FORGED
A Devil’s Spawn Novel By – Natasha Thomas
Copyright © 2015 by Natasha Thomas
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
eBook Published and any subsequent printing done and developed in Australia
First Released, July 26th, 2015
Natasha Thomas
Sydney, Australia
[email protected]
www.facebook.com/NatashaThomasAuthor
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to all the readers who emailed, personal messaged, contacted me through my website and on twitter…
Without you, Forged would never have been written, so for that reason and many more, thank you.
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
WARNING
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
Tobias
CHAPTER ONE
Tobias
CHAPTER TWO
Tallulah
CHAPTER THREE
Tobias
CHAPTER FOUR
Tallulah
CHAPTER FIVE
Tobias
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tobias
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tallulah
CHAPTER NINE
Jones
CHAPTER TEN
Tobias
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tallulah
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tobias
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tobias
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tobias
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tallulah
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tobias
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tallulah
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tobias
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tallulah
CHAPTER TWENTY
Robert
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Alysia
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tobias
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Alysia
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tallulah
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Tobias
EPILOGUE
Priest
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR…
OTHER BOOKS IN THE DEVIL’S SPAWN MC SERIES
BOOKS IN THE VENGEANCE MC SERIES
PATRICKS’ BROTHERS SERIES
eBook copyright ©2015
Natasha Thomas
All rights reserved
By purchasing this eBook it allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading, on your computer, tablet, or other device capable of viewing eBooks. After purchasing, you do not have the rights to; resell, print, distribute, or transfer this book, in part, or whole to any other person via any method currently known, or yet to be conceived, or developed in the future. It may also, not be uploaded, in part or whole, to any file sharing programs, websites, or social media outlets. Being resold, given, or transferred to any other person is in direct violation of the Australian, and U.S. Copyright Laws.
WARNING
This book is a work of fiction, and is written to be taken as such.
Characters, names, road names, motorcycle clubs, places, businesses, towns, events, and incidents are a product of the author’s own thoughts, and imagination. As such, any resemblance to persons living, or dead, actual events, or incidents, past, present, or future, is purely coincidental, and is not in any way intended to offend, upset, or disturb person/s reading its content.
This book is intended for mature audiences aged 18 and over. It contains content that may be viewed as disturbing for some readers, graphic sexual scenes and references, coarse language, and violence.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Firstly, and as always, I would want to take the opportunity to thank my husband and three beautiful children. It’s not always easy to work with me and the schedule I set for myself, but like usual you’ve done it again. I’d like to tell you we’re all taking a break from the craziness now, but alas this is not the case. A few more, *ahem*, cough, dozen, cough, books and I’ll consider it, but for now it’s off the rollercoaster and back on the ride.
There is one lady in particular that I owe a great deal to in this insane process I like to call…writing. Monica Langley Holloway is one of the most patient, caring, creative women I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, albeit over the internet and phone, but all of the above nonetheless. You have worked with me at all hours, been a fantastic sounding board, and your creativity knows no bounds. Thank you for being my friend, my interpreter when I don’t know how to get across my vision for my next cover, and a woman anyone would be privileged to know.
To my BETA readers, Melissa and Laura, you without fail have given me feedback that makes me laugh, think, and think some more about where to take my characters. You completely understand where I’m coming from, even when I don’t, and you’re ability to work with me throughout my crazy self-imposed deadlines astounds me. Mostly I’m thankful for the caring, tactful way you share your feedback and thoughts. It means more to me than I can express that you take great pains to respectfully offer suggestions as to the changes that need to be made. Any author will tell you it’s the team you have behind you that holds you up or lets you fall, and you ladies have definitely held me up even when I’ve been a pain in the ass.
Finally, to the women and men that read my books and love them as much as I do if not more…
You are the inspiration behind this book, and without you it wouldn’t exist. Thank you for all your messages of support, emails, and Facebook posts. I appreciate every last one of you more than words can say. Enjoy your book, because it is indeed very much yours.
PROLOGUE
Tobias
“A relationship with no trust is like a cell phone with no service,
all you can do is play games.”
- Rotten eCard
I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass, or feed you a line of bullshit about how fan-fucking-tastic my life is. How I’ve got the woman of my dreams sleeping in my bed every night, or that I get to wake up every morning and make love to her. I’m also not going to tell you the three kids we’ve had together shit roses and fart rainbows either, because nothing could be further from the truth.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the hell out of my wife and kids and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but that doesn’t mean everything’s okay, because it isn’t. In fact my whole world is close to imploding around me, and for the life of me I have no fucking clue how to stop it.
You could say I brought it on myself, and you’d be right, I did, but that doesn’t change a damn thing. No amount of remorse or guilt is going to help me, and that’s what I need, help. Not that I deserve it after what I’ve done, but I wouldn’t turn it down if it was offered. But that aside, I’ve got to do something to fix this situation before it’s too late. Before there’s no hope for redemption left.
