The Darkest Of Light (The Kings Of Retribution MC Book 2)

by Sandy Alvarez

  "I’m close," I pant, when I feel my orgasm start to build. As soon as the words leave my mouth, he pulls out of me. When I start to protest, he quickly turns me on my back, settling himself between my legs while sitting up on his knees.

  "I want to look at your face when you come," Gabriel proclaims. In this position, I get a good look at this man’s beautiful body for the first time. The tattoos I’ve wondered so much about, do in fact stop at his waist. I’m also getting my first look at his cock and it’s perfect. I’m brought out of my trance when he reaches those big hands of his under my ass, pulling me until my lower half is lying on top of his thighs and I wrap my legs around his waist. I watch him as he fists his cock, giving it a few strokes before he takes his shaft, running it along my slit. His actions causing my eyes to flutter. My hands fist the sheets on the bed when the sensation of his cock teasing my clit becomes too much. The look on Gabriel’s face says he enjoys teasing me.

  "Gabriel, please," I beg. This time it’s him who gives me what I ask for. Bringing a hand on each side of my hips, he thrusts into me all the way to the hilt. A string of Spanish leaves his mouth. I haven’t a clue what he’s saying. Reaching up, I grab a hold of his forearms. With both hands still holding my hips, he guides himself in and out of me.

  It doesn’t take long before I feel my orgasm building once again. And from the tight cords in his neck, I’d say he’s close himself. Leaning forward Gabriel scoops me up into his arms, pressing his lips to mine. With me straddling his lap, we are now chest to chest. I let the motion of his hips guide our rhythm.

  He breaks our kiss, "Every part of you is mine," he breathes into my ear with his arms wrapped tightly around my body, and our mouths fused together once more. My orgasm crashes through me and his mouth catches my scream. With one last thrust, he plants himself deep inside me as he growls his own release. We stay in this position with him holding me, our bodies covered in sweat and both of us trying to catch our breath. Soon my breathing slows, and my body becomes limp. I’m completely sated. Gently, Gabriel leans forward and lays me down on my back. As soon as my head hits his pillow, my eyes close and sleep takes me. The last thing I remember is the rough feel of Gabriel’s beard as he kisses my lips softly before I hear him say, "Sleep, Cariño Sweetheart."

  The next morning, I wake to find Gabriel still sleeping. Sitting up in bed, I can’t help but to stare at him for a few minutes. Almost as if he senses my eyes on him, his pop open.

  "Morning," I say shyly. Slightly embarrassed I was caught ogling him.

  "Mornin’, babe." He grins. Scooting himself up to lean against the headboard, I take in all that is Gabriel. From his bushy beard I love so much, to his broad tattooed chest, all the way down to his cock that’s on full display. Gabriel is not shy about his body. As for me, I’m clutching the sheet tightly around my exposed self.

  "Babe?" Gabriel speaks loudly.

  "What?" I ask.

  "I asked you a question, Cariño Sweetheart." He chuckles.

  "Oh. What was the question?"

  "I asked what your plans were for the day."

  "Well, Bella and I were supposed to start going through all my stuff at home, seeing what I wanted to take with me when I leave in a couple of weeks."

  I watch as Gabriel’s form stiffens. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reaches down and picks his jeans up off the floor.

  "That’s good." He states in a robotic tone as he stands up putting his jeans on.

  "Um…I was thinking I could stay in Polson. Go to community college."

  "What the hell for?" he snaps, shocking me. This is not the same man from two minutes ago.

  "I just thought that we—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

  "Thought what, Alba? Thought because we fucked last night, that it would be reason for you to stay? Don’t go changing your plans for me."

  "Look," he says sighing. "I had a good time last night, but it was just sex, Alba. Don’t go gettin’ stars in your eyes. This is not like one of your romance books you keep your nose buried in. This is real life," he says standing there staring at me with his dark, unblinking eyes. His face showing no emotion.

