Melancholy

by Bella Jewel

  Melancholy

  Jokers' Wrath MC, Volume 2

  Bella Jewel

  Published by Bella Jewel, 2014.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Melancholy (Jokers' Wrath MC, #2)

  2007 – Santana

  2014 | Santana

  2008 – Santana

  2014 – Maddox

  2014 – Santana

  2008 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2014 Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2009 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2008 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2008 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2008 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2008 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2008 – Santana

  2008 - Maddox

  2014 – Santana

  2014 - Santana

  2008 – Santana

  2014 – Maddox

  2014 – Maddox

  2014 - Santana

  2010 – Santana

  2014 Santana

  2014 – Maddox

  2014 – Santana

  2014 - Santana

  2014 – Maddox

  2014 – Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2014 - Maddox

  2014 – Santana

  2014 – Maddox

  2014 - Santana

  2014 - Maddox

  2014 - Santana

  2014 - Maddox

  2014 - Santana

  2014 - Maddox

  2014 - Santana

  2014 - Santana

  2014 – Santana

  2014 - Santana

  2014 - Maddox

  2014 - Santana

  2014 - Santana

  2014 - Santana

  ~*MELANCHOLY*~

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  MELANCHOLY

  Copyright © 2014 Bella Jewel

  Melancholy is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offence to the content, as it is FICTION.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A massive thanks to all the blogs on my tours. You’re amazing for taking the time to share and review for me; you’ll never know how much that means to me.

  A special thanks to Love Between The Sheets for always having time to organize my Release Day Blitz and Cover Reveals. You ladies are super amazing and I’ll always appreciate the effort you’ve given me.

  Thanks to Lisa from Three Chicks and Their Books for always reading an ARC before releasing and helping me out. Thanks to Kylie from Give Me Books for always sharing and reading for me, too. You girls are amazing. I adore you.

  A massive thanks to Ari from Cover it Designs for this gorgeous cover. You never disappoint.

  To Lauren, my crazy, awesome editor. You do such a great job. I couldn’t do it without you. I adore you, lovely.

  To my girls, Belle Aurora and Sali. For always reading and helping me create the best work I can. For always talking to me and making me smile. I love you two, my besties.

  And of course, to my admin MJ for ALWAYS keeping my page running beautifully. I couldn’t do it without you, girly.

  A massive thank you to Kris Scharr. For coming up with the amazing name of Jokers’ Wrath MC. As well as picking the name of a character to show throughout the series. You’re a gorgeous girl and an amazing fan. Thank you.

  And, last but certainly not least. To my loyal readers. You make this real for me; never stop giving such love and passion. You make our journey so amazing.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my very own biker, my husband. Thank you for the countless hours you have put in to helping me out with my work, or just keeping the kids busy while I write.

  You know I’ll love you forever, my big man.

  PROLOGUE

  To truly understand a story you need to start from the beginning, but to start from the beginning you have to go back, further than just you. After all, our stories don’t start with us, do they? Our stories start with the person before us, and the person before them. We are created from the stories of those people—from their mistakes, from their achievements, from their love, and their hate.

  No one’s story is ever truly their own.

  I tried to create my own story, my own path, and my own actions. I’ve seen things people only see in their worst nightmares, but I never let them beat me down. I never let that become who I was. I picked myself up, and I kept going. Everything was what it was. There was no point analyzing what it could be.

  Could be didn’t matter.

  Until Maddox came into the picture. He saved my life. He changed my world, giving me the second chance some of us only dream about. There was only one thing missing in my second chance, and she was the reason I fought so hard to survive.

  My sister.

  My sister who is supposed to be dead—well, at least, that’s what I thought.

  That’s what he told me.

  Now is where my story changes, but to understand this story, you have to start at the beginning . . . where it all began . . . and before.

  CHAPTER ONE

  2007 – Santana

  My breathing comes in short, hard bursts as I press my body against the cool wall. My skin is clammy, but I’m too afraid to lift my hand to wipe it away, desperate to remove the beading sweat from my forehead. I squeeze my sister’s hand as I close my eyes; if I close my eyes, I won’t be so afraid. I can take myself to a world he isn’t in.

  When I close my eyes, I remember a better time. A time when my parents were alive, a time when my sister’s smile lit up my life—a time when nothing hurt. Now everything hurts, my sister never smiles, and my parents are dead. My world went from beautiful to hell in a matter of hours.

  That’s all it takes to change a life—a mere few hours.

  My first memory as a child is one I’ll hold with me for a long, long time. It’s where I go when fear takes over. I smile when I think of my sister’s happy face as my father led her outside, his brown eyes twinkling. I held onto his hand, and he squeezed mine tightly. My sister’s eyes were firmly shut, but her body thrummed with excitement.

  The moment she was able to open them, her squeals filled the silent air around us. Her face lit up as she saw the cubby house Dad and I had spent hours putting together for her birthday. Her blond ringlets bounced as she spun around, throwing her arms around Dad, then me. It was the best moment of my life.

