Before I Wake: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel

by Kimber S. Dawn

  I look from Clutch to Slim. Then I settle my gaze on Nails. “So it was you…”

  But that’s all I’m able to gather in the way of intel. Because he doesn’t answer. And my brothers aren’t able to track down his number in time, either. Fucking obviously.

  All I’m left with is the click of Bentley Cain ending the call as I stare at three of my brothers.

  I swear it’s like every damn one of my chapters start off this way…

  When I come to, my body already knows that the situation it’s in isn’t good, ’cause it revolts. Then, five seconds later, I’m on my side and vomit is surging through my esophagus and nose before spilling beside my face on the pillow and making me gag even harder.

  “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,” I mutter while spitting out more vomit, trying to push myself up. “If I should die before I wake.” I fuse the two prayers and then whine when I realize I've messed up my one and only prayer. “Ohhh my God! It’s happening. I-I’m really dying...” I cry out to the empty, cold room. A room that isn’t the room from last time.

  It looks nothing like it. As a matter of fact, I may be mistaken, but I think it’s moving. I finally pull myself up, hovering on all fours over the mattress covered in vomit, and glance at the window. Then the blinds slam against it for the second time.

  Shit, I am moving.

  I look around, scooting over the vomit then towards the edge of the bed just as the the RV pulls into an empty camping ground parking lot. I hurry to pull the blinds back and see a sign for the park, which I remember from when Grams and I came here camping about two months after she saved me from juvie. The place is called Black Bear Campground. It’s about two hours north of Grams and my old house.

  My mind races in circles as I try to assess my surroundings as quickly as possible, but I haven’t gotten far when Ben comes in through the side door in the living area of the vehicle.

  He swings it shut behind him. “Wake up, wake up. The sun is up. The dew is on the buttercup,” he singsongs on his way to the back of the RV.

  “I’m up. I’m in here, like you didn’t already know…” I hustle and yank the covers from the bed. Then I shove them on top of my mess.

  No need for my bed to become no longer a part of the equation. I may need to vouch that I’m tired. Can’t do that with a messy bed. But, first, I need some more answers, besides just where we are. I also would like to know his intentions.

  “Have you talked to Jacques? Does he know I’m missing? Again?”

  “Does it matter?” he slyly counters.

  Fuck no. Not really. It won’t change anything.

  I sigh and decide that it’s okay to concede sometimes. Just as long as it’s briefly.

  “I guess not, no. Not really.” I sadly shake my head before settling into a short-legged chair. “I’m pregnant, ya know? I doubt it—” I let out another sigh along with one of the tears that’s been threatening to spill over my lashes since I woke up and realized what a fucking mess—no, scratch that. What an utter and chaotic disaster my life is right now. I almost feel myself begin to give up for the first time in my life...almost.

  I shouldn’t have tried to fucking run away. I never should have— I can’t even finish the thought.

  “I didn’t know it. The first time you shanghaied me. I had no fucking clue I was knocked up.” My hollow words land between us at the same time I cut my eyes at him across the small distance. I narrow them when he glances up, waiting for me to finish. “So that’d put me wasting six months already of my pregnancy in your captivity. I’ve served my time, don’t you think, Bentley?” I calmly ask. As calmly as I fucking possibly can around my shaky voice. “Didn’t Rox make sure Eden already paid enough? What are you doing? I know my sister loved you. She told me she did. A thousand times, in a thousand different letters. Don’t fucking do this to her. Hasn’t she suffered enough? Don’t make her watch her sister suffer from Heaven.” I wrap my shaking hand around Jacques’s mother’s necklace and say a quick, silent prayer before trying like hell and spitting out every word I can think of that might save my damn pregnant ass. “Please, Ben. Will you just think about it?” I beg him.

  “I’m not thinking about shit. You lost your phone at the airport somewhere in Atlanta, by the way. You were my ‘too tipsy’ bride, and we were coming home from our honeymoon. Speaking of, nice tits too. The bump throws the whole rack off though. For me at least. Sorry. I don’t love you. I’m not Jacques.”