  I’m unable to hold back the steady stream of tears running down my face. The man in front of me is not my Gabriel, my protector. No, the man in front of me is the Gabriel that everyone else knows him to be. Had I known all I was to him was a fuck, I never would have gone through with it. That’s a lie. Being with Gabriel last night was the best night of my life. It breaks my heart knowing the feelings are one-sided.

  Climbing out of bed, I drop the sheet I had clutched to my body. I feel so humiliated I’d even broached the subject of me staying. I was naïve enough to think last night meant anything. Pulling my shirt over my head, I refuse to look at him. I open the door to his room when he calls out, "Cariño Sweetheart."

  Without turning around, I respond in a shaky voice, "I’m not your Cariño," and walk out of his room. I ignore the sound of Gabriel’s roar and the sound of shattering glass hitting the wall.

  Three weeks later, my sister and I are in my room packing the last of my things to take to college. I never told Bella what happened that morning after I slept with Gabriel. When I came banging on her and Logan’s door, asking her to take me home, she begged me to tell her. I never want to speak of what happened. And I haven’t seen him since that morning. I refuse to go to the clubhouse anymore. Though I know she suspects it’s something to do with a certain asshole Cuban. Bella knows I’ll tell her when I’m ready.

  "Alba, do you seriously need all these books? Why don’t you leave them here?"

  "I need my books, Bella," I huff. She doesn’t understand my love of books runs deep.

  Snickering, "Fine, you win, sis."

  "Are you two finished yet? We need to get on the road." Logan asks from the doorway of my room.

  "Yup, these are the last two boxes." I tell him.

  Roughly four hours later we arrive in Bozeman, where I’ll be attending Montana State University studying graphic design.

  My sister rode with me in my new truck while Logan followed. Bella wanted to spend as much time with me as possible. And what better way to spend four hours than listening to our favorite 80’s and 90’s music.

  Once Logan has finished hauling my boxes up to my dorm room, my sister and I prepare to say our goodbyes, which include endless tears. Logan literally had to pry us apart. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but it almost came to that. Bella and I have never spent time apart. We’ve always been each other’s crutch. But it’s time for me to grow up. She’ll be married soon, and I need to learn to stand on my own two feet.

  Chapter Two

  Gabriel

  I haven’t slept in two days. Fuckin’ insomnia. It’s why I’m sitting on the roof of the clubhouse at 3:00am smokin’ mota weed. I can’t remember the last time I slept a solid six hours. Shit, that’s a lie. I remember, I just don’t want to. If I do, I’ll start thinking about her. The roof is my spot. Everyone knows if I’m up here, leave me the fuck alone. Being up here, staring up at the star covered sky takes me back. Back to home. When I close my eyes, I can almost see it. The orange and purple sky transforms into darkness allowing a canopy of stars to light up the streets where my sister and I played. When night falls in Cuba, parents don’t send their children to bed. No, children play in the streets as the neighbors play music and catch up on town gossip. Such an innocent time.

  Now when the sun goes down and the moon takes over, there is nothing but darkness. I like the dark, it hides all my imperfections. Nighttime is when my demons come out to play. The voices have been quiet lately. The demons are never gone, only hiding in the shadows allowing me peace for a few brief moments. Now that she’s gone, they’ll be back. Reminding me of who I am and of my past.

  I still remember the day my father and I left Cuba. I was ten years old. My father came into the room I shared with my sister, waking me up. It wasn’t unusual for him to wake me up early and take me with him t
o go fishing. Only this time was different. There were no fishing poles, only a small suitcase. Arriving at a secluded part of the beach, we met up with five other men. As soon as I saw the makeshift raft, I knew what was happening. This is a Cuban’s way of finding a better life. It’s scary and dangerous, but being desperate will lead a person to do the unthinkable. Now my father and I were about to become those desperate people. At the time I didn’t understand why. I pleaded with him to take me home. Why were we doing this, leaving the country we love, leaving my mother and my sister? Along with those five men, my father and I spent seven days in The Gulf with the sun on our backs. The nights were so dark you could sometimes see the glow of the creatures living beneath the sea. To say I was scared out of my fuckin’ mind would be an understatement. Miles on top of miles of nothing but the sea.