  Then an accident stole my parents from me. There was no family—well, none that wanted us anyway. We were sent into foster homes, constantly separated. Finally, when I was fourteen, we were put in together. That family was torture in its purest form, and our time there quickly became hell on earth.

  Now I spend my days trying to protect my sister, putting myself first because I can’t bear to see the pain in her face when he hurts her. Each day is
a battle, and we’ll fight that battle until I can get us out of here. I’d rather live on the streets than be at the hands of this monster any longer, so that leads me to the here and now, my sister and myself crushed against the wall, holding our breaths as he leaves the room.

  Waiting. Praying. Hoping.

  My fingers slide over hers, letting her know I’m still there, letting her know I won’t let her go. Not ever. When I open my eyes and turn to her, she’s in her happy place, too. Her eyes are tightly closed, her breathing steady. I taught her how to live in the beautiful space that lies in her mind—nothing can hurt her there.

  “Girls!” Oscar barks, his heavy footfalls coming towards us.

  I press myself further against the wall, praying with everything I have inside me that he won’t open the closet. I pray he’ll think we’ve gone to school. I squeeze Pippa’s hand when I hear her breathing becoming deeper. She squeezes back, a silent answer to my question. She’s okay. We’re okay . . . for now.

  “Girls? Where the fuck are you? If you’re ignoring me, so help me God, I’ll fuckin’ make it hurt!”

  He will, too. He doesn’t abuse us sexually, which I’m thankful for every day. Instead, he has an obsession with control. He likes the feeling of power he gets when he holds us down, and brings his fists to our faces. He’ll do anything he can to call us out on a lie so he can have the satisfaction of carrying out the punishment.

  His footsteps get closer and we both stop breathing, our hands squeezed so tightly my fingers ache. He stops, grunts, and then stomps away down the hall. I let the breath I was holding out, and tears prick my eyelids with relief. That relief grows when the car starts up, and skids off down the road.

  We open the door quickly, stepping out. We only have a tiny backpack that contains enough for us to survive and keep warm. We’ve stolen money during the past six months, gathering around five hundred dollars in that time. He suspected we were stealing, of course, and we dealt with the beatings he dished out because of it. He never found our stash, though.

  Another small miracle, I’m sure.

  “We have to hurry. He’ll be back in less than ten minutes.”

  Pippa nods, tucking a strand of faded, ratty blond hair behind her ear. Her once chocolate-brown eyes are now dull and lifeless. Pippa and I are two completely different girls – she’s just like our father and I’m more like our mom. She’s fair, with blond hair, lighter skin and brown eyes, while I’m dark. My skin is olive, my hair is dark brown and there are days my eyes seem nearly black.

  Our bond, however, is unbreakable.

  “I don’t want him to find us,” Pippa whispers, staring at me with a frightened expression.

  I cup her face in my battered hands, smiling down at her with everything I have. “I’ll never let him hurt you again, Pippi. Never.”

  She smiles up at me. I’ve called her Pippi since the day she was born. I always thought it suited her more.

  “Let’s go,” I encourage her, taking our bag and running towards the front door.

  Stepping out onto the street today seems different. It feels like there’s hope in the air, like we might actually have a chance to live and breathe again. Taking my sister’s hand, I take the first step to freedom. No more foster homes, no more evil men, and no more being apart.

  This is our chance at freedom, and I’m not letting it go.

  ~*~*~*~

  2014

  Santana

  Bright lights jerk me awake. The shrill sound of beeping monitors is the only noise that fills my aching ears. I try to blink, but my eyes feel like two heavy pieces of lead in my skull. My tongue is dry and it burns, like a scratchy piece of sandpaper in my mouth. I gasp out a breath, flicking it about to try and get some saliva to coat it.

  “Santana?” A voice calls. “My name is Roberta, I’m a nurse here. Can you hear me?”

  Of course I can hear you, you’re yelling in my face. The words want to come out, but my stiff tongue won’t move enough to let them. Tears burn under my heavy eyelids as I try hard to speak. Where am I? What happened?

  “You’re in the hospital. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me?”

  A soft hand is in mine. How did I not notice that? I squeeze it, mulling over her words. Hospital. You’re in the hospital. My hazy mind swims as I go over the memories lying dormant inside it. Why am I in the hospital? What happened? Did something go wrong? Where is Pippa?

  “You were shot,” the nurse goes on.

  Shot? I shake my head from side to side, confused. I cry out, but it sounds like nothing more than a hoarse gasp. The sounds of creaking doors and beeping are too loud.

  “Is she awake? Why the fuck wasn’t I called?”

  A barking voice fills the room, so familiar. My mind swims, trying to figure out whom that voice belongs to. God, why can’t I remember anything? My mind aches.