  No fucking shit, and he doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even remember me!

  But I bite a hole through my lip instead of speaking the words. I don’t know what to divulge or what not to. I learned my lesson. Child of the system here. Remember?

  “That’s fine. Perfectly understandable. You had to”—I swallow the bile rising in my throat and have to blink tears away again—“d-do what you had to d-do. So I played your wife. Don’t expect it to happen again. I’m not that kinda girl. I’m not sure what Jacques’s other women are like, nor do I care, but I can assure you we’re nothing alike. I’ve only—”

  Shit! Again, I don’t know what to say and what NOT to say! So I shut my trap instead and try like hell to remember to let him freaking talk.

  I count breaths until he clears his throat and catches my attention again as he steps farther into the room. Then I suddenly realize I’m cornered in.

  “I know...I know. I heard what the brothers are calling you—his Jacqueline. Do you think that makes me allowed to act out my father’s part?” His hand grips my neck and he begins crowding my space.

  I swear to God I’m gonna scream or puke if he doesn’t get his hands off me and step back so I can breathe. “STOP!” I shout, slamming my fists against his chest. Then I skirt around him, taking off for the exit in the living area of the RV. I move faster than I’ve ever moved in all of my life.

  I scan surfaces as I run by them, looking for something, anything, I can use as a weapon, but I come up short. On all accounts. Other than a dishrag, and I’m not looking to hang myself. Not like that. And not right now. I’m with child, for goodness’ sake.

  Unfortunately, however, I don’t stop in time. I slam into the door. As I move to grab the doorknob and tear the door open, I feel Ben come up behind me. Then, a split second later, the cold butt of his gun meets the nape of my neck through my hair. It’s like he’s sifting through the curls with it or something.

  “Nuh uh, uh, uh... You’re not going anywhere. Not yet.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and pull in a deep breath. Then my hand leaves the doorknob and they both land at my sides as I turn around. “Okay. You win. You won. Long time ago. You want me here? I’ll stay. No matter how STUPID I THINK IT IS! What’s fucking wrong with you!? Don’t you see what you’re doing?!” I scream, but I remain completely still. Silently, I pray around my fake-ass bravado that he doesn't pull the damn trigger. “I’m Eden’s sister! We were best friends, Ben! I loved her just as much as you did! Do!” I try to hurry up and correct myself, knowing he won’t like her being talked about in the past tense. “I love her just like you do. Please don’t do this to her.” I pray that I’m not overestimating his love for her. That my sister’s love and loyalty for one man wasn't wasted—not after she’d spent half of her life devoted to the bastard.

  I’m not only praying for myself and my own life, but for the life of the child growing inside me. For Jacques Cain’s child’s life.

  Right then and there I beg, I cry, and I plead like I’ve never before.

  And, when I am done, and I’ve said every possible thing I can think of that will sway him and his opinion of me in my favor, all Bentley Cain does is smirk at me.

  “Yeah, well, that bitch stopped mattering the second she bled out and killed my kid. So, whether or not she gets pissed in her place in Heaven, I could really give a shit, Vagabond.” He points to the table in the kitchen area. “Sit. I understand you used to be a smoker. I got a pack of cigarettes. You have a light?”

&n
bsp; His hand hovers over the table and the pack of smokes as I walk to the table and sit like he demanded. I’m still scanning every nook and cranny for anything sharp I can use. Or anything at all, like I said earlier. Same difference. I need to save my freaking life. Now.

  “No light. I told you I can’t smoke. I’m pregnant.” I glance at my hand in my lap and begin picking at my cuticles.

  “Yeah, but my No Color brothers have been watching you chase around the DDDs brothers in New Orleans’ as well as the SOS brothers in NYC. You’re close to the smoking hole no matter where you are. You’re looking for the nearest smoker to stand by. Don’t think we haven’t been watching you.”

  My gaze shoots back up to his.

  How the fuck does he know?

