BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS (The Kingsmen MC Book 6)

by Oakes, Tara

  BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS

  Book six

  The KINGSMEN MC series

  TARA OAKES

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  First edition. August 19, 2015

  Copyright c. 2015 Tara Oakes

  Written by Tara Oakes

  Published by Twelve Oakes Publishing, Inc.

  Book Cover: Image by CBB Productions

  TO MY LAMBCHOP, MY LOVE

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Ending this series was so very bittersweet for me. The Kingsmen MC was my very first series, with A LIL’ LESS BROKEN being my first foray into publishing. All things must come to an end, though, and I only hope that I’ve given you all the conclusion that the Kingsmen deserve.

  Thanks so much to all the usual peeps who contribute so much to help me each and every day. Thanks to CBB for another amazing cover, teasers and graphics. Thanks to Alicia for all of her organizational skills and hard work and managing the daily grind of Tara Oakes.

  A big shout out to y street team, especially Keri.

  A new addition was brought aboard for this last book, Dana, my new beta reader. Thanks so much for the absolute hands down, best beta read through EVER!

  And lastly, thanks to each and every one of you that have followed the Kingsmen from the very beginning.

  I hope you all look forward to my upcoming series as much as I am.

  Be sure to join my mailing list for all the newest releases, sales, contests, and more.

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  BIKER FRIENDLY REFERENCE

  The life of a biker, although foreign to most of us, is a very intriguing subculture with its own laws, rules, language, and traditions. Hopefully this reference will help the rest of us get to know a bit more about them before we take a peek into the lives of Clink and Charlie, two people born and raised in the secret world of the MC, full of passion, loyalty, fierce family bonds, and... danger.

  TERMS

  1%er -

  The small population of biker clubs that consider themselves outside the law. They often run operations in gambling, guns, prostitution, smuggling, paid protection, drugs, and more. They are considered to be the baddest of the bad, and the roughest of the rough.

  Brother -

  Club members within the same club refer to each other as 'Brother'. They have made a vow to each other to protect and take care of each other as family.

  Cage-

  An automobile, usually a van.

  Church –

  A club meeting to be attended by patched brothers only. Most clubs run as a democracy and important matters are voted on during meetings.

  Club Mama –

  Women who regularly attend events and interact with the M.C. They may aspire to become an Ol' lady one day but do not yet have a patch holder. They may spend time with many different bikers within a club but have loyalty to the club first before a man. They are considered to be a little bit more respected than a sweet butt.

  Cut -

  Refers to the leather vest worn by most bikers in a club.

  M.C.-

  Acronym for Motorcycle Club.

  Ol' Lady –

  A term of affection used for the main woman, or wife, of a club member. She is given his protection and is considered off limits to any other biker. Women are not considered club members, but rather have associations to the club through their Ol' man, or their patch holder.

  Nomad –

  A member of an MC that is currently without a specific charter. They are still considered a brother but they choose not to offer specific allegiance to a designated charter, instead they are loyal to the club organization as a whole.

  Patched In –

  When a prospect completes his initiation period and is voted in, becoming a full-fledged club member, or “brother”

  Patches –

  The cloth patches or embroidered designs added to a biker’s vest, or cut, that identifies which club they belong to, the location of their specific charter and their position in it. Other patches can be added to signify milestone events. Example, if the member has ever served prison time for his club, or killed for it.

  Piece –

  A gun.

  Prospect –

  Those who desire to become full-fledged patched members must complete an initiation period as prospects before a final vote is taken as to whether or not they can fully join. Prospects usually are given the worst assignments and must prove their loyalty and worth to the club.

  Rag –

  Another term for a leather vest, or cut, but worn by a woman, given to her by her Ol' man to signify that she is his “property” and is off limits. An Ol' lady's rag does not usually bear the club name, logo, or charter as she is not a club member. It simply states “Property of_____.”

  Sweet Butt –

  A term used to describe a woman who is “used” by members in a club. They are usually welcomed at club parties, or “brother only” parties, but are never allowed at family events. It is a derogatory term and there is very little respect for these ladies by club members.

  Tat –

  A tattoo. Full-fledged club members, or brothers, often have the club patches permanently tattooed on their bodies to signify that they are members even if not wearing their cuts. An Ol' lady will usually have a tattoo to honor her Ol' man signifing that she is his property even if she is not wearing her rag.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHARLIE

  “Liar.”

  A dark flash crosses his aging eyes just before the right nostril twitches as he growls low and deep.

  “I realize you’re upset. This is a lot for you, Charlie. That’s the only reason I’m going to let that comment slide. The next time you see your brother, you ask him what happened the first and only time he ever called me a liar.”

