Troubled Son: Savage Sons MC Romance

by King, Jayna

  TROUBLED SON

  SAVAGE SONS MC

  by

  JAYNA KING

  Troubled Son. 1st Edition

  Copyright © 2014 Jayna King

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously.

  All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Table of Contents

  Author's Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Prodigal Son

  More

  Author's Note

  * * *

  Troubled Son is the first book in the Savage Sons Series and does not contain a 'Happy Ever After' (HEA) ending........yet.

  Prologue

  Max

  September 15, 2013

  I never thought I'd end up here. Smart, well-educated girls don't. Everything I've worked for is gone, and all of my degrees, training, tears...nothing makes a difference. I feel like the walls are going to close in on me, and the only consolation for living in this shitty apartment is that it's better than living back with my parents.

  They'd begged me to come back home. Dad promised that he'd keep Mom off my back, that they just wanted to help and know that I'm safe. There's plenty of room in their Georgetown townhouse, and I have plenty of friends there. The old me would have loved to catch up with my friends from law school and find out where everyone had ended up...who'd gotten married, who looked like a shoo-in to make partner, who hadn't managed to pass the bar yet.

  I couldn't do it though. I just couldn't face the questions, the unspoken criticism. I knew that I'd feel smothered by the attention and crowded with the traffic and congestion of the East Coast. It's hard for me to believe now that I'd actually enjoyed it just a short while ago. I'd loved the pride of knowing that I lived in our nation's capitol -- the center of power for government and for industries interested in shaping the direction of the government. I'd thought nothing could be more exhilarating.

  I was wrong. About so much.

  Even as I sit at my kitchen table, drinking the single cup of coffee that I allow myself these days, I wonder what I could have done differently, how I could have fixed things so that I wouldn't be sitting here all alone crossing off days on the calendar, with every day just like the one that came before. It's monotonous.

  You'd think I'd welcome a little monotony after the last year of my life. That I'd relish a break from chaos, turmoil, and heartache. I know that I'm a fool for saying it, but I'd go back in a second, trade peace for chaos in a second if it meant that I'd be with Moses. As hard as it all was, despite the anger, the worry, the fear, and the aftermath, I wouldn't trade my time with him for anything.

  Things didn't work out like I wanted them to. They certainly didn't work out like I'd expected them to. From the very beginning, the plan was that I'd breeze onto the scene, do my job, and then I would walk out of Moses' life. I was supposed to be the one who left, not the other way around. I miss him every minute of every day, and even though I know that it'll get easier with time, that doesn't help me right now.

  I drink my coffee, and I plan my day. I will take a shower. I will plan a meal, and I will go to the grocery store to shop for that meal. I will refuse to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over my head. I will go for a walk, knowing that the sunshine and the exercise are good for both my body and my spirits. I will go on. I will survive, and I will, in time, feel better. Maybe not today, but someday.

  I will -- even though I wish I could forget -- remember how I got here. I'll end up replaying the scenes like they're one of the movies I use to try to distract myself from how small, how narrow my life has become. Sometimes I even think of who I'd cast in the movie version of my life. The problem is that there's no man I've ever seen who could play Moses. No actor could capture his surprising depth, his extraordinary talent, or how fundamentally broken he was. There was never any putting him back together. As hard as I tried, it could never have happened.

  Another sip of coffee and I remember the day, months before, when it all started.

  Chapter 1

  Max

  April 1, 2013

  I was a little nervous as I looked at myself in the mirror, though I'd never have admitted it to anyone else. A little smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I realized what the date was and imagined the ridiculous scenario of walking in to what was probably the most important meeting of my life, only to be greeted with laughter and the calls of "April Fools!"

  I inhaled through my nose, deep and slow, and I exhaled through my mouth even more slowly -- my practiced means of calming myself down. I looked at the full-length mirror in my new apartment's walk-in closet. I'd agonized about what to wear, but even my critical eye couldn't find anything wrong with the navy suit I'd finally settled on. The jacket fit perfectly, and the three-quarter sleeves should be just right for the sunny Denver day. The skirt was above knee-length, but not too short, and the navy heels were neither stodgy nor slutty -- the perfect height. My simple red top with tiny navy polka dots kept the ensemble from being too terribly boring.

  In short, it was the perfect, professional FBI-girl outfit.

