Axle

by Trent Jordan

  Axle

  An MC Romance

  Trent Jordan

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Axle

  2. Rose

  3. Axle

  4. Rose

  5. Axle

  6. Rose

  7. Axle

  8. Rose

  9. Axle

  10. Rose

  11. Axle

  12. Rose

  13. Axle

  14. Rose

  15. Axle

  16. Rose

  17. Axle

  18. Rose

  Epilogue

  Preview of “Butch”

  Butch and Thea

  Free Prequel

  Also by Trent Jordan

  Prologue

  LeCharles “Axle” Williamson

  The scene was quite familiar.

  I sat at an empty bar on an early Friday afternoon, sipping on a Yuengling. To my left was Patriot. And, just like we had been on the day that we first hung out outside of Springsville, we were now outside San Diego, having just visited Rosecrans National Cemetery.

  It was an emotional moment for Patriot, visiting the grave of his fallen brothers. It was emotional for me, too, although I didn’t show it nearly as much as he did. I had nothing against Patriot and, in fact, liked him probably more than most people in the club, but I believed that showing excessive emotion was a sign of weakness.

  “Cheers,” he said, holding out his Yuengling. “To never forgetting our fallen brothers by always living up to their legacy and standards.”

  Bad emotion, at least. There’s a time and place for good emotion.

  “Amen,” I said.

  We clinked our glasses together and took a long sip. There was reason to cheers a lot lately—we’d managed to kill more of the Fallen Saints, we’d seemingly gotten Cole at least somewhat back in the picture, and we were tightening up the club ranks.

  But unfortunately, regarding that last point, things were going to get worse before they got better. Much, much worse. And it was because of an issue that had plagued the club for over a year, one I had faced accusations of, one which I still did not understand well enough.

  “Still gotta figure out who the rat is,” I said.

  I said it to myself as much as I did to Patriot. I felt a certain responsibility as the club’s Vice President to figure it out. Lane was doing all that he could as President, but he was young and inexperienced, and as he grew more confident in being a part of the group, we learned that tact and subtlety weren’t exactly his strong suits. That was another reason why I think I preferred to be on the quiet side—people had trouble figuring you out when you didn’t give them much to go on.

  “We will, I’m sure of it,” he said. “These things have a tendency to reveal themselves.”

  I agreed with him. I just didn’t like that it would have to be so long. The longer we waited, the more we would have to mourn future Black Reaper deaths.

  “Oh, and just in case it was clear, I’m not going to ask to become co-VP. Too much effort and responsibility.”

  I laughed and smiled at that. To think, he’d actually thought I had believed him when he said he was going to try and become co-VP. People must have greatly underestimated my intelligence—

  My phone buzzed. Thinking it was nothing more than Lane asking us to come home or check in, I casually pulled it from my pocket, expecting to put it right back away. I treated it as a welcome respite from the thoughts of the rat.

  It had the opposite effect.

  It was a number I did not have saved in my phone. And yet, as soon as I saw the area code, as soon as I saw the first words of the text, I knew who it was. I didn’t know why they had really messaged me, but knowing who—it was enough.

  Worrisome, gut-wrenching, anxiety-provoking enough.

  “You good?” Patriot said.

  I heard his words, but I was concentrating so hard on the text message on my screen that they only registered after the fact. The words on the screen should have been nothing more than an old friend saying hello.

  “Hey, LeCharles, I’m back in SoCal. Would be nice to catch up over drinks or coffee if you’d like.”

  There would be nothing nice about doing any of that.

  Not with you.

  “You’re not the only one with a past that has caught up to him,” I said. “Mine is just alive. And she’s back in California.”

  The words were not just an old friend saying hello. They were from an old ex saying hello.

  An old enemy saying hello.

  Rose Wright.

  She might as well have been named Rose Wrong for all of the trouble that she had caused in my life. When we had first started dating about a decade ago, it had been an absolute delight. Great sex, great adventures—she genuinely made me smile more than anyone else ever did.

  Unfortunately, that only served to increase my hostility and frustration with her, because, after the initial honeymoon stage, things completely fell apart. We dissolved into the kind of dramatic, ugly relationship that could tear a man’s soul in half. We never inflicted violence on each other, and we never stole or broke things that belonged to each other, but in some ways, it might have been better if we had done that.

  Rose could cut me down like no one ever could. I wasn’t any better by the end. Both of us were trying to pierce the other person’s soul with our words, to leave them metaphorically bleeding out on the ground as we stood over them, taunting them. And the sickest part of it all?

  The only reason we really broke up was that she had moved to Utah for veterinary school. It wasn’t like I grew a pair and dumped her, nor was it like we had an epiphany of courtesy and honesty where we both just recognized we weren’t right for each other. Only the good—yes, good—fortune of distance broke us apart.

