Southern Riders
Scars Series: Book One
An MC, Biker Romance
By Robin Edwards
© Copyright 2016-2017 by Robin Edwards
and Second Chances Press
All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
BONUS BOOKS
Penalized
About the Author
More Books by the Author
Chapter One
JESSIE
“Carter!” The voice is loud and clear through the intercom, but my thoughts are too loud to pay attention.
We arrived at this rundown apartment complex on Slauson Avenue in response to a domestic altercation about ten minutes ago. My partner Jamie decided he could handle it on his own and I didn’t put up a fight. He must be able to tell how exhausted I am; sleep eluded me last night, which is becoming the norm for me.
My life has been a complete wreck since Michael broke up with me out of the blue. After three weeks, I expected to have it together by now, but that surely hasn’t been the case. Every night I replay the details of our relationship over and over in my mind trying to make sense of where we went wrong. Our wedding was scheduled for next June, and I guess the fact that I still hadn’t picked a dress should’ve been a red flag. Deep down I knew Michael wasn’t the one for me; how could I possibly spend my life with someone who hates my career?
I can still remember the look on his face at my graduation from the academy two years ago. Rather than congratulating me, he’d spent the entire evening rambling off random statistics about the dangers for a woman on the police force. I wanted to break up with him that night, and in retrospect I probably should have. Maybe if I had I would be on to the next phase by now instead of wallowing in the ‘what ifs’ of my life.
“Jessie!” Jamie yells from the passenger window, jolting me from my thoughts. “You don’t hear that? They’re calling for you,” he says while pointing to the intercom speaker above the radio dials.
“This is Carter,” I finally answer the dispatch, a little embarrassed by my absentmindedness.
“Yes, Carter. You have a personal call from Michael Gordane,” the dispatcher announces, and if it’s even possible, my cheeks grow redder. Michael has always found a way to make me feel like a child, and our break up seems to have intensified his need to belittle me.
“Please take a message. I’ll respond later,” I answer, glancing over to Jamie who is now scribbling in his notebook while leaning against our squad car. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to my dilemma.
“Yes, Carter. I tried that. He seems hell bent on talking to you. Can I patch him through to your cell?” She answers, and for the first time I pick up the hint of her southern accent. This must be the new dispatcher from Texas.
“Okay,” I sigh, exasperated.
“Thank you,” she answers and the intercom beeps indicating she’s ended the communication.
“I’ve gotta get one more statement and then we’re out,” Jamie announces and then turns towards the apartment complex before I can respond. At that moment, I’m sure he’s heard the entire conversation and this is his attempt to give me a little privacy. My phone vibrates before Jamie is out of earshot, so I let it ring while I watch him disappear into the clay complex.
“Hello?” I finally answer, immediately rubbing my eyebrow in preparation for the stress that inevitably accompanies any interaction with Michael.
“Jessie! I’ve been calling your cell nonstop! I thought something happened to you!” He’s yelling into the receiver, out of breath as if he’s just finished a marathon.
“I’m working, Michael. How can I help you?” I try to disguise the annoyance in my voice, but I know it’s still prevalent.
“Is that any reason to completely ignore me? A simple text would suffice, Jessie! Jeez! You’re impossible sometimes!” He grunts and I roll my eyes, waiting him out to finally admit why he’s calling. After a few audible breaths he ultimately continues, “I need to come and get a few more of my things tonight.”
“I’ve told you several times that you can get all of your things at your earliest convenience, Michael,” now I’m sure he can sense my irritation.
Since our break up Michael has used the last of his things as a way to stay in constant contact with me. Instead of just moving everything out at once, like a sane person, he’s insisted on taking only a handful of items at a time, which forces me to be on call for his never-ending requests.
“Jessie, this hasn’t been easy on me, ya know. I’m starting a new life; rebuilding from scratch. I need a bit of time and I would think you could empathize with that.” He’s much worse at hiding his irritability. God, I just want this call to be over.
“Okay, Michael. I’ll call you when I get home tonight and you can come and get your things,” My eyebrows rise in anticipation as he reluctantly agrees before I rush to end the call.
Nothing can be simple with Michael. Over-complication is the name of the game with him, and I can’t wait until I no longer have to deal with it. Who does he think he is to talk to me about starting a new life, and expecting me to empathize with him? How would I understand when nothing has changed in my life since our break up? My job is the same, I still live in the home we shared together, and I’m continuing to put up with his controlling nonsense. Maybe a new start is just what I need.
“You need a change.” Jamie says while settling into the passenger seat and I turn to face him in shock. Has he been reading my mind?
“What did you say?” I ask in disbelief.
“You need to change – the channel... You’re still set on dispatch,” he nods towards the intercom while buckling his seatbelt and I realize I misheard him. Or maybe I heard what I wanted, or needed, to hear.