  We play a game of chicken, each staring at the other across my dining table, unwilling to flinch or show weakness in any way. Both headstrong and stubborn.

  I guess this is who I got it from.

  “My mom told me everything, Vince. I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

  It’s true to an extent. Mom reluctantly told me the whole sordid tale after I had confronted her with a stack of paperwork she was unable to deny. Otherwise, I’m sure she would have tried.

  “I’m not going to bad mouth your ma, Charlie. Regina—I’m sure she did the best she could. Told you what she thought was the right thing to say, but we all got our truths, got our baggage. She’s gonna have to deal with that one day. Today, though… I’m looking you dead in the eyes and I’m telling you I didn’t know.”

  I push back hard from the table. What did I expect from him? He’s a criminal, a thief. A president of a goddamned outlaw motorcycle gang for Christ’s sake. Did I really expect him to fess up that he turned a pregnant woman away? Chose to forget her as easily as the little fling they had in order to return to his family?

  “She came here, Vince. I know she did. She came here and she told you in person that you knocked her up. You told her it wasn’t your problem, turned your back and went back t
o your pretty little wife. You never looked back. Thank God, too. I can only imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t. My dad stepped in and cleaned up your mess. Like a real man!”

  Insulting a biker is a very delicate thing. You either have to be willing to face the consequences or have a bad-ass poker face to at least make him think you will.

  Let’s just say my pokerface sucks. Every bit of anger and rage that’s been building in me since I first saw the cold, hard evidence in my hand that proved once and for all why I was nothing like the man I believed my whole life to be my father… it’s all boiling over now and is ready to explode on this sorry piece of crap in front of me.

  To hell with the consequences.

  He came here wanting to talk… well, he’s gonna get a talk. My kind of talk. The kind where he can’t use some fancy footwork to get out of the mess he’s created. The kind where he’s finally held accountable after all these years for the cowardly choice he made.

  The massive fist of the man in question balls itself tight and slams hard against the wooden top between us, rattling the screws holding it together. I almost expect it to snap down the middle from the impact.

  “She told me she had a miscarriage! First, she came here and told me she was pregnant, expected me to leave my wife, to leave my family. I was honest with her, Charlie, right from day one. She knew I was on the outs with my woman, and she knew I wasn’t looking for nothin’ serious when I got with her. She always knew there was a possibility I would reconcile with my lady. I told her I’d be there for you, that you’d never want for anything, but it wasn’t enough….”

  I turn my back on his lies as if that will somehow shield me from them but they don’t stop.

  “Two weeks later I called her to find out about the medical bills and she told me she had a miscarriage, that it was over. She never wanted to hear from me again. That was the last time I spoke with your ma.”

  “Get out!” I scream in a wild rage, no longer able to listen to his twisted fiction.

  A thick bulging vein throbs angrily in his neck. His shoulders straighten but he doesn’t budge. In desperation I grab for the nearest object, a set of matching ceramic drink coasters, and use all of my strength to hurl it in the direction of the leather-vested man sitting defiantly.

  He ducks quickly, escaping the flying objects, and turns his head to watch as they shatter on impact with the wall directly behind him.

  “Get the fuck out!” I repeat, this time I’m sure I’ll be taken more seriously.

  I know he’s not used to taking orders, but he quickly figures out how to do it, lifting himself and hesitantly walking toward the door. His face is hard to read but for a second he looks… sad.

  He moves to speak, but I impulsively grab for the matching ceramic vase and hold it threateningly.

  “You know where to find me, Charlie.”

  I make sure to lock the door behind him and collapse against it, sliding down until I’m no more than a quivering heap on the floor. The loud tailpipe of his bike breaks the silence of the quiet neighborhood and reverberates through the door, resonating through my already shaking frame.

  I sob quietly, unable to take the stress any longer. Everything collides. One man who abandoned me before I was even born, spinning the lies to make himself look innocent. Another I gave my heart to and who left me high and dry when I needed him the most. And finally the man who raised me and made me feel safe, only to now be left a wreck after he’s been taken from me.

  Three men, but one thing remains… they’re all gone. I’m all alone. Several long minutes of self-reflection bring me to the realization, the promise I make myself.

  I will never rely on a man again.

  ~*~

  CLINK

  “You sure about this, son?”

  I see the heartbreak my words have inflicted on her. We just got here a few days ago, and I’ve been wrestling with myself for most of that time as to whether or not I should go back, face what I’ve left behind.

  I nod, swiping at my sweat-covered brow with the tattered handkerchief. “Yeah, ma. I should go back, see what’s left to straighten out.”

  I left Chisolm more than a week ago, needing time and space to clear my head. Too much shit had gone down. Shit that I wasn’t prepared for, that caught me off guard. I did what most men in my position would do.