  But boy, once I got out of that relationship, the entire club seemed to rally around me and tell me how awful she was. Butch had always been on my case about her, as had Lane too, but at the time, Lane was just a punk-ass teenager who I wanted to beat the shit out of more than listen to him. Even Lane’s father, the late, great Roger Carter, told me I needed to pick my women more carefully. And as for Butch, he and I had never completely embraced one another, our personalities the most similar of anyone in the club.

  The efforts, though, had their desired effect. I swore I would never go back to her. No matter what, I would never make the mistake of dating someone so unhealthy for me.

  And let’s be honest, it wasn’t like you were great to her either. It takes two to make a relationship that particularly ugly.

  “Damn, are you going to go and see her?”

  “What?”

  “I said, are you going to go and see her?”

  I snorted at the idea.

  “No,” I said. “Back to the topic at hand. We got Butch, Red Raven, or Father Marcellus.”

  And yet, even though I changed the topic, my mind still lingered on that text from Rose. Why the fuck had she reached out to me? Was she that desperate?

  Or was she that changed that…

  No. I swore never to go back. So I was going to be true to myself. I was not going to go back under any circumstances, no matter the temptation or curiosity.

  “We haven’t paid much attention to Red Raven, man,” he said. “Could be.”

  “Doubtful,” I said. “Red Raven’s older than the founder. I’ve seen Red Raven run into gunfire to be a human shield for Roger.”

  Patriot shrugged. He didn’t have the same level of connection to the rest of the club that I did. By no means was I an old fart—I was, after all, thirty-six years old—but compared to those two kids in their twenties? I felt like a senior citizen in comparison.

  The person I suspected the most, actually, was Butch. Like me, he was quiet, bu
t unlike everyone else, who mistook quietness for calmness and loyalty, I understood that, with the right person, it could work as an effective mask. I didn’t have any proof about Butch, but then again, I’d had to spend most of my energy fighting the accusations from Lane and Patriot. How the fuck could I look at someone else when all eyes were on me?

  My phone buzzed again.

  “Damn, that girl really wants some of your Axle, huh?”

  I gave Patriot an askance glance as I pulled out my phone. Sure enough, Rose had not gotten the hint.

  “Whenever is good for you. Sincerely, I’d like to see you, LeCharles. We can do daytime tea or coffee if you’d like.”

  There was something almost desperate in her words, almost yearning for me that left me with a sinking feeling in my gut. Why the hell would she suddenly come crawling back to me now?

  I had no idea what could have possibly compelled her to reach out to me. She had everything—a daddy who spoiled her, a career path, good looks, everything. There was nothing I could give her other than some male company, and with her olive complexion, brown hair, mesmerizing brown eyes, and incredible curves, there was nothing about her that didn’t attract male attention. I was more than happy to feign humility to ensure some other man had to deal with her baggage and bullshit.

  Maybe she was just lonely. Or maybe she just wanted a familiar face.

  But that wasn’t going to be me. She didn’t need me.

  She didn’t need anything. She had it all already.

  What more could I add?

  More importantly, what more did I really want to add?

  Not a damn thing. Not when she had everything she wanted and nothing I needed.

  Rose Wright

  Everything I owned was in my 2004 Nissan Altima.

  And when I say everything, I literally mean everything.

  My clothes. My accessories. My movies, electronics, and memorabilia.

  And, in the front seat, most importantly, Shiloh.

  My German Shepherd.

  Technically, I had more things back in Utah, but as far as I was concerned, I was never going to see those items again, so they didn’t really count. I didn’t want to see them again, anyway. To go back and get them would mean going back to the lowest point in my life, and I’d already made an enormous step forward by leaving that hell. I didn’t need to return to it just so I could have a pillow or a TV or something else that would ultimately prove unnecessary or replaceable.

  Sitting in the front seat, with Shiloh panting beside me, I looked at him and smiled.

  “I know you want some,” I said, nodding to the In-n-Out fries in my lap. “But I don’t think this salt is good for you, buddy.”

  Shiloh whimpered, which made me laugh and roll my eyes. Shiloh could be a dramatic doggy, but he was my doggy, and if he wanted to be dramatic, well, damnit, he could be as dramatic as he wanted to.

  If it made me a little less crazy and a little less stressed, all the better.

  Shiloh then put his paw on my shoulder, scratching me and demanding fries.

  “Dude!” I said with a laugh. “Okay, fine, you get one fry.”

  I gave him the one fry. He sniffed it, opened his mouth slowly, as if expecting me to pull it back at the last second, and then chewed it, dropping it to the floor. It was so silly, and I couldn’t help but laugh uncontrollably.

  The ridiculousness and lighthearted fun reminded me...

  It reminded me of the good times an old flame and I used to have.

  A flame that, I believed, was still living in Springsville.

  Unfortunately, for as good as the relationship had been in certain spots, there was also no denying the fact it had ended in utter chaos and drama. There were faults on both sides, but much of the fault laid in the fact we were both immature and unwilling to have tough conversations. Chaos in my life didn’t make things any better and, looking back on it, it was small wonder that it ended.