  I’ll never forget the first time I stepped foot on U.S. soil. It was the start of a new life. Not a life I wanted, but one my father chose for me. While the other men were celebrating freedom, all I could think about was how much I wanted to go home. As a young boy, I didn’t understand why my father would do this. Why would he take me and leave our home? What were my mother and sister going to do without my father to take care of them? My sister Leyna is four years younger than me. It was my job to always look out for her. Who was going to do that now?

  It wasn’t till several weeks later he told me the reason for leaving. He got himself into some trouble. He was caught skimming money from his job. My father was facing fifty years in prison. Cuban laws are much harsher than U.S. laws. He explained to me that coming to the U.S. was his only option. At least this way he could find work and then send money home to my mother and sister.

  I was so angry with him. I asked him why he had to steal. If not for him taking from his job, we wouldn’t have had to leave. Once I got older, I realized my father did what he had to do to take care of his family. He didn’t want to steal. He only wanted to give us a good life and keep food on the table. I knew we were poor, I just didn’t realize the struggles my parents faced at the time. What kid does?

  We settled in Miami with a cousin of my father’s. After about a year of working two jobs, things started to change. In the beginning, we were pinching pennies just to buy bread and milk and our lights were frequently being cut off. Then one day we were eating endless amounts of takeout and my father was buying a new car. Soon after that, he up and quit both jobs. Money began flowing freely. He was sending plenty of money to my mother and sister in Cuba. With the amount he was providing, they no doubt didn’t want for anything.

  We moved into our own house in a better neighborhood. I started a new school, a better school, and I was making friends. Overall, I adjusted well. The only part that worried me was how my father was making his money. I may have been a kid, but I wasn’t stupid. Whatever my father was involved in, definitely wasn’t legal. We had to leave our family and home in Cuba because of his illegal activity, only for him to come to the U.S. and do the same. I guess he didn’t learn his lesson. For the most part, he kept his business away from me...until I was sixteen. That’s when my father’s sins caught up to him—to us.

  One night my father came home in an unusual mood. He seemed somber, almost defeated. When I asked him what was up, I never expected what he was about to tell me.

  "I fucked up, hijo son," he told me. Some men were going to come for him, and that they would be here soon. I told him we could run, leave town. He explained it wasn’t that easy.

  "You can’t run from these people. They have eyes everywhere," he barely got the words out of his mouth before three men walked into our house. My father hadn’t even bothered to lock the door. Like he knew there was no use. One of the men was wearing a suit. He was lean and tall, I’d put him at a little over six feet with black hair. This man carried himself with confidence. The other two men were in normal looking street clothes, both tall and stocky.

  "Martinez," suit regarded my father using his last name as he sat across from him at our kitchen table, "You know why I’m here." It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  That was the night I watch my father die. The guy in the suit, who I later learned his name was Santino, gave a signal allowing one of his men to shoot my father in the chest. I rushed over to him, catching his limp body as we both fell to the floor of our kitchen.

  "Lo siento I’m sorry," were the last words my father spoke to me before taking his last breath.

  I’m not sure how long I sat on the floor holding my father. Minutes? Hours? All I know is by the time I snapped out of my daze, Santino and his men were gone. The motherfucker just left. As if taking a life was all in a day’s work. Like he hadn’t just destroyed the life of a young man. Part of me understood why he did it. My father stole from him. You get yourself mixed up with the wrong kinds of people, only to double cross them, and you’re bound to end up with a bullet in your head. But at the end of the day, I loved my father—faults and all.

  Picking myself up off the floor, that was covered in my father’s blood, I went straight to my room to pack a bag. After packing only what I needed, I then went into my father’s room and headed straight to his closet where I knew he kept a stash of money. I was sixteen and now on my own. No way was I becoming a ward of the state. I’d wait till I was out of there before calling the police. So with my bag slung over my shoulder, and roughly two thousand dollars in my pocket, I walk out of the house.

