ANGEL_Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  ANGEL

  Lords of Carnage MC

  Daphne Loveling

  Contents

  Credits

  Mailing List

  Dedication

  1. Angel

  2. Jewel

  3. Angel

  4. Jewel

  5. Angel

  6. Jewel

  7. Angel

  8. Jewel

  9. Angel

  10. Jewel

  11. Angel

  12. Jewel

  13. Jewel

  14. Angel

  15. Jewel

  16. Angel

  17. Jewel

  18. Angel

  19. Jewel

  20. Angel

  21. Jewel

  22. Angel

  23. Jewel

  24. Angel

  25. Jewel

  26. Angel

  Epilogue

  Other Books in the Series

  Did you like this book?

  Join My Mailing List

  About Daphne Loveling

  Books by Daphne Loveling

  Copyright 2018 Daphne Loveling

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Photo By Shooting Star Studio/Shutterstock.com

  Cover Design by Coverlüv

  One of my favorite things about writing is the relationships I build with readers. I occasionally send newsletters with details on new releases, special offerings, and exclusive bonus material to readers who subscribe to my mailing list.

  See the back of this book for details on how to sign up.

  To loyalty, love, and bikers.

  And to Amanda, for the spaghetti scene. ;)

  1

  Angel

  The princess’s eyes are wide, blue pools of terror.

  “Help me, prince!” she screams in desperation. “Help me, before it’s too late!”

  “Here I come!” I bellow, barreling toward the tiny figure. Her small pink mouth is bowed in an exaggerated O of fear. “Don’t worry, princess! I’ll save you!”

  I make a big fuckin’ display of jumping over the lava pit that only the “princess” can see. The evil dragon has created it to keep her imprisoned against her will. I clear the pit with feet to spare, and land safely on the other side. The princess flings her arms around my neck as I scoop her up, then jump back over the invisible lava, carrying her to safety.

  Heaving a deep sigh of relief, the princess snuggles into my chest. “Thank you, thank you, handsome prince!” she cries. “But, wait! What if the dragon comes after us?”

  “That dragon will be shakin’ in his boots, when he realizes it was me who saved you,” I growl. Giving her a squeeze, I bend down and deposit my pint-sized royal package on the ground in front of me. “He’s not about to bother you again, I guarantee it.”

  Princess Mariana opens her mouth to reply to me. But just then, a giant monster of a dog bounds around the corner of the house. He’s more than twice her size, and before I have time to grab her back up, he’s pounced and she’s on the ground.

  The princess shrieks with laughter, wriggling around in her pink dress. Her crown tumbles off into the grass beside them as dog and girl wrestle.

  “Well, shit,” I drawl. “Looks like the dragon got you anyway.”

  “Language.”

  Mariana’s mom, Jenna, appears on the deck. A smirk is on her face as she looks down at the scene. “Angel, mind your language around the children, please,” my sister murmurs. “Good lord, Mariana,” she clucks. “I thought I asked you to try to stay clean until the party.”

  I reach down and drag Rhino, the family Saint Bernard, off of my six year-old niece. “But Mom,” she complains as she scrambles to her feet. “It wasn’t my fault! I was being clean! Right, Uncle Angel?”

  “She was,” I affirm. “She even managed to keep the lava off of her dress.”

  “Yeah!” Mariana insists. “It’s Rhino’s fault I got dirty!”

  “Rhino saw you two roughhousing, and couldn’t contain himself,” Jenna says drily. She’s doing her best to sound like she’s mad, but the corners of her mouth are twitching. “Honestly, Angel. You’re to blame, too.”

  I let go of the dog, and he lumbers off to go find more mischief to get into. “You asked me to keep an eye on her,” I retort, glancing down at Mariana. “Sorry, but my options were kinda limited, seein’ as she ain’t quite old enough yet to do an oil change on my Harley.”

  That gets a laugh out of my sister. “Point taken.”

  Mariana looks up at me with earnest, indignant eyes. “I am so old enough to help you do an oil change!” she exclaims. “You let Noah help you!”

  “Mariana, leave your uncle alone, now,” Jenna admonishes. “You go upstairs and take off that princess dress right now, before you get it all ripped up.”

  Mariana starts to whine, but one “mom look” from Jenna shuts her right up. With a dramatic sigh, she tromps up the deck stairs and goes into the house.

  “And take off your shoes inside!” Jenna calls after her.

  “She’s got a point about the oil change,” I consider, frowning.

  Jenna turns back to me, and shakes her head in mock embarrassment. “You know I could use this entire scene to blackmail you, right?” she grins.

  I shrug. “None of the Lords would ever believe it. You ain’t got a leg to stand on.”