  That didn’t mean that now, though, with the benefit of maturity, I could see if we had both grown up, it could be something great. I could only speak for myself, but the way life had kicked me in the ass the last few years, I felt pretty sure I could say I was in a much more mature place than I was before. I just hoped LeCharles was too.

  I decided I had nothing to lose. I still had his phone number saved in my phone for no reason other than I had held out hope that we could someday be friends again. That day, I prayed, was now.

  I sent off two quick text messages before finishing my food. Shiloh continued to beg, and I couldn’t help but further spoil him. It was a welcome distraction from thinking about the alternative.

  Eventually, with no food left to finish, I crumpled up the In-n-Out bag and leaned over to hug Shiloh before kissing him.

  “We’re almost there, buddy,” I said. “And when we get there, I’m going to take you on a long walk through my old town.”

  It may be in a more ghetto part of town than before, but it’s still my roots. It’s still home.

  I drove to the address I had listed on the southeast side of town, with Shiloh curling up into a ball as best as he could in the front seat. He was not the kind of dog that liked to hang his head out of the window. On the contrary, he loathed car rides. I think given the option between a visit to the vet and an hour-long car ride, he would choose the vet visit. At least the vet could be friendly and give him scratches on the ear.

  When I pulled up, the apartment complex looked even worse than it had in the photos—and let’s just say the photos weren’t promising either. It felt symbolic of my entire return to this town, really. I was only here because no place else would take me in after my past, although I really hoped that didn’t mean it was going to be all bad.

  Even with my car engine on, I could hear the sound of multiple motorcycles just a few blocks over, driving up and down the streets, their engines crackling and popping. It was just the kind of obnoxious noise I hadn’t had in Utah—and the kind of noise I had failed to appreciate being absent.

  “Wait here, buddy,” I said as I parked the car, even though Shiloh started barking at me to stay with him.

  I checked my phone when I got out. LeCharles had sent no reply yet. I suppose I shouldn’t read too much into that. After all, if I had gotten a message like that from one of my exes, I didn’t know how I would have responded. It probably would have made me wonder if he wanted something other than to just chat.

  Did I?

  Honestly…

  I didn’t know what I wanted. I was still attracted to that handsome man, but I didn’t know how he’d changed through the years. Maybe he’d turned into a huge asshole. Maybe he’d gotten fat. Maybe he’d become more sullen and withdrawn than he already was. Complete radio silence had a way of making all the improbable possibilities seem realistic.

  I went into the office of the complex and saw a woman with her feet up on the desk, drinking what looked like... I wanted to be generous and say it was an old-school Coke bottle, but I knew the truth. In a town like this, we all have to pass the time somehow.

  “Hi, I’m here to move in,” I said.

  “Move in?” the lady said. “What’s your name?”

  Jesus, she’s not expecting anyone, is she?

  “Rose Wright. I talked to Jon on the phone and—”

  “Ah, shit, that guy never keeps me updated,” the woman said. “Hang on.”

  She disappeared into a different room. I looked out the window to see Shiloh still staring at me through the car window, yearning for me to come back. I smiled at him, and his mouth dropped open as if he was trying to talk to me. This is just temporary, buddy. We’ll make it through, I promise. We’ll go back to the good days.

  “Three hundred dollars for the deposit.”

  “What?” I said. “Jon said it was—”

  “Look, Jon’s an old fart who doesn’t know the difference between rent and runt half the time, okay?” the lady said. “You’ll get your three hundred back at the end of your six mo
nths if the place is clean.”

  This complex utterly reeked of the kind of place that would never return a security deposit. There was nothing about this woman or her communication with Jon that left me convinced in the slightest that I would ever see that three hundred again. And considering I only had five hundred bucks to last me between now and three weeks, when I got my first paycheck from the job I had lined up, I didn’t have a lot of faith that I could make it work.

  But what was the alternative, to be homeless? To struggle to make ends meet with my dog? To go somewhere else where I wouldn’t have a job, and I’d have to give Shiloh up for adoption so he wouldn’t starve to death?

  I was in a fucked-up situation, and I was too easily exploited. But I’d put myself here with some bad decisions and mistakes. I had to start as close to rock bottom as possible, and only then could I make my way up.

  “Okay,” I grudgingly said.

  Better I go broke than I go without Shiloh.

  I wrote a check for three hundred bucks. I got the key, grabbed Shiloh, and took him to the apartment.

  Which, it turned out, was the wrong apartment. There was an old lady watching the news who looked like she’d been drinking. The lady at the front office barely grunted an apology, only handing me the keys to the correct apartment.

  This time, finally, I had an empty apartment. It smelled terrible. Shiloh went about sniffing every corner of the place, utterly displeased with what he smelled.

  “I know, buddy, I know,” I said, as he whined. “It’s a far cry from where we were before.”

  I knelt before him, kissed the top of his head, and pulled him in close.

  “But we have a home. And we have hope.”