  I bolted. Took the kid and took off for a trip to avoid having to face her, to deal with the deception. My plan backfired, though. Every second of every day is spent going over that last day, pouring over the details. There isn’t one thing about her I don’t miss.

  Her voice calling my name, her eyes watching me, her hands touching me, her hair spilling over me, her lips….

  I shake the image from my mind and concentrate on the tool in my hand. “But, I was thinking...”

  This might help soften the blow.

  “How ‘bout the kid stays here with you for a little while?” I know I don’t even have to ask.

  All five feet two inches of her are jumping off the ground at the suggestion.

  “Yes! That would be great! It would give Brendan some Granny time and give you and Charlie-”

  The wrench drops from my fingers, echoing through the wooden garage. Neither of us misses the timing of the slip. I clear my throat to regain some composure and she coughs nervously.

  “Well, it’ll give you time to straighten everything out. Then I’ll drive Brendan back to Chisolm and stay for a little while just like we originally planned.”

  I smile, knowing that I’ve made her day. The kid will be happy, too, when we tell him. He may not have seen my mom since he was in diapers and I know he didn’t remember her, but something just clicked between the two.

  My son hasn’t exactly had a stable mother figure in his life lately between his ma abandoning him and then Charlie….

  Another pang shoots through me at the thought of how her lies have affected not just me but my son, and I drop the wrench again.

  Fuck!

  I pick it up and hurl it across the interior of the building, taking out my frustrations on the object. Mom flinches as the heavy steel device makes contact with the wallboards, and the tone instantly changes.

  I grab the sides of my head and run my frustrated fingers through the sweat-dampened hair.

  “Sorry,” I apologize for the outburst. “I just got a lot on my mind.”

  She nods before I add, “I just gotta get my head straight. I’ll ride Pop’s bike back… leave the truck with you. It’ll give me some time to straighten all this shit out.”

  “You remember what your dad told you? About riding preoccupied?” She’s worried about my concentration.

  I pick up the crumpled t-shirt from the toolbox and throw it on. “I’ll be fine, ma. It’ll help, trust me. Besides,” I change the subject and nod to the classic Harley I’ve been tinkering with, “this thing needs some work, gotta get it to the shop.”

  I noticed the timing was off a little on my ride yesterday. The local kid I had hired to keep the thing running had been doing his best, I’m sure, but this bike needed to be up on a lift. Nothing crazy, but it’s over twenty years old. A classic antique like this needs a special touch.

  Passing her, I kiss her cheek.

  “I gotta take a shower, spend some time with the kid. I’ll leave first thing in the morning. Should be back in Chisolm the day after. I’ll hit the store and get you guys all stocked up for the next couple of weeks before I leave.”

  She looks skeptical. “I have plenty.”

  I laugh. “You got Turtles?”

  She freezes.

  “Like a pet?” she asks, terrified.

  Vivid flashes of my childhood pet and the evil little hamster I named Elvis come flooding back. Out of sight, out of mind. That was mom’s catchphrase when I brought the little furball home. Until the day he got loose and I couldn’t find him when he found his way to mom’s bed. Not only did I have to find Elvis a new home, but pets were never allowed
in the house again.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders and we walk side-by-side as we leave the garage.

  “Not a pet. The cartoons. You’ve got a lot to learn.”

  ~*~

  CHARLIE

  I moan and bury my head in my shoulder, shying away from the poking.

  “Charlie… wake up,” another poke, this time followed by the shaking of my arm.

  I garner the energy to swat at the culprit.

  “Leave me alone,” I mumble, finding my lips feeling like rubber and not moving the way I silently instruct them.

  I feel strong arms sliding under me and pulling, the hard surface beneath me now gone.

  “Is she drunk?” the voice asks again.

  It sounds like Dana, but through some long tunnel, echoing and reverberating, adding layers to her voice where I’m not positive it’s actually her. I feel my weight supported and carried. My chin falls and settles on warm leather. I breathe in deep and recognize the strong woodsy scent of a well broken-in cut. I remember what he smells like when he wears his cut, what the leather vest felt like and smelled like when I wore the one he gave me.

  “No,” I thrash my arms wildly, trying to distance myself from the smell and the memories.

  “Charlie, stop!” Dana reprimands me. “You’re going to hurt T.J.”

  T.J? T.J’s here? I’m so confused.

  “Just lay her down on her bed,” she instructs him. “Charlie? What did you take?”

  I swallow hard as a wave of nausea comes over me from the bounce in the steps of his gait. Dana’s voice sounds hollow, as if it’s moving. My eyes feel heavy, too heavy to open.