Before I Wake: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel

by Kimber S. Dawn

  “Yep. One last bleed to burn, son. Ya done good. Ya know it? I want you to know that. Your pops is proud when he looks down at what you’ve done. After all you’ve been through…” He smiles then heads towards the garage’s exit, but before he leaves, he tells me over his shoulder, “I’ll text Dreads and let him know we talked. Tell him he can let the little sleeping beauty get some sleep. If I don’t see you before you head upstairs, have a good night. I’m probably gonna be hitting the hay soon.” He waves, and the door closes behind him.

  After I take a deep breath, I toss the bolt cutters back on the floor without unnecessarily taking my aggression out on the motherfucking bike. Not that I don’t still want to. Then I grab the impact wrench and start peeling the bolts from the wheels off.

  I’ve been trying like hell to keep from doing this ever since I jogged up the stairs, grabbed Eve O’Malley’s bag, scribbled some very unnecessary shit down on a piece of paper, and then shoved it in her bag. I didn’t allow a single thought to distract me from my reactions to her flirting and laughing in the boneyard. Not one.

  Nor did I let one pass my already scrambled-as-fuck brain when Beau walked by and I shoved Eve’s bag into his chest. “Give this shit to her. I’m going to bed, I gotta fucking headache. Tell Dreads I’m out for the night. Drive safe.”

  “I’m not your prospect, asshole—but I’ve been asked to honor you and yours, so I will. But don’t forget: You’re not my fucking prez,” the preppy little bastard said to me through gritted teeth, but he still took the bag. Pussy.

  Then I remember that goddamn letter, and I’ll be damned... This headache has nothing to do with a memory. And everything to do with me face-planting, slamming the heel of hand to my forehead, and taking the chair off to the side of the garage before sitting in it.

  Why did I write that mean shit? Why? I didn’t just light that bridge. I soaked it in kerosene and threw a book of lit matches on it! And for what? Because she makes me fucking uneasy, okay? I’ll fucking say it!

  Eve—my little tree that falls and makes no sound,

  I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I know I can’t be who you want me to be, so you can forget that. I don’t know if I ever can be, Eve, and I’m sorry, but I’m just not that person. Ask Roxy—oh, wait. You can’t. She’ll be long gone by the time you get this. Long gone. I don’t think you realize how elaborate of a game it is you’re currently in, but it’s not good. You’re not safe. And I don’t know how to tell you this, mainly because I don’t know you. Not like I should, and I can’t promise you I will. But I’m not gonna be your hero in this—that’s not me. I have a feeling I may be the villain in this story. But I know I can promise you: I’m not the fucking hero. It’s funny... I remember everyone else...just not you. So I can’t really say how, or IF, you’re important enough for me to remember. I know that’s harsh, but I don’t know how else to say it, Vagabond. I want...no, I need you to go on. Make a life for yourself, but first, spend some time with your dad. Learn your roots. I think it’ll be good for you. I’m learning a lot about different coping mechanisms and alternate thinking processes lately. Maybe one day, if I get a chance, I’ll teach ya a few. Hold on to my ma’s necklace, too. Vagabond, better yet, keep it. I have other things of hers, and I think she’d want you to have it. Keep safe. I’ll be in touch. Probably not directly, but I’ll be in touch. Goodbye, Eve.

  —Jacques

  How you like those riddles? Yeah, to be completely honest, I’m a little surprised she’s coming back so damn easily. I mean, I know she’s a tough little cookie. I know she’s got a thick hide, but still... I scratched those words across that paper so harshly that I tore the damn paper with the tip of the pen when I signed my name. I was pissed, and that’s putting it lightly.

  My cell vibrates on the desk, and I snatch it up before swiping my finger across the screen and reading Dreads text, glimpsing at my nightly pic…

  Of Vagabond piled up in the bed with just her head peeking out from the covers. And all of those damn soft curls contrasting against the white sheets. I missed these pics when Dreads was back home for the funeral. I missed getting them like hell.

  Dreads: She’s tucked in for the night. Here’s your pic and proof as requested. We’ll head out first thing in the morning. Probably pull in about twenty-four hours after. I’m still in the room next to hers, and I’m closing the door. But she’s secure. She’s not going anywhere. I promise. Dude...the letter? Really? And why?