“How was it?” I ask while switching the channel on our radio as Jamie looks over his notes.
“Oh, just the same old. She says he hit her, he says she’s making it up. I ask who wants to go to jail and everyone’s happy,” he jokes before shaking his head and shoving the small spiral notebook into his shirt pocket.
“Well thanks for letting me sit that one out,” I smile in his direction, but his focus is out the window as we slowly move through the neighborhood that regularly gives us so much trouble. Summer time is usually the peak of crime in cities across the country; the heat seems to increase the number of events and gatherings, but in Los Angeles the perfect weather tends to make this a year-round norm for us.
The sidewalks are always crowded, with residents grouping into clusters, looking our way with contempt and disgust as we drive passed. In some way, I can understand why Michael was so worried about my assignment to this area; it is in fact the most dangerous district in the county, but my problem was always with his approach, not hi
s concern.
“You seemed like you needed a little time out. What’s been going on with you, Carter?” Jamie finally asks after a pause so long I’ve forgotten what I said to prompt such a response.
“Oh, ya know, just going through some changes,” I begin before the air is caught in my throat. I swallow hard, trying to push back the anxiety, but its stubborn.
“I know you’ve got the breakup and all, but I think it’s more than that,” he says in that questioning tone of his that forces me to complete his thought. When Jamie was assigned as my partner initially I felt a bit disappointed. Why on earth would I want to spend my days with a man twenty years my senior? I thought I’d be disadvantaged by his age and slow pace, but I’d been pleasantly surprised by how valuable his experience and wisdom benefited me.
“I don’t know,” I pause, debating if I want to share such a personal thought, but who am I kidding? I tell Jamie everything and there’s no need to stop that now. “I’ve just been feeling like I need a change; like a real change, a big change.”
“Ahh, I see. A fresh start,” he responds, repeating the words Michael had spoken just minutes earlier. Only now they don’t annoy and frustrate me.
“Yeah. I think I need to just wash my hands of everything,” I shrug while turning onto La Brea Avenue.
“You want out of the city, huh?” He smirks.
“No!” I exclaim before adding, “LA is my home. I grew up here. There’s no way I’m leaving here. I just need change in my lifestyle.”
“Listen, young buck. You need to go out and see the world from a different vantage point. Los Angeles will still be here, and you can always come back. I’ve spent the better part of two years around you, and I’ll tell you if no one else will, you need a damn break from this city,” he assures me before exhaling deeply from his nose while again looking out the window.
The light has just turned green and looking over to the car beside me I wait my turn as everyone in front of me finally reacts to the light, and we all take off in succession. That’s how I feel in my life right now. I’m standing still, while everyone else seems to be moving forward, and I’m getting impatient waiting my turn. Maybe Jamie is right; I do need to leave LA. I don’t know about that though; my whole life is here.
“I don’t know, Jamie,” is all I manage, navigating through the growing traffic as the sun sits high in the sky. The time of day doesn’t have much of an impact on the traffic in the city of angels; and this afternoon seems to be the perfect time for bumper to bumper standstills.
“I’ve got some connects, ya know. I could find you something; get you a complete change of scenery. It could be temporary, but who knows, ya just might like it?” Jamie adds.
“Are you tryna get rid of me?” I tease, trying to deflect.
“I’m trying to help you, grasshopper,” he turns to give me his undivided attention, using the voice and nickname that make sure I’m aware of his expertise over me.
“Well, I guess it can’t help to see what’s out there,” I force a half smirk across my face and Jamie claps his hands once in success.
The rest of the day is uneventful as we patrol our regular neighborhoods and respond to a few minor complaints. Most of the real excitement happens on the night shift, which is what I used to try to explain to Michael, though he never listened. The LAPD gets a bad rep sometimes, but as far as my safety and development, I felt they did an impeccable job.
Partnering me with Jamie was a strategic move to counteract my greenness as far as the streets were concerned. While I wasn’t from a wealthy family like Michael, I had spent my entire life in this city and never come close to the impoverished neighborhoods I was now sworn to protect. The department eased me into the routine, scheduling me no more than four night shifts per month since I graduated from the academy two years ago. I was as safe as I could be in a notoriously unsafe occupation.
Maybe I should have called Michael when I left the precinct, but as I turn down my street I’m glad I didn’t, because I could use a glass of wine before dealing with him. Every time he comes by to retrieve more of his belongings he makes it a full on therapy session and I don’t have the energy for that right now.
My shoulders instantly droop when I pass the large palm tree that blocks the view of my driveway to see Michael propped against his S-Class Mercedes Benz, frustration written all over his face. Flashing a polite smile, I pull my red Jeep Wrangler next to his and take a deep breath before opening my door.
