessen the pain; it didn’t help me to come up with some divine plan to win my girl back.

  “Doc,” I say walking into the kitchen. He’s at the sink hand washing dishes, a sight not often seen around here. The women usually do the housework. It’s sort of an unspoken rule.

  I grin at him as he sighs and turns back to the pan that was obviously used for the dinner meal I’ve missed.

  “You bought another bike didn’t you?”

  He shakes his head in exasperation. Rose doesn’t really mind him making large purchases if it keeps him happy, but this is the trade-off. Chores. Every one that she would normally do without fuss become his for the first few weeks after such an extravagance. She acts as if he’s in trouble and this is how he gets back in her good graces.

  “I know she knew about it,” he grumbles. “She didn’t even say a word when I left this morning, but she sure as hell had a honey-do list a mile long the second my boots hit the gravel after getting off of that beauty.”

  I chuckle. This happens every six months or so. He keeps the same woman for twenty plus years, but trades in his bike two or three times a year; just the opposite of most bikers who run through women like he runs through motorcycles.

  “Seems I’m not the only one in the dog house,” he says placing the clean pan in the drainer and reaching for a hand towel.

  “This is a little bit bigger than a new motorcycle,” I tell him placing the bag of truffles on the counter for Emmalyn to find in the morning.

  “Yes it is,” he says to my back as I make my way to the fridge for a bottle of water.

  I eye the beer, but leave them alone. I can only drink my pain away so many times before I do something really stupid and crawl on my hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. Who am I kidding, I’d do that shit sober if I thought it would work.

  “I need her to forgive me.” I sit down at the table and begin to peel the label from the water.

  He sits down beside me but looks out the window into the backyard. I appreciate his scrutiny being placed elsewhere. “I don’t know if the universe is that generous.” He pauses before adding, “You’ve been using women as long as you’ve had hair on your nuts.”

  “So this is some sort of karma paying me back for not seeing women before Khloe as having more to offer than a wet hole?” He shrugs in only the way Doc can without pissing me off. He’s wise beyond his years. He speaks the truth even if it’s not something I want to hear.

  He keeps his gaze on the window. I look in that direction and realize with the darkness outside and the light from in the room, he can’t even see anything out there. He’s not looking out; he’s watching my reflection.

  I stand from the table. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t believe in karma.”

  His hand clamps on my forearm before I can walk away. “Listen, son. She seems like a decent girl. She’s young and that plays to your advantage. She doesn’t have the life experiences that may have hardened her heart like an older woman would. If she does somehow show you mercy by forgiving your ass, you better spend the rest of your life grateful, and proving to her every day that she made the right choice.”

  I nod my head, knowing I’ll do just that.

  “This isn’t something that just goes away,” he continues. “This will be in the back of her mind every fucking day of her life if she chooses to stay. Every time you head out on a mission. Each time you get tied up some place or stopped by a train, her mind will go back to that night. She will wonder if you’re telling the truth. She may forgive you, but your penance will last your lifetime. You need to make sure you’re willing to pay it.” He rises from the chair and slowly pushes it back under the table.

  “I’d give my life if it meant the last words I heard were that she forgives me.”

  “Atta boy,” he says with a sharp slap on my back before leaving me standing, stunned in the middle of the kitchen. I know without a doubt if she leaves, she’ll be taking my heart with her. If it happens, I just hope she takes the whole thing, so I won’t feel the pain of her absence.

  Chapter 37

  “Are you going to try to make me leave with you?” I ask my case manager who, not surprisingly, waited until the morning of my eighteenth birthday to return my phone call.

  “I can’t make you do anything, Khloe,” she says with barely hidden exasperation. “You’re eighteen, but even if you weren’t, it’s not like you did anything you were supposed to before you became an adult.”

  I sigh loudly. Same shit, different conversation. “If you hate your job so much why do you continue to do it?”

  I hear her shift her weight in her office chair. “Sorry,” she says softly and I can hear some sincerity in her voice. “I’m being rude, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  “I just want to know what my options are,” I say again. It is the only reason I called her.

  “It’s too much to go over on the phone. I have a bunch of packets I can get to you, applications and such. Can we meet for lunch?”

  I contemplate it for a long minute before I concede. “Want to meet at the diner on Sycamore, say one o’clock?” I offer.

  “That’d be great, Khloe. See you then.”

  I text Emmalyn to see if she can take me to the diner in a bit. She replies that she has a ton of supplies to get for the guys’ return tonight and for my ‘non-birthday party.'

  I put on my nicest jeans and a little makeup as a shield against the world, and Kid if I happen to see him.

  An hour later Emmalyn knocks on my door. I answer with a smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes. The heartache from a few days ago combined with the all-too-real dream about my parents is almost too much to bear.

  “You think this lady can help you?” she asks as we make our way to the front door.

  “I don’t know, but at this point, it’s the only hope I have of doing something with my life. I can’t do it alone.”

  She stops me with a hand on my arm before I can open the door. “You never have to do anything alone, Khloe. There are people here, including myself, that will do anything within our power to help you.”

  “I have to get out of this clubhouse, Em.”

  She shakes her head slightly. “You don’t.”

  “Yes, I do,” I say softly as we climb down the front steps.

  I stop in my tracks when I see Kid in the driver’s seat of the SUV parked in front.

  “Emmalyn,” I moan in frustration.

  “He’s the only member here. Rose has Doc doing all sorts of things today. Diego won’t let me leave alone while he’s out of town,” she adds.

  I’m well aware of the rule. We’ve been driven every time we’ve left the clubhouse. I don’t know why I thought today would be any different.

  “I made him swear not to bother you.”

  I sigh and climb in the SUV, focu
sing on buckling my seatbelt rather than acknowledging him in the vehicle.

  The ride to the diner was tense; the emotion inside the cab thick in the air. I could feel his eyes on me in the rearview mirror each time we stopped at a red light. I refused to look up, knowing I’d break if I did.

  Thankfully, the trip into town was quick. Kid places the SUV in park outside of the diner we shared a beautiful lunch at a few short weeks ago. Why I opted for this place, I’ll never know. Maybe because it is filled with happier memories for both of us.

  He gets out and pulls my door open before I have the chance to do it for myself. I climb down, not making eye contact with him.

  “Happy birthday,” he says softly. His warm breath ghosts over my neck, warmer than the air around me.

  I close my eyes and for a minute imagine that things are different. That second of reprieve is smashed to hell when the image of Snapper opening his door flashes in my mind.

  “Thank you,” I mutter and walk inside the diner.

  ***

  “So what exactly are you saying?” I ask my case manager.

  “Services are limited for those that don’t start the process a year before they age out,” she answers.

  “So there’s nothing that I can do?”

  “I’m not saying that, Khloe. There are application processes that take some time. We can submit the applications, but they take time. We should’ve done this months ago.”

  I stare at her. “You never even mentioned any of this a year ago.” I’m doing my best to remain calm, but my frustration is growing.

  I dart my eyes to the other side of the diner and see Emmalyn and Kid with their heads lowered in deep discussion. Of course he chose the side of the booth that would be facing my direction. I’ve felt his eyes on me the whole time I’ve been sitting here.

  “I did mention this to you, Khloe,” she says taking a drink from her soda cup. “You told me you had other plans and wouldn’t even entertain the idea of assisted aftercare.”