  I spent three years living on the streets, bouncing around from one shitty motel to the next. Many nights were spent sleeping in the park and on the beach. I had to learn how to fight, otherwise I wouldn’t last. The first time I slept in the park I got stabbed. All for the three lousy dollars I had in my pocket at the time. Thank fuck the asshole used a small pocket knife, so it didn’t cause much damage. Not enough to go to the hospital anyway.

  People had no qualms about taking what they wanted from you. If you didn’t want to play victim, you had to be ruthless right along with the worst of them. Turns out I had a knack for fighting. I was quick on my feet. It also helped, I was bitter and angry at the world for the hand I’d been dealt. By the time I was eighteen, I was already six-foot-four and loved the rush I got from making somebody bleed. It became my addiction. That’s how I found myself in the underground fight scene. It was decent money, but that wasn’t my reason for doing it.

  It was at one of my fights, I learned Santino’s name. I remember standing outside the makeshift ring, bull shittin’ with another guy. A man in the front row caught my attention and I instantly recognized him.

  "That’s Santino, he’s a high bidder. His guy, the one getting ready to fight is also undefeated," he informs me.

  When I cut my eyes to the man in the ring—who was currently beating the shit out of someone—it was none other than the guy who killed my father. It may have been Santino’s orders, but this was the man who pulled the trigger. It was right then and there a plan was set into motion. The more fights I won, the higher in rank I climbed. The money didn’t mean shit to me. I sank every dime into partying, drinking, and women.

  After three months of fighting, my time had come. I was to go up against the piece of shit who took my father’s life. The man had ten years and at least twenty pounds of muscle on me, whereas I had a good five inches in height on him. When the bell rang, the only thing I saw was my father’s blood-soaked body lying on the kitchen floor. It was as if time had stopped and everything was moving in slow motion. The roar of the crowd was fueling my rage. I threw punch after punch, until my arms felt like lead. I soon realized how deathly quiet everything was around me. The only thing I heard was the ringing in my ears as I lifted myself up off the bloody, battered, unrecognizable mess under me. All eyes were trained on me as my chest heaved and I struggled to catch my breath.

  I turned my head in the direction of Santino. My cold dead eyes met his, looking for him to show any sign of recognition. Did he know who I was? The slight lift of his chin told me he did. Why he never came after
me I’ll never know. Maybe in some way he figured an eye for an eye and all that shit. All I knew was that night would become the third most significant night of my life. Number one was when I left my home. The country I loved. Number two was the night my father was murdered. Number three was that night, the first time I killed someone. It was also my last fight, but not my last kill.

  Six months after that fight was when I meet Jake. He came knocking on my hotel room door minutes after I robbed a gas station. After leaving the fight scene, money was scarce, and I was desperate. I never worried about cops being called after my last fight. That’s not how things work on the streets, but robbing a store was different. With my gun drawn I cracked the door open.

  "No need for that, son." The stranger told me. The stranger was Jake, and he changed my life.

  Seven years later, I am now the Enforcer for The Kings of Retribution. This club and these men are my life. They are my family. I still miss my little sister terribly. I send her money every month to keep her in a comfortable lifestyle. Since the passing of my mother four years ago, she has decided she wants to come to the U.S. I’m currently in the process of making that happen.

  The ringing of a cell phone grabs me from my past. Cutting my eyes across the yard of the compound, I see the club’s new prospect Daniel answering his phone. The little shit is supposed to be watching the front gate, not chattin’ on his fuckin’ phone. Prez brought in the new guy a few weeks ago. He’s been doin’ okay. Although something’s not quite right with him. I can’t put my finger on it. Call it intuition. I’ll be keeping a close watch on him until he can prove his ass worthy. I watch as the prospect glances up in my direction, then quickly hangs up his phone.

  "Estupido Stupid," I mutter to myself. As for our other prospects, Blake and Austin, Prez has decided to patch them in. After the way they helped handle shit when Logan’s woman, Bella, was kidnapped, they more than earned their patch. The brothers will celebrate this weekend with a party.