  There’s no way in hell I’m answering that question, I think as I type my response.

  Me: Good job, bro. See ya soon. Drive safe, and keep me updated.

  Once I’ve set my phone I down, I look around the room, searching for a distraction. Any damn distraction. Business or pleasure. Then I grab my keys and my wallet from the top of my bureau, swipe my phone from my dresser, and check how much battery I have, which is less than three percent. Then I head from my room and lock the door behind me.

  When my feet land at the bottom of the stairs, I spot a few prospects and other brothers, but that’s about the extent of my options for company. I sigh and wave at Slim, who’s standing in his usual spot behind the bar.

  “Got a Bud back there?” I grunt and sit in a stool in front of him before smirking. “Women problems, man... Can’t remember ’em. Or don’t fucking want to. Either way, I’m beginning to wish there wasn’t shit to remember.” I chuckle before taking a swig of the ice-cold beer he handed me.

  “Nah. They ain’t all bad, brother. Just the important ones. Those are the ones that’ll drive ya crazy. But, if you can figure ’em out, find out what makes ’em tick, I’ve heard they’re the best. At least that’s what my old lady keeps telling me.” He laughs and clinks the neck of his beer with mine. “Cheers, brother. Cheers.”

  Then the older bastard winks at me. “So...is it Clutch’s kid or Ilsa’s that’s given you a headache this time?” He winces before correcting himself—if that’s what you want to call it. “I mean, I know your memory and head shit’s giving you headaches... I’m talking about your comment, Jacques, when ya first sat down at the damn bar! I hate that that shit with Rox happened, man, Sorry...”

  l wave him off. “No, the club voted that shit. It had to be done. Otherwise, we’d be looking at a war with King, not an alliance. And I know what the hell you mean, Slim. Shit.” Then the significance of his earlier question settles around me and the mood goes serious. I look one of my father’s most trusted men in the eyes and tell him the truth. “It’s both, I guess. I wasn’t expecting the shit with Rox to go down like that. I honestly thought I could trust her. I thought, when Ilsa’s daughter was found, she’d clarify Roxy’s damn story. And Rox was so goddamn adamant! I’ve never in my life seen someone deny like that—” I don’t know why, but I just keep talking to the old man.

  Between swigs of beer, I just keep rambling, he interjects comments and concerns here and there.

  We’ve probably split a case of Bud Light in bottles between the two of us when I realize I need to go piss. “I know, when you brought Eve up here, things were different,” he says. “Rox was different. Shit, she was gone.”

  “Who was gone?” I try to stand, but my boot gets hung up under the stool I have it hooked around. “Oh shit, dude. I gotta go lay down. First, I gotta take a piss.” I chuckle when I sway as I stand to my full height. “Damn, what’d we drink? A case?”

  “Damn near eighteen. Nine and nine, brother. You finish disassembling that NNNC bike yet and start making heads or tails of the cryptic-ass letters that keep coming with them? How many do we have now? Five? That only leaves five left, Jacques.”

  My feet are a little heavier than they were when I first came down the stairs about an hour ago, and I do fine on my way up. But not before confirming that what Slim just said was accurate. “Yep.” I try the math in my head, and I think it’s right… “Should be five. Give or take.”

  Then I carry my ass to bed.

  It’s seven a.m. and I’m putti
ng my makeup on in the mirror when my cell phone vibrates in the back pocket of my blue jeans. I found an extra ponytail in Dreads’ bag this morning when he ran downstairs to grab some beignets from the lobby and looped it around the buttonhole of my favorite skinny jeans, giving my daily-doubling-in-size belly plenty of room. Err...well, kinda.

  Ty: I’m in front of the hotel. I don’t see you… Where are you?

  I quickly type in a reply but don’t get it sent before Dreads walks back in.