  It’s the only way I can function without tearing off faces of the people around me while they try to communicate with me. The only thing that calms my nerves and stops me from chewing a hole through my lip is standing next to someone who’s smoking. It’s my favorite. It’s like I’m the one smoking...only it’s vicariously through someone else, and yeah, I’m sniffing secondhand smoke. I realize that’s no better. But I settled it with myself. Besides, I stopped fucking smoking. Some women don’t even do that!

  “I’m sure you have. If you're anything like Jacques, then no, Ben. I’m not surprised you did your homework.” I sigh before looking up at him. I feel the defeat creep in. Slowly but surely, it’s there.

  “Yeah. Don’t think Roxy and I don’t know how to do our homework. If anything, Jacques learned it from Rox, not the other way around,” he spouts before nodding like his word is law.

  “Okay.” I smile, nodding and looking back down at my hands.

  What the hell does he want from me anyway? Shit, I’m agreeing!

  He sets a cigarette in front of me. “Light that.” He hands me a lighter then snatches it back before lighting it. “Don’t fucking hesitate. Don’t act all prim and proper now. You cussed like a damn sailor in that basement for months on end. I knew you were pregnant then. Roxy had your piss tested at the hospital. We knew. We also knew what Jacques’d been feeding you. Your little DOC. Or drug of choice. Versed, huh?”

  He fucking has the audacity to wink at me.

  “What? No—I’ve never done drugs in my fucking life. What the hell are you even talking about? You’re the freaking high one!” I shriek, trying to maintain control of my tone and only somewhat coming up short. I puff the cigarette lit and immediately blow the cigarette smoke out.

  Fine. He wants it lit? I’ll light it. I’ll blow smoke out. But I won’t inhale. I’m pregnant.

  I puff on the cigarette a few more times, cutting my eyes at him through the smoke. Then I decide to go ahead and finish my rant now that I’ve calmed down. “Jacques kidnapped me. First. Before you did. Don’t ask—it’s a long story. I still don’t know all of it, either. So I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to.” I shrug then puff another few puffs, continuing to immediately blow them out after letting the smoke circle my mouth and linger with each fake drag. Sort of. “Seems kidnapping Eve Of’May O’Malley is all the rage as of late. I already knew I was irresistible, but this is a bit ridiculous. You must agree. What’s it been? Three or four times now in the last damn year? It’s exhausting—I’ll tell ya that!” I chuckle around yet another drag, wondering if the nicotine is affecting me somehow.

  “I said fucking smoke it, not waste it, you ungrateful bitch! This is probably the only time during this pregnancy you’ll get to have a damn square. Smoke it.” His hand circles my wrist and brings the cigarette back to my lips.

  This time when I pull the smoke into my mouth, I don’t stop it from being dragged into my lungs. I just suck that damn wonderful nicotine in and sigh as I exhale.

  “Good girl. Shouldn’t be long. Not now.” He moves my hand back to my mouth, and I take another drag.

  When I exhale again, it’s around my slurred words. “Be lone? I mean, lounge. Long.” I finally get it correct and then try for the other words I need to say, but he moves my hand back up and I take another drag. “Be long fur who? Err...what?” I furrow my brow and look down at the cigarette. “This menthol? It’s minty fresh.”

  “No.” He tries to shove the cigarette back in my face, and when I dodge it from meeting my lips, he takes in his own fake drag before blowing it in my face. “It’s mouthwash. It hides the taste of the Versed I dipped it in. It’d be too bitter. You wouldn’t be able to smoke it. The mint shocks the lungs from coughing up the harsh chemical. Don’t worry about it. I did the dosage calculations. Rox taught me how.”

  The RV tilts under me, and suddenly, I’m cradled against his chest and he’s carrying me back to my messy bed—my pile of sheets and the duvet covered in vomit. I try to keep my eyes open, but they’re so damn heavy.

  “No...please. I messed up. There’s a mess,” I sputter, trying to spit the hair out of my mouth. After he tosses me to the side and adjusts me a bit, he shoulders open the door to the back room I just escaped.