  Jenna snorts. “Yeah,” she retorts with an evil smirk. “But you never know — maybe I have proof.” She pulls out her cell phone and waves it at me. “I wonder what footage of the President of the Lords of Carnage MC playing princess with a six year-old would be worth?” She muses in a taunting voice. I open my mouth to respond, but she’s already down the deck stairs and pushing past me. “Now come on,” she says as she heads toward the garage. “I need some help setting up the tables.”

  Shit. Knowing my sister, she probably did film the whole fuckin’ thing.

  Muttering to myself, I follow her out to the garage, where a bunch of long folding tables are stacked up against one wall. Today’s the twelfth birthday party for Noah, Jenna and Ghost’s oldest kid. Besides being my sister, Jenna also happens to be married to the Sergeant at Arms of my club. Ghost has also been my best friend since we were kids. Their son Noah is the result of a one-night stand the two of them had one summer, the year after Jenna graduated high school. Jenna left town not long after that, and she only found out she was pregnant weeks later.

  Ghost didn’t even know he was a father until nearly five years afterwards, when Jenna showed back up here in Tanner Springs, broke and unemployed. Jenna didn’t tell him about Noah being his at first. It didn’t come out until after the two of them had hooked up again, and things started to get serious. The way Jenna tells the story, she was too terrified to tell him. She was afraid that once Ghost found out she’d kept such a big secret from him all those years, he’d be too mad to stay with her.

  And he was mad, for sure. But not mad enough to ignore that he’d always carried a torch for her, and that he wasn’t gonna let her get away from him a second time, no matter what.

  Yeah, I’m not gonna lie. It was a little weird finding out my sister was fucking my best friend. But that was a long time ago now, and I’ve gotten used to it. Besides, the two of them are as solid as they come.
All you gotta do is look in either of their eyes to realize it.

  I eye the all the folding tables stacked against the garage wall, and tell Jenna I can set them up myself. Gratefully, she goes back inside to deal with other party-related shit. I spend the next twenty minutes unfolding and arranging the tables they’ve rented around their large back yard. Then I start in on placing folding chairs around the tables. I’m just finishing up when a familiar panel van pulls into the driveway and parks.

  The driver’s side door opens and Ghost climbs out. A second later, Beast, my vice-president, hops out of the passenger side. The two of them have been out on a liquor run for the party. They immediately open up the back and start hauling cases of whiskey and beer and bags of ice into the garage. I can see they’ve bought enough alcohol to get a goddamn army drunk — which is more or less what is gonna happen. Most of the Lords of Carnage and their families are gonna be here today, so running out of booze is not an option.

  “‘Bout time the two of you got back,” I say, wiping my forehead against the heat. “Some of that beer better be cold.”

  “What do you think we are, a bunch’a fuckin’ animals?” Beast grins. He rips open a case and tosses me one.

  “No comment,” I say, catching the icy can easily. I pull open the tab and take a long drink. “Damn, that tastes good,” I growl.

  Jenna must have heard the van pull up from inside, because she comes out of the sliding screen door onto the deck. “Not a moment too soon,” she grins when she sees the two men. “Hey, Beast.”

  “Hey there,” he nods. “Where’s the birthday boy?”

  “He just got back home from playing down the street,” she replies, coming down the stairs. She saunters over to Ghost, who catches her around the waist. “He’s in the shower. Be down in a few.”

  “Everything under control?” Ghost asks, pulling her in for a kiss.

  “Yeah. Angel set all this up,” Jenna tells him, sweeping her arm around the yard. “People will start arriving in a few minutes. I’ll have plenty of help getting tablecloths and plates and things set out, once Jewel and some of the other women get here. And some of the older kids have promised to do babysitting duty for the younger ones. Thorn and Isabel are bringing over the birthday cake.” She takes a deep breath and sighs happily. “So, I guess we’re good to go!”

  “Good deal,” Beast rumbles. “Let’s get this party started.” He heads back toward the garage, and a couple seconds later, booming music begins to blast from the stereo system Ghost installed when they first moved in a couple months ago.

  “Oh, boy,” Jenna murmurs, mock-rolling her eyes.

  “Guess we’re about to find out our neighbors’ tolerance for noise,” Ghost grins.

  2

  Jewel

  I’m already half an hour late to help at Jenna and Ghost’s birthday party for Noah, when the ring of my cell phone in my purse stops me just as I’m heading out the door.

  With a guilty start, I plunge my hand down to the bottom of my bag. Silently, I pray it’s not Jenna wondering where the hell I am. Even though I’m just helping her out as a friend, and not as part of my paid gig as bartender to the Lords of Carnage, I feel terrible that I’m not there when I promised I’d be. I hate being late in general, and I especially hate being late to help out Jenna. She’s always been so kind to me, and I’ve always had a soft spot for Noah. I’d like to believe that Jenna thinks of me as a friend, and not just as an employee of the club. But even so, right now I still feel like I’m on the clock, even though I’m not getting paid for today.