  “All right, Vagabond. We got coffee, more beignets, and pack of smokes. You aren’t allowed any of those. Doc’s orders. Or Butcher’s orders. At least until Jacques has him put you on the schedule. And don’t worry. He’s birthed plenty of babies. Jacques included. The man has his real MD and everything. He just lets the MC line his pockets and keeps his mouth shut when we ask for favors. Actually, I think birthing babies is his main gig. That or taking care of ’em after. I don’t know—I forget. Anyway, you ready to eat? Everything is packed and in the truck. We’re ready as far as I’m concerned. Can you think of any other pregnancy need we should tend to before getting the fuck outta this town? I’m ready blow this popsicle stand. Yesterday!”

  “Ahh...yeah, no. I’m ready. Actually, I’m not even hungry anymore.” I rub on my tummy. “I’m feeling a little sick,” I mutter as I pull my phone from behind my back. “I’m gonna text my dad, see if he has some Dramamine or something. Anything I can take. I don’t want to get car sick. Oh, God. I usually don’t, but with this pregnancy…”

  When he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds, I look back up at him.

  “Vagabond…”

  The fact that he had the audacity to use that term of endearment—the one he doesn’t even want to remember—causes my patience to snap, and I lash out at Dreads for it. “Just stop with that, already! Fuck, shut it off! Stop calling me that! It’s not my goddamn name, Dreads! Do you want me to start calling you Daniel?!” I shout. Deflecting like a ninja…

  “It is Vagabond... You’re our vagabond.” He blinks dumbly at me.

  “NO!” I shout before throwing my hands in the air and stepping towards him. “It’s not. And no, I’m not! I’m not, Daniel!” I yell, clearly pronouncing his given name. “My name is Eve.” I tap my finger to my chest. “Get that shit straight!”

  I head in the direction of the bathroom, but before I can hit send on my reply to Ty and get the door slammed behind me, he growls out his warning.

  “Fine. But five minutes. Then we leave, Eve.”

  I roll my eyes before sending Ty the text.

  Me: Coming!!! Stay where you are. No, circle the block. I’ll do the same. Head north. I’ll be coming from the south. We’re bound to cross each other. I love you. You’re the fucking best, Fly Ty!!! :* :*

  Tears are welling so fast in my eyes I’m having a hard time finding my pops’ contact in my phone, and yes, I’m oddly comfortable with that term now. Once his picture and contact light my screen up, I type a text to him as quickly as my fingers can shuffle.

  Me: Hey, Pops. I’m not feeling well. Dreads is pushing me to hurry up and eat, but I don’t know if I can keep my first cup of coffee down. :( Do you have some Dramamine or something? Maybe that’ll help. Call Dreads and let him know if you don’t. I’m heading into the bathroom. I hate this!

  Bam. Done.

  Fuck it. What did Jacques’s letter say exactly?

  I don’t think you realize how elaborate of a game it is you’re currently in, but it’s not good. You’re not safe.

  Well, if it’s a game, I better start learning the damn rules. And, if he’s not gonna supply any, then I guess I’ll make up my own.

  Ready or not. She may be small, but she is fierce. And I’ve been through entirely fucking too much to give up and walk away now.

  Even though that’s exactly what I’m doing. Letting history repeat itself. ’Cause it’s what I do when I don’t know where to go or who to trust. When I’m wounded and I can hardly trust my own mind, I run…

  Because you can bet your ass it’s better to run and deal with a new circumstance than the ones falling down around your ears where you stand.

  “You're the tree that falls and makes no sound... If I don’t remember, did it really happen?”

  I look up at myself in the mirror, and my lips barely move as I speak to my reflection, “No sound. I got your no sound. You don’t want to remember me? That’s perfectly fine. I don’t like to be where I’m not wanted anyway. Asshole.”

  I’m not talking to myself, in case you were wondering. I don’t see my face or my tired expression. I see Jacques. And I wish like hell I could leave a note for Dreads to take to him before I leave. But I doubt I’ll be able to. And I seriously doubt I’ll find some paper and a pen. Besides, if I ever think of something incredibly poetic and serving of justice, I can always text him. It’s not like I don’t have his number.

  This time, when I shrug at my reflection, I do see myself. And then I hear my father slam through the front double doors of my hotel room. Oopsie daisy. Well, there’s my first needed distraction.