“Dammit, Jessie! You’ve just got to make this more difficult than necessary, don’t you?” He snarls as I get out of the car. Why he feels the need to follow me so close as I make my way into the house is beyond me.
“I called you when I first got to the precinct,” I lie.
“No you didn’t! I have no missed calls from you,” he scrolls his phone and nods his head in confirmation.
“I used a work phone, and I definitely called you.” I stick with my story while heading into the kitchen to pour a much-deserved glass of wine.
“From work?” He asks slowly, like he’s contemplating something, “Oh, were you the private number?” He lowers his voice, embarrassed by the possibility of being wrong, and I’m completely caught off guard by my luck.
“Umm. Yeah. Well, sometimes, yeah, the system blocks the number,” I stumble, completely unprepared to win the argument.
“Oh,” he looks down, dejected, “well, you know I don’t answer blocked calls,” he adds after a pause, in a very forgiving tone. This is Michael’s version of an apology.
“Do you want any wine?” I ask, knowing he’ll refuse.
“Well, what are you having?” He asks before looking over at the Barefoot wine label and scrunching his face in distaste as he shakes his head in rejection.
“I’ve had a long day. You can just get your things and I’ll stay down here,” I tell him while walking to the living room, my feet eager for a seat.
To my surprise, Michael agrees and quickly disappears to our private area upstairs. Most of his things are in the spare room so I’m a bit annoyed when I hear his footsteps hovering above, in my bedroom. Deciding it’s not worth the argument, I turn the television on before flicking through channels.
I’ve just settled on an episode of International House Hunters when Michael makes his way down the stairs holding a small gym bag. Racking my brain for ways to politely rush him out of the door, I completely miss the velvet red box he’s holding in his hand until he’s dangling it in front of my face.
“When we split, you tried to return this and I refused, but the more I think of it, the more I realize it’s a burden for you. Jessie, you’ll never move on and get the fresh start you need if you continue to carry around these memories. I found this on your dresser, Jess. Not hidden away. You’re not allowing yourself to move on, and I think maybe I should at least hold on to it for you to help push you forward.”
Rage is boiling through my veins and I can literally feel my heart rate increasing. The nerve of this man is seriously through the roof. Who the hell does he think he is to tell me what I need to do after a break up? And if I hear the words ‘fresh start’ one more time today I’m going to hurt someone.
He is still standing directly in front of me, his eyes searching me for a reaction, but I’m not going to give him what he wants. No, I’m going to do exactly opposite instead.
“I left it out to give to you. I don’t want it. And as much as I’m fine being the storage for your things, I’m moving soon, so you’ll have to get everything the next time you come by,” I lie again. The ring has remained on my bedroom dresser since I stopped wearing it, although I usually hide it when he comes by.
“You’re finally moving to the valley?” He puts his hand on his hip, chuckling to himself. During our entire 3-year relationship Michael always tried to convince me to move to the valley, where property is significantly cheaper, but I refused. I am from LA City, not LA C
ounty, and my address will always reflect that.
“No, I’m leaving California,” I respond casually while brushing passed him on my way to the kitchen for a refill. My God, the lies are just pouring out of me, but when I hear him gasp from behind me it’s impossible to feel an ounce of guilt.
“Out of state?” He shrieks, following closely behind me to the kitchen.
“Yeah, so you may need to consider a truck. I think my last day will be in two weeks, so plan accordingly,” I inform him while pouring another glass and then deciding to bring the bottle back to the sofa with me.
“Jessie, when were you going to tell me this?” His voice is barely a whisper as he sinks into the loveseat across from me.
It’s the first time I’ve realized just how much this place isn’t my own. I would never have a floral loveseat like the one he’s sitting on, or an uncomfortable cream sofa I’m currently trying to lounge in. From the wallpapered black and white design on the accent wall, to the British oven Michael’s mother insisted we have; this is not my home. I wish I could just shove every detail of this place into his Mercedes and send him packing.
Jamie was right. I need a drastic change, and hopefully I’ve spoken it into existence lying to Michael. He’s still staring at me blankly while I twist my lips in thought before returning my focus back to the television.
“Jessie. I asked a question,” he says quietly and I scrunch my nose in confusion. “When were you going to tell me?” He repeats.
“Oh, I’ve only told my closest friends,” I giggle to myself. I know I’m gutting him.
“So, just Lindsay?” He rolls his eyes, referencing my best friend.
“A couple of people know, Michael. But really, I’ve got so much to do. If that’s all you’re getting for now, can I walk you out so I can get to my own packing?” I stand and head towards the front of the house, but Michael doesn’t budge.
“Jessie, is it another man?” He actually sounds hurt and I’m strangely confused by the fact that he cares.
Southern Riders (Scars Book 1) Page 1