  My hand finally closes over my phone, and I pull it out to glance at the screen. It’s not Jenna, thankfully — in fact, it’s a number I don’t recognize. The area code’s familiar, though. It takes me a second to realize why. But when I do, it stops me in my tracks.

  Northwest Indiana.

  It could be a coincidence, I tell myself as my heart starts to race. It could just be a robocall.

  For one long moment, I stand in the entryway of my tiny apartment, arguing with myself about whether I should answer it.

  If they’re calling, it’s probably important.

  You’re late, Jewel. Let it go to voicemail.

  And I almost do.

  Half-paralyzed, I hold my bag open, prepared to drop the phone back in. If it is who I think it is on the other end, I know it’s not likely to be anything good.

  But then — even though I’m almost positive I’m going to regret it — I give in. With a soft groan, I press the button to accept the call.

  “Hello?” I feel my face involuntarily cringing at whatever is to come.

  For a second, the only noise on the other end is a jumble of staticky noise, like maybe someone’s listening to a TV. Then: “Julijana.”

  It’s not a question. It’s a statement: a bark of disappointment. The tone so familiar that my stomach curdles.

  “Mama,” I murmur. The muscles in my upper body instantly tense in a defensive posture. As though she’s suddenly in the room with me.

  “We need to know your address.”

  Jesus. Even though I should expect it by now, the blunt harshness of her words still sting. No How are you? No I just called to hear your voice. To make sure you’re alive. To tell you we’re thinking of you.

  Of course not. Because that’s not why she’s calling. That would never be why she’s calling. Whatever she wants — whatever the reason she bothered to pick up the phone and dial my number — I know it has nothing to do with concern for me.

  I suppose in a way, I should be grateful that she makes no pretense of motherly love. Because that would be even worse, wouldn’t it? Then I might find myself hoping — believing against all the odds — that she actually cared about me. Whatever bad things I can say about my mother, at least she doesn’t lie.

  “I’m still living in the same place, Mama,” I reply tiredly. “Same town, same apartment.” I sent her my change of address when I moved a couple of years ago. I always do, for some reason. More fool me, I guess.

  “You are still living in this… Tanner Springs,” Mama recites in her accented English, as though she must be reading from the letter I sent her. Well, at least she keeps, them, I guess. Or at least she kept that one.

  “Yes. Still here.”

  “Good. We are sending Jurij to you.”

  I literally do a double-take, pulling the phone from my face and staring at it. “Wait, what?” I ask in confusion as I sink into the small armchair that sits by the door. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your brother is in trouble here. We cannot keep him anymore.”

  Mama’s voice is terse, matter of fact. Like it always is. Even though I haven’t talked to her for literally years, I know this tone well. This is her It is already decided voice. The one that brooks no argument.

  “Mama, I…” My head is shaking in confusion, of its own accord. The hand that’s not holding the phone creeps up to my hair, starts to twine a thick lock around two of my fingers. It’s a nervous gesture, a habit I’ve had since I was a little girl. At least I no longer yank at it — pull it out — like I used to. “I can’t keep Jude here with me,” I protest, even though the lump forming in my stomach is already telling me it’s no use. “I don’t have room for him. I only have a one-bedroom apartment. I don’t have anything for him.”

  “There is bus station in Tanner Springs, yes?” My mother continues talking over me, as though I haven’t said a word. She tells me she and my father are driving Jude to the bus station this afternoon. That they’ll buy him a one-way ticket here. Her tone makes it clear the decision has already been made — that she and Tata have already talked about this. I know I can continue to try and argue with her, but it won’t do any good. Saying no to my mother is not an option. Saying anything she doesn’t want to hear is essentially useless. It’s almost as though she has only enough grasp of the English language to hear what she wants to hear. Try and contradict her, and her face turns uncomprehending and sto
ny — a mask of deliberate Serbian incomprehension.

  As my mother continues to talk, my mind is reeling. In a daze, I try to add up how many years it’s been since I’ve been home. Jude must be — what, seventeen by now? I can’t even imagine what the seventeen year-old version of my brother would be like. And I have no idea what he might have done to drive my parents to send him away.

  Not that I can’t imagine him wanting to leave. After all, I left home as soon as I could, of my own accord. I’ve been on my own since I was about his age, in fact. But my parents were furious when I left. Because even with going to high school full-time, my part-time job still brought money into the family. They considered any money I earned to be their due, for raising me and giving me a bed to sleep in for seventeen years. For my parents to kick Jude out of the house, they must see no financial gain in him. Or he must be causing enough trouble that getting rid of him seems worth the loss.

  My mind conjures up the image of him that I always see when I think of my brother: his baby-faced, crooked smile when he was ten years old. Still innocent, still worshipful of his older sister. The little boy who would faithfully respond to all of the hand-written letters I sent him, with a pencil or marker drawing of a souped-up car, or a Transformer-like creature. The boy who would still send me his school photo when I asked him to, so I could put it up on my tiny refrigerator.