  “Who the hell do you think you are rushing my daughter? No one rushes a pregnant woman! She’s pregnant! It’s rude, yeah?! Didn’t you have parents, you nitwit?!” My father’s booming voice echoes off the walls as I peek my head around the bathroom door.

  I meekly smile when his eyes narrow on mine. “Hey, Pops.” As I step around the door, I shove my phone in my pocket. But not before I sent Ty a text.

  Me: Coming, Papi! What side of the building are you on?

  I won’t check it until my feet hit the stairs in the courtyard of the lobby though. Don’t get it twisted. I know I’m in a hurry. I see how small this window is. And it’s getting smaller by the second.

  “Did you find something for my stomachache?” I ask. “I’m gonna go look downstairs—”

  “Oh FUCK NO, you aren’t!” Dreads yells. “You! Stay!” He points his finger at my father’s chest. “You can kiss my ass. I’m just doing what the hell you and Jacques agreed upon. If you have an issue, take it up with him. Not me.” He’s almost out of breath, and his hand is twitching at his hip as if he’s begging for someone to give him a reason to pull his weapon out. “Eve, tell your old man I’m not fucking rushing you, kid. I’m trying to fucking feed ya!” He points to the bag on the coffee table.

  “Ma cher bebe doesn’t feel well, Dreads. She told you that, yeah? Just give her a second. My MC’s security is perfectly capable of taking care of her. That’s not the issue. I just don’t want her in the same damn city as that slimy bastard, Ben!”

  My father’s sad eyes land on mine, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “B-Ben’s...here?” I whisper, looking back and forth between the men I trust most—aside from my Ty. “D-Dad? Ben’s here? Right now? In New Orleans? Why? And why am I just now hearing this information?!” I don’t really want to know why. I didn’t mean to ask the damn questions. They just slipped out.

  “No reason, ma chère. You. Are. Safe. I’d just feel better—”

  “Why’d we come here? So quickly? That was never explained to me. And I asked too.” I look at Dreads. “I asked on the way downstairs, did I not?”

  “You did. Now, here’s my question: Do you really want to know, Vagabond?”

  Shit! Why’d he have to call me that?!

  “No,” I spit out. “Actually, you’re right. No. I don’t want to know Ben was in New York too. I suspect he was, especially with there being another bike found. I’m not fucking dumb.” I glance at my father and smile, knowing full well it looks as fake as it truly is. “I’m going to see if I can find something for my stomachache. Maybe try some saltine crackers. Can I pack a few for the road, Pops?” I smoothly lie to my father.

  And why the hell shouldn’t I? He hasn’t exactly been truthful.

  “Absolutely. You go on. We’ll meet you in the lobby, bebe. I have a few rules I need to explain to Mr. Burgh here if he expects to keep his head, yeah? I�
�d hate for him to fuck up and something to happen to my newly found precious cargo.” King winks before unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up one at a time. Then he steps towards the other man in the room. “Isn’t that right, Dreads?”

  It takes me less than three seconds to scoot from the room and down the hall. My finger hits the G button for the ground floor. My body visibly sags in relief when the doors close behind me. Then I swallow, trying to settle my breathing in the elevator, and I pull my phone from my back pocket to see if Ty responded.

  Ty: Fuck if I know. I’m circling it and headed south like you said. What do you want from me?

  I mutter a curse and go to text him back. But then I think better of it. Screw it. So what? He got the direction wrong. The point is, now, I know what it is.

  Me: Okay, in the elevator headed down now!

  I hit send just as the doors open to the lobby.

  Now, I dare you. Ask me what I have in my possession this time as I run away. Go ahead. Ask me.

  Absolutely nothing. Aside from my cell phone and the clothes on my back. And the only thought accosting my brain is that I wish I would've had time to stand around Dreads one last time as he smoked. Or, hell, really any of the guys. Besides me, no one in my circle smokes. And I can’t. Not anymore. Thanks to Jacques Fucking Cain.

  I wince as I step out into the sun through the front double doors of my father’s hotel. Wishing now I’d have grabbed my damn sunglasses. When I don’t see Ty’s car, I head north, recalling the direction he’s headed and knowing we will inevitably cross each other’s paths.