The Ice King On My Hate

by Reese Madison

  The Ice King On My Hate

  Book 6 of Colson Brothers Series

  REESE MADISON

  AuthorHouse™

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1-800-839-8640

  © 2014 Reese Madison. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Published by AuthorHouse 11/18/2014

  ISBN: 978-1-4969-5477-0 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4969-5476-3 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014920809

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Dedicated to Kelly Smith.

  Roses are Red

  Violets are Blue

  This book would be Dead

  If it wasn’t for You.

  Thank you for all your help and patience.

  Prologue

  About once a year I have to go to court to deal with some stupid bullshit. I don’t really mind because it gives me an excuse to ride, but this damn uniform itches. I scratched my shoulder.

  I maintain this badge because it gives me the legal backup I need on occasion. ‘Occasion’ being the operative word. I live off the map. The only reason The Alaska State Troopers pay me is because they need numbers in remote areas like where I live. I respect my badge, and so do the hundred and fifty-two residents I preside over.

  I tried a new terrain a couple years ago, but that didn’t pan out. My twin brother Sawyer took to the dessert just fine. I prefer the solitude found in the icy cold Yukon.

  Poker Flat Research Range can be heard from here during the months of January, February, and March. You’ll hear them other times of the year, but they light it up for those three months. Not many people want to live here as a result.

  The Yukon River runs through my territory. Technically we’re not a town, but during the summer months you’ll find a diner, a gas station when we can get to it, and a kennel full of sled dogs.

  I don’t have a jail, and there’s not much of a grocery store. I’m the law up here this far north of Fairbanks. I use my badge to call for backup when we have SAR’s.

  Everyone up hear knows me, or of me. They call me Troop, or Trooper Colson. My hair’s too long, my beard is out of control, and I’m bigger than a Russian brick shithouse, six-seven and somewhat over three hundred and forty pounds of pure asshole.

  Yea, I admit it. The reason I don’t have to go to court very often is that I scare the fuck out of people. Unless they get stupid and sneak liquor up here in the winter, or worse, drugs, they get Colson Justice. I’ve known most of these people all my life. I believe that gives me the right to judge what kind of justice they need.

  My mother’s family raised me and my twin brother Sawyer on their homestead. She left for California when we found a gold mine that turned enough profit for her to do so. I don’t blame her, she did her time.

  She told us who our father was from the very beginning. Sawyer and I contacted him a long time ago, ten or twelve years ago now I think. I went with him to meet that side of our family, and to make sure nothing happened to my goofy brother. He’s not quite right in the head, then again neither am I.

  Turns out we’re part of some crazy half-brother jacked up fertility experiment that has made us all heirs to the largest biker throne in the world, Exiles.

  Exiles took us in, the eldest brother, Slider, is President now. Bull is our father, he’s the one that poked holes in condoms and knocked up every naïve woman he could find, including our mother.

  She was rebelling in her youth down in Anchorage one summer when a much different version of Exiles rolled into town. It took my mother two days to get knocked up and five years to find Bull again.

  He paid her five grand to put his last name on the birth certificates and raise us how she saw fit. She threatened him with child support over the years and got some money here and there. She finally gave up the fight figuring it was better than going to court, and better than nothing. Going to court is a pain in the ass when you live in the bum-fuck Yukon.

  We had a good childhood. My grandparents were always in integral part of our lives until the year they died. It was their deaths that drove Sawyer down to Phoenix to prospect. He couldn’t handle the memories in his face every day after that. Since I was along for the ride I went to college down there and applied for the academy at the same time.

  I prospected for Exiles and earned my patch within two years. It took me longer than most because I was simply too busy to give the club the time they needed to get to know me. Sawyer got his patch six months before me.

  Five years later I graduated and dipped into SWAT for a little while. It didn’t suit me so I headed over to MPD. Mesa Police Department. I stayed there long enough to make detective and decided I’d had enough of the heat.

  Actually what I’d had enough of was the people leaving their kids in their cars in the heat of the summer. They left their dogs in there too. The drowning’s really got to me. It was like people got dumber every year instead of learning from their mistakes and getting smarter.

  I came home and married my childhood sweetheart. She and I grew up together and had kept in touch over the years. She never faulted me for leaving to see a bit of the world, and happily accepted my proposal when I got back. We had a short and sweet ceremony before banging like rabbits in heat for the next month.

  During this time we got to joking around about some BDSM shit. I put a collar on her from one of the dogs and walked her around a bit. We got more turned on than we thought and started playing around with it. Nothing too kinky, just fun.

  Two years later she got pregnant then died before giving birth. I have her collar, but nothing of my son who never had the chance to draw a breath.