  Then I’m being cast through the air until I land on top of the wet, sticky mess. And of course I feel bile crawling up the back of my throat again. When Ben Cain stands between my legs, halfway hanging off the edge of the bed, he bends down until both of his hands circle my ankles. Then he pulls them, dragging me closer to him. He uses my legs as leverage to pull my ass down the bed, which causes my T-shirt to ride up until my bottom is met by the bulge in the front of his jeans.

  I can’t even keep my eyes open though, much less use my heavy hands to pull my T-shirt back down to keep my bra-covered breasts from showing. “Please…” Speaking, I realize, has now become a feat too difficult for me as well. So I decide, Fuck it. Maybe it is time to concede. Maybe not for forever, but at least for the time being.

  And then...just like always, I pray, but this time when I speak to God, I get my words right. Finally.

  Now, I lay me down to sleep. I Pray the Lord my soul to keep. May angels stay with me through the night. And wake me with the morning light. But, if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

  Between my club and King’s, finding the location of the call and the coordinates of said location and tracking down the park and a brief summary report of the few campers and RVers that were occupants of said report didn’t take long.

  None of it did.

  What the struggling feat was, however, was explaining where the hell Roxy was at the time Ben called. That was… Whew, that shit was hard. When Ben’s second call came in, I scrambled. I don't think I’ve ever scrambled so quick in all of my life.

  I already had Clutch and the Butcher pretty much stationed up in the office or the church area of the building at all times. Thankfully, it took Ben less than twelve hours to call, so the three of us hadn’t killed each other yet. However, unfortunately, I’d gotten no better at bringing Rox back to life, and I hadn’t dug her up or attempted the shit. And I highly doubted using another bitch to pretend to be Rox on the phone would actually work—Ben knows Rox as well as I do. I’d know it wasn’t Roxy Bell. So would he.

  I don’t want my first mistake to be my last, so I’m not going to assume Ben thinks or knows any less than I do. As far as I’m concerned he’s privy to what I know, what my club knows. It’s a trick I learned from my pops a long fucking time ago. Way before I lost my memory.

  “Dreads said King wanted us to wait! I say we wait. Shit, we’ve been collecting their bikes, bro. Not them!” Slim growls as the four of us walk our bikes up to the old, rusty RV.

  I throw my fist in the air, motioning for them to stop, but mainly for Slim to shut the fuck up. Then I gesture my hand across my neck and lock eyes with Slim, mouthing, “Shut the fuck up.”

  Once I point to the RV and circle my pointer finger in the air, the brothers follow suit. Well, all of them except Dreads. He stops and whispers in my ear.

  “Slim’s right, bro. Seventeen is better than seven. Any damn way you cut that pie. Now, I’m not saying he’s got ten mothe
rfuckers slammed in there with our Vagabond, but—”

  I cut my eyes to his and narrow them. I continue motioning my hand, though with a bit more muscle behind it, and snap before pointing to the front door. I don’t say anything else. I don’t need to.

  These motherfuckers know what time it is. We don’t need backup; what we need is no more time wasted. We have what the fuck we need. Right now. The damn element of surprise! I hold my fist in the air and count in my head to three. Then I hold up five fingers. Dropping them one by one. Five. Four. Three. Two.

  I don’t recall what happened at one. I couldn’t fucking tell you. Because when I saw Eve’s dark head on the floor beside the wall, something inside me snapped.

  As soon as my fist goes through the window, they all follow suit and barge into the small space too. I wrap my bleeding arms around my Vagabond’s waist before I yell out over my shoulder at Dreads.

  “Goddammit, check her for a pulse! Someone check her for a pulse—Dreads, where’s Ben?!”

  My shaking hands keep missing the wisps of hair as my fingers try to brush it away from her face. Finally, my hands just say fuck it, because instead, they cup her cheeks. Then I pick her head up off the ground before cradling it in my lap. Tears flood my vision, making it hard to see. Tears I can’t fucking explain.