  “Santana? Hey, it’s me. Maddox.”

  Maddox?

  More tears run as fuzzy memories become clearer. Running from the compound. Ash, Krypt and Maddox. Together. Having sex. Bullets firing at me. I hiccup loudly, and begin to cry harder as my hand reaches out for the comfort I need the most. Maddox.

  “I’m here,” he says, and the bed dips as my body is pulled into solid arms. “No one can hurt you now.”

  The words he’s told me so many times. So many times. I flutter my eyes open, and everything is blurry. The nurse comes into view first, her round face staring down at me. She blinks her green eyes and smiles. “Hi, would you like some water?”

  I nod, and she passes me a small plastic cup with a straw poking out. I take it, and press it to my mouth. My hand shakes, and Maddox’s goes up to curl around mine. He holds it steady as I take gulping sips, desperate to ease the ache in my throat. I shift, and a sharp pain radiates through my calf.

  I got shot.

  Someone shot at me.

  I let the cup go, and Maddox thrusts it towards the nurse. “Leave,” he demands.

  “But I have only just finished checking her vitals. The doctor will want to see her, and . . .”

  “I said,” he barks, his voice a deadly hiss. “Leave.”

  “I . . .”

  “Now,” he bellows.

  She hurries out of the room, and the door closes quietly behind her. Maddox shifts, moving out from behind me and getting off the bed. He gets a chair and drags it over, sitting beside me and staring at me with blue eyes that have clearly had no sleep. He’s got dark rings under them, and his jaw is tense, his muscles ticking.

  I watch him, and my heart clenches. He slept with Ash. He slept with Ash. My heart burns, it burns like someone has shoved a match inside and lit it on fire. I have no reason for this kind of jealousy; Maddox and I have never been an item. But the way it hurt shocked me. It shocked me, because I didn’t realize it would bother me.

  “You slept with Ash . . .” I whisper, dropping my eyes.

  “Look at me, Santana,” he orders.

  I shift my gaze, staring into his, hating that I love his eyes so much, but I do. I love his eyes. I love his entire, rugged, gorgeous face.

  “You have never cared who I fucked before,” his voice is a low rasp. “Why now?”

  “I . . . she was my friend,” I say, turning away again.

  His voice comes out like a deadly whip. “Didn’t say you could look away. Now turn your eyes back to me.”

  I grind my teeth, but I turn back to him. He leans in closer, his leather jacket squeaking with each movement.

  “I didn’t fuck her.”

  I blink at him. “Y-y-y-y-you didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “But you were still with her,” I whisper.

  His eyes scan over my face before his mouth pulls into a thin line. “Ain’t goin’ into details with you, but yeah, I was still with her. Didn’t know it would matter to you.”

  “It doesn’t, it’s fine. I . . . I’ve just had a hard time. It’s nothing.”

  “You lyin’ to me?”

 
“No, Maddox.”

  “Santana.”

  “Don’t,” I growl. “I have enough to worry about. Do you hear me?”

  “Who shot you?” he murmurs, dropping the subject.

  I shake my head, my tears burning again. “I don’t know. I left the compound and drove to your house. I got out and suddenly, out of the blue, someone was shooting at me. I had no idea where it was coming from, or who was doing it. I leapt back into my car, too scared to go inside. The bullet hit my calf as I was diving in. I drove as far as I could, but the pain was intense. I got out and went for help, but I don’t remember what happened after that.”

  “Someone found you out cold.” His voice is hard. “By the time I got notified, you were already in hospital.”

  “Someone shot at me, Maddox. Why?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m goin’ to find out.”

  I nod, turning away.

  “Tana,” he begins, but the door opens and a doctor and police officer come inside.

  Maddox growls, low and throaty, and shoves out of the chair. “Why the fuck is a cop in here?”

  The cop steps forward, and extends his hand. Maddox looks at it with pure disgust. “My name is Sergeant Rambo.”

  Maddox snorts. “That so? Your parents watch too many movies, Sergeant?”

  Sergeant Rambo, clearly having lived with jokes about his name, stiffens and nods his head. “I’ve heard every joke about my name. Now, if you’re finished, I’d like to talk to Santana while the doctor checks her over.”

  Maddox crosses his arms, unperturbed. “Anything you ask her, you ask her in front of me.”

  Rambo glares at him, but nods. He walks over towards me, and as he nears closer I see he’s quite an attractive man. He’s got messy brunette hair, with light grey eyes. He smiles as he sits down on the chair Maddox was on, and I give him a weak smile back.

  “How are you feeling, Santana?”

  “I’m fine,” I croak.

  “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the shooting.”

  “It was a drive-by,” Maddox snaps. “Are you done?”

  Sergeant Rambo growls now, turning to Maddox. “I hear you’ve had a few problems with your club lately, Maddox. You’ll appreciate that it seems strange that this young lady was shot only weeks after one of your members was locked away.”