  I shook my head clearing it of the haunting memory and changed my internal dialogue. Poker Flat has felt empty since my twin brother left. He always seemed to make people smile no matter what.

  Sawyer is a full time firefighter who moonlights as an EMT for a private ambulance service when he can. We look a little bit alike at first, then you quickly realize he’s the light and I’m the dark. My hair is darker, my eyes are darker, and my personality is darker. He’s the funny man in the room, I’m the guy looking to get out and go fishing to get away from everyone.

  I turned the throttle and leaned into the turn that leads to my town that’s technically not a town. It’s late summer so this will probably be my last ride of the year. That’s the real drawback to living two hundred miles or so south of The Arctic Circle, only four months of riding whether, and that’s if you’re lucky. I like to hunt as much as possible when the weather cooperates, so balancing the two can be tricky for me. Yeah I know, rough life.

  My radio chirped in my ear before my aunt’s voice came across,
“Base to 27, you there?”

  I touched the mic button on the side of my helmet to reply and give her a hard time. It’s what we do. “Nope, went fishing.”

  “Like I’m supposed to be surprised by that?” She countered. “Hey, I actually have something to report, so pretend to be a cop for once will ya?”

  “Do I have to?” My badge says Alaska State Trooper. Well, one of them does. The other is different color from a different state that says Detective, but I don’t work down there anymore. That was just for a couple years to help my twin brother move and adjust to Phoenix. Now I’m home, have been for months, and evidently there’s work to be done.

  “I can see smoke coming from the Milford homestead.”

  “What color is it?”

  “It’s thick and grey, and there’s a lot of it. Whoever is up there is burning some old dry wood.”

  “Kids?”

  “No, I just finished radio rounds with the storm coming in early. Everyone is accounted for, except Denise, but I suspect she’s at your place.”

  I cringed, “She really needs to let go.”

  “Tell me about it.” She complained. Denise is my sort-of girlfriend. At least that’s what she tells people. To me she’s just a drunken mistake that’s lasted entirely too long. Hey, I gotta get laid, and she’s the only feasible pussy for a hundred miles.

  Fifteen minutes later I pulled off the main road and rode up the dirt road to what is now my homestead. Old man Milford died four years ago. Before he kicked the bucket he put in a good word with the state for me to take over the homestead. I’m still working on clearing the property of his mess.

  Evidently so is this woman. She stopped mid throw when she saw me pull up.

  I set my bike on the stand and hung my helmet on the elevated handlebar. She set the piece of wood on the ground by her feet. “Alaska State Troop ma’am. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  She put them up, “I have a knife on my belt, but no intention of using it.”

  I relieved her of the knife and did a quick check for anything else. “What are you doing up here?”

  “My parents left me this place, I’m trying to start a fire before the storm gets here.”

  “I need to see some ID.” I stepped back and set her knife on my seat.

  She fished out an envelope from her inside jacket pocket. “I don’t have ID, but I have the homestead paperwork, and the will my mother sent me via lawyer.”

  I took the envelope and read the paperwork. Jasmine Milford. Funny, I don’t remember the Milford’s having a kid. I handed her back the paperwork, “Even if you had ID, these are worthless. Time to go before I have to take you in for trespassing.”

  “What do you mean worthless??”

  “Starting in 1989 the state of Alaska decides whether you get to inherit a homestead. You have to petition the state for a good year before they let you squat on their land.” I explained looking around. She’s done a good bit of clearing for me, but I’m not going to tell her that.

  She sat hard on the ground crumpling up the papers and tossed them aside. “Fuck me running.”

  The idea is entertaining. She looks a little road weary, but not ugly. “Are you alone up here?”

  “Yes.” She rubbed her face with both hands.

  “How did you get up here?”

  “I hitched a ride with a tow truck driver.”

  “Buck?”

  She nodded.

  I almost laughed. “So your plan was to stay up here, all alone? You do realize this storm could mark the beginning of winter, right?”

  Another nod. “Seems pretty stupid now.” She looked up then stood and looked around. “Oh my God. Does someone live here??”

  “Not at the moment, but it most definitely doesn’t belong to you. Got a Plan B?” I wonder if there’s a shovel up here to cover that fire with dirt.

  “No. This was the only plan I’ve had for two years. Two long fucking years it took me to get up this far.” She put her hands up like when I first pulled up. “I’m going to get my bag and head out of here before the storm hits. Are we good?”

  “Where are you going to go? We’re a hundred miles from a hotel.” I informed her already seeing where this is going. Next year I’m building a damn jail.

  “I don’t have the slightest idea.” She put her hands down and walked over to a large backpack and hefted it up onto her shoulders.