  I still got a little thrill when I thought about myself as an FBI agent. I'd been with the Bureau for nearly two years, but I was still as proud and excited as I'd been on my first day. Even though I hadn't worked on anything exactly thrilling in the time I'd spent in St. Louis -- my first office -- I knew a little about some of the big cases that other agents were working while I did background checks and put in my time before I could work my way up to handling bigger investigative challenges. When bank robbers were apprehended or when kidnapped children were returned to their parents, I was proud to be a part of the organization who made it happen.

  I'd gotten my hair cut and colored just before I left DC to buy myself some time before I'd have to find another stylist. My mom and I had both been going to the same guy for years, and while I knew that Denver certainly had a mountain of talented stylists, I wasn't looking forward to finding a new one.

  Subtle warm gold highlights brightened my naturally brown hair, and the low humidity in Colorado meant that when I blew my hair out straight that it actually stayed that way all day. No more frizzy hair by lunchtime! I'd pulled my hair back in a low, loose ponytail so that it would look pretty and completely unfussy. Simple makeup and silver hoop earrings completed my look.

  I was ready to go. Ready for my first inter-agency meeting.

  I walked through my apartment, deciding that I had the time to grab another cup of coffee and take it out onto my balcony. Even though the temperature outside was
probably only in the forties, the warm sunshine made it feel at least twenty degrees warmer. I'd been happy to get the apartment for a lot of reasons. It was less than a ten minute drive to the office, and if I leaned forward past the railing on the balcony, I could see the trails and a glimpse of the pond for which Northfield Pond Park was named.

  My apartment was on the upper floor of a new mixed use development, so I could park for the evening and walk to my grocery store, nearly a dozen restaurants, and more shops than I'd ever visit. It was the perfect location for a young single woman.

  It was hard to think of myself as single. I'd been in a relationship nearly the whole time I'd been in St. Louis. Even though I'd known pretty early on that Jason wasn't the man I wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with, he was smart, successful, easy on the eyes, and pretty good in bed. Who was I kidding? He'd been boring. He'd talked such a good game -- wanted to plan extravagant trips with the money he made working for Anheuser Busch -- but at the end of the day, beer was boring, and all he ever wanted to talk about was beer, market share, beer, quarterly goals, beer...you get the idea.

  In the nearly two years that Jason and I had been together, we'd only been on one trip together, and let me tell you -- the Bahamas in February ain't paradise. Not only had it been too cold to swim in the perfectly clear water, but I'd found myself stuck spending time with the wives -- women whose goals in life were limited to trying to fit in a pedicure before picking up the kids from preschool or trying to out-do the other mothers for the most creative Halloween costume. Don't get me wrong. I liked kids. I just didn't have any, wasn't sure I ever would, and I couldn't imagine defining my role in life as a beer salesman's wife. I actually had a job that I loved, not that anyone seemed to care.

  Anyway, there I was in Denver. When I'd gotten my transfer from St. Louis, it had been much easier than I'd expected to part company with Jason. He couldn't leave his job, and I didn't really want him to. We'd ended things amicably, and I was a little surprised to discover that I didn't miss him at all. My drive to Colorado had given me the chance to clear my head and realize that I didn't want to waste my time with a man I knew wasn't right for me ever again.

  I checked the time on my cellphone and decided to get on the road a little early. I didn't want to keep the DEA waiting.

  ***

  I pulled out of the parking garage and smiled as I saw the Rocky Mountains in the distance. Fresh snow had fallen, and everything above the treeline was blinding white in the morning sun that reflected off the east face of the front range. I didn't think I'd ever get tired of seeing the mountains.

  My drive wasn't long enough for me to get more nervous, and I was grateful for that. The whole situation was unusual, and that had me a little worried and excited all at the same time. I'd expected that my second office would be in New York or L.A. Agents typically start off in a small-to-medium sized field office and move up to one of the top twelve offices for their second, much longer assignment. The Dirty Dozen, as agents call the top twelve cities for crime, absorb hundreds of agents for many years.

  Even though I'd spent most of my life in DC, I'd still looked forward to New York. I'd grown tired of St. Louis, and I missed being close to the East Coast. Denver had been quite a surprise. I'd been handpicked -- another unusual thing. When the St. Louis SAC -- that's the Special Agent in Charge -- had called me into his office, I'd been expecting an update on a case -- certainly nothing that would change the course of my life.

  I never expected that working for that scumbag Louie Greenberg would actually do me some good. When I was in law school at Georgetown, I'd tried to get a job working for one of the DAs in or around the District. I knew that criminal law interested me, and I sure didn't want to spend my life trying to keep the bad guys out of jail. In DC, even the panhandlers have law degrees, though, and since I either had to get a job or move back in with my parents, I found a job.

  Louie was marginally less slimy than the pieces of shit he represented. He was like a caricature of every stereotypical Jewish lawyer rolled into one -- from the mother whose calls I screened nearly every day to the wife who wanted to be a social climber, poor Louie was henpecked, a little sloppy, and absolutely ruthless. Prosecutors who looked at the little man with yesterday's lunch stains on his tie and thought that he would be a pushover did so at their peril.

  What got the DEA interested in me wasn't the fact that I'd learned to handle Jewish mother guilt, though. Louie handled a lot of cases for clients with drug charges. The District had long been overrun with crack and heroin, and those things weren't going away any time soon. What was more troubling, though -- and of more interest to the DEA -- was the influx of crank -- crystal meth -- to the District. Louie saw more and more charges for possession and intent to distribute meth, and I'd taken countless statements and sat in on a number of depositions for these clients. I'd learned a lot about the burgeoning meth trade in DC, and I'd picked up the lingo and studied up on some of the channels of distribution for the drug.

  The man with whom I had a meeting in fifteen minutes had been working meth rings in Colorado, Wyoming, and surrounding areas for nearly twenty years. I was looking forward to meeting him and finding out about the mysterious undercover case he had in mind for me.

  Chapter 2

  Moses

  April 1, 2013

  I heard my phone ring while I was working out. I was pissed that I hadn't turned the fucking thing off, but I made myself focus and keep going. I finished the bench press strong and took my time with the rest of the circuit before I went to see who'd been bugging me. I picked up both of my prepaid phones before I realized that it was my shop phone. It was a hassle juggling all of the cell phones, but in the long run, it made things much simpler.

  The voicemail was short and thorough: "Moses, Jeff Tombley calling from Denver. I'd like to schedule an appointment with you. Please call me back."

  I knew Tombley didn't want a tattoo, so the message had to mean that something was about to happen. "About fucking time," I said as I headed for the shower.

  I got cleaned up and dressed for the day. It was a Monday, so I didn't expect to be busy at the shop, and I needed the time to get some paperwork done. The promise of warmer weather always made people think about taking off their clothes and showing some skin...tattooed skin...and I expected that the appointment book would start getting full any day. Before I left, I poured myself some coffee and sat down to call Jeff back.

  "Moses here," I said when he answered.

  "Thanks for calling back so quickly."

  I rolled my eyes. Tombley always acted so polite, but I knew that he thought I was a piece of shit. I could see him in his office, fancy-ass suit, shiny shoes, thinking that he was so much better than everyone else. The fact of the matter was that he needed me, and I decided to remind him of that.

  "You called me. What's up?"

  "I have a meeting in a few minutes with the agent you'll be working with. She arrived last week, and it'll take me a week or so to get her up and running before she's ready to meet you. That's assuming that she's still going to want the case after I fill her in."

  "She good?"

  "Everyone I've talked to tells me that she's the perfect person for this job. She's smart, tough, and not scared of spending a little time with you and your friends."

  "That's what she says now."

  "Well, I'm going to spend some time with her. Make sure she knows what she's in for and make sure she's up for the challenge."

  "Okay."

  "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know so that you can free up a few days in Denver to get to know her in about a week."

  "Got it."

  I hung up the phone. I didn't know if Tombley had anything else to say, and I didn't really care. It wasn't that I didn't care about the new agent he had coming in. I did care. My life was gonna depend on whether or not she could do her job and play her part. I just didn't feel like I needed to talk about it for hours. She'd either make the cu
t or she wouldn't. I figured it would take me about ten minutes to figure it out once I met her. Ten minutes and she'd either walk away or have a real clear idea of what the next few months of her life would be like.

  I rinsed my coffee mug and put it in the dishwasher, knowing that I'd probably never get the thing full enough to warrant running it and that I'd probably end up washing the mug by hand as usual. I actually didn't mind cooking, but there never seemed to be enough time. It was hard to justify taking the time to shop, cook, and clean up when I could always just grab something at the clubhouse. We paid a couple of the girls to keep food around, and we could even talk 'em into cooking a little something every now and then. They had to do something to earn their keep. Fucking bitches would sit around cranked up and do nothing all day if they could.