  “Do you know anything about living in Alaska?”

  “Only what I’ve read in books.”

  “Great. Look lady, I’m not big on paperwork, and finding your dead body in a few days is just going to piss me off. You need to call someone, find a place to stay.”

  “I don’t have anyone to call, and don’t worry, I’ll save you the paperwork and get eaten by a bear.” She started past me towards the driveway, if you can call it that. It’s more like an overgrown path.

  “Give me your backpack.”

  She turned around walking backwards, “Don’t. Please. I’ve survived this long without charity, I don’t need it now.”

  “Get over here or I’ll detain you for attempted suicide.” Stupid woman. Just because she’s survived this long doesn’t mean she’ll survive tonight.

  “I’m not suicidal.” She argued but stopped backing up.

  “If you think you’re going to survive the night out here you’re beyond suicidal into plain old stupid. Even without the storm you’ll be dead by morning. Now get over here and be ready to get on this bike. I’m hungry and you’re wasting my time.” I am hungry. Being three hundred pounds of pure Alaskan asshole and muscle, I don’t get hungry, I get hangry. Angry hungry.

  She hasn’t moved.

  I walked over and relieved her of the backpack to attach it to the rear fender over my saddlebags with bungee cords. I always carry extra cords.

  Women. Good for one thing, otherwise they’re a pain in the ass.

  1

  The ride back down that mountain was brutal. If it was any other man there’s no way he’d have been able to wrestle this bike in this awful frozen mud. I’m hanging on for dear life to his heavy leather jacket.

  The snow started falling right as he finally pulled onto a real road. The only road from what I can tell by the map. The wind bit into my face when I tried to look up, so I didn’t. I have no idea where he’s taking me, but we can’t get there fast enough as far as I’m concerned.

  Are we ever going to get there? This ringing in my ears is getting louder. My head started to pound. Shit. I might be hypothermic.

  When we finally did come to a stop he had to carry me inside because I fell twice before getting two feet from the bike.

  He set me on the couch, “Take your clothes off and get under the blankets.” He ordered before tossing two logs in a wood stove across the narrow room. “Don’t move until I get back, I need to put the bike away.”

  I worked my way out of my dirty wet clothes and happily curled up under the blankets. The wood stove warmed the room up rather quickly making me grateful for the small space as my bones thawed.

  I listened while he was doing something behind me down the hall. It sounds like he’s wrestling the house itself. I think this is a mobile home, it has that kind of layout.

  When he came back he said, “Get up.”

  I did pulling the quilts around me and looked up into a frozen beard.

  He studied my face for a moment, “How did you end up homeless and alone?”

  “All I want to do is live off the grid. I don’t owe you my story.” Telling him how I ended up here will not end well for me. The less he knows the better for both of us.

  He nodded and stepped back, “Follow me.”

  I picked up my backpack and followed him down a hallway into what I think is a master bedroom. Turns out it’s where he keep a big beautiful royal b
lue Harley. Looks like a Super Glide now that I can get a better look at her.

  He stepped aside and pointed to the far corner, “Set up camp there. Touch my bike and they’ll never find your body. Help yourself to the shower and washing machine. You stink like road kill.”

  I nodded, “Thanks.” This is a damn sight better than fighting snow and worrying about a brown bear eating my ass in the middle of the night.

  “Stay out of my way and keep your mouth shut. I don’t do roommates. When the weather clears I’ll take you back down to Fairbanks.” He left me without waiting for a reply.

  Evidently Trooper Colson is an asshole. I did manage to read the nameplate on his jacket. Great. Like I haven’t had enough of those in my life, I get The Ice King of Hate. Ugh.

  I pulled up my big girl panties once more and set up camp. I took my time so I didn’t bother his highness as he watches TV and eats something that smells like fried chicken.

  I’d kill for some fried chicken. Maybe I’ll sneak a piece if there’s any left after he goes to bed.

  It was a good plan, but a major fail. He fell asleep on the couch. I swear if I didn’t have bad luck I’d have no luck at all. Even my bad luck has bad luck.

  Once everything was fresh and clean including myself I curled up and fell asleep to a very empty stomach.

  The next morning I woke up hoping it would be nice enough outside to go hunt some food since it doesn’t look like Trooper Colson wants to share. I’ve hunted before, but rarely successfully. Maybe I can find a river and fish for my breakfast.

  I snuck up on the living room to make sure I’m don’t disturb him. The room is empty. I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Whew.” I whispered just to make sure my voice still works.

  I walked over to look out the window and realized my stomach will stay empty today. “Fuck.”

  “Not unless you’re on the pill.” His voice made me jump.