Bluntly put, my life is fucked up. Royally fucked up. And in fucking my life up so completely, so absolutely, I did the same to hers. I irreparably changed her, and the beautiful life we had. Sadly for her, she couldn’t have done anything to change the course of events, they were out of her control, because I’d taken it. I’ll probably keep fucking it up too. That is until she kicks my sorry ass to the curb, but even then that’s no guarantee it’ll get better. Our lives are intertwined. We can’t avoid each other. She won’t
be able to make a clean break from me. The reason for that? We share children together. Three of them.
I didn’t intend for us to end up here, because seriously, who actually plans on fucking over the most important person in the world to them? No one, that’s who. I may be an asshole, but I would never have put her in this position on purpose. I love her too much to do that to her. And the saddest part of the whole thing? The part that breaks my heart the most? Regardless of how much I continue to screw up, and however much I hurt her, and don’t for one second think that I’m not, she still loves me too.
When I fell for her I didn’t think I’d make as many mistakes as I have, but I suppose no one does, do they? I certainly didn’t think I’d put her in the position where she’d have to question whether she made the right choice in loving me.
Asking Tilly to marry me was the best day of my life, bar none. I didn’t even consider there would be a time we weren’t madly in love with each other. I thought our relationship was forged from a mutual understanding and respect of each other’s pain, love, heartache, and loss, all of which we’re both intimately acquainted with. Moreover, I thought we’d forged a life together that could withstand anything, one that couldn’t be shaken, but I was wrong.
We’ve both made mistakes along the road, everyone does. Tilly’s is that she hasn’t been one hundred percent honest with me. She has secrets, big ones. One’s that have been eating away at her for years. I’ve known it all along. That there’s pain hidden there that she’s been trying to keep locked away. In the beginning I pushed her to open up, but I didn’t go as far as to sit her down and make her tell me what’s killing her inside. That too was a mistake.
In my defense, I didn’t think I’d have to push her. I thought she’d open up to me given time and patience, but over the years Tilly has grown even more secretive. Whatever she’s hiding she’s keeping it tightly guarded, and knowing I can’t help her is fucking killing me. What hurts the most is knowing she doesn’t trust me enough to confide in me. I love my wife more than I will ever be able to put into words, but we can’t keep living with all these secrets and lies between us. It’s destroying everything good between us, slowly and painfully. To the point that eventually all that will be left is bitter, twisted people that can’t stand to look at each other.
Tilly sees it. She knows it’s tearing us apart. I’m sure she can feel the tension between us any time we’re in the same room. Fuck, it’s infecting everything like a virus that can’t be cured. Even simple shit is barely manageable without conflict these days, and that’s when I knew we’d reached critical overload. Things aren’t going to get better on their own, they never do. We need to do something to fix what’s broken between us, or one of us has to let the other go. And let me tell you, that’s not an option. Not for me, and not for her.
These problems we’re having, they’re all just symptoms of a much bigger problem though. While Tilly should have shared whatever’s been fucking with her head, or should I say, is fucking with her head, she isn’t the cause of our marriage breaking down. Jesus, she isn’t even the cause of any of my attitude toward her over the last three years. And yes, that’s how long this shit has been building for. Three miserable fucking years.
It boils down to this, (it’s sad but true); I never thought we’d make it this far to begin with. My lack of faith in her, in us, led me to make choices no real man would have ever made. It’s more than that though. I failed her, and I failed because I was fucking weak. And deep down I know that’s what Tilly’s needed from me. What she needed more than anything else. For me to be strong and hold her up when the shit floating around in her head gets the best of her. But I couldn’t do that. The reason why I couldn’t is one of the most shameful things I’ve ever had to admit to myself, because I was selfish.
I suppose this is the part of my story where you think I’m going to draw it out, or go back in time and explain where things started to go wrong. I could but what’s the point? What’s done is done, and a history lesson won’t change anything. I refuse to do what Arrow did and explain how his and V’s relationship kicked off, because I don’t want to relive all the beauty Tilly and I had. It hurts too fucking much to remember what I could possibly lose. No, I’ll tell you upfront what I did.
Why we’re here, why I have a story to tell at all is because I’ve been leading a double life. Not like that fucking James Bond dude. He’s at least got a good reason for why he does what he does, I don’t. No, the double life I’ve been leading started when I cheated on my wife. But not only did I cheat on her and in turn disrespect our marriage is, but I did it in a way that I’d never be able to deny it. Why? Because I’ve got a son to another woman too.
Yeah, you heard me. I’m that guy. I’m the cheating husband. The pathetic excuse for a father. And I’m that asshole. Enough said? I think not. Now, you get to hear how my world fell apart, and why I believe in miracles.
CHAPTER ONE
Tobias
“So…You’re a player? Nice to meet you…I’m the coach.”
- Rotten eCard
“Dakota, you got your bag, baby?” I ask my seven-year old daughter while juggling the phone that’s cradled to my ear. I don’t know how women do it some days. All this multitasking shit is for the birds.
Looking over at my daughter has me sighing. Sometimes it hurts to look my girls. Like taking a kick to the gut, hurts. It doesn’t help that all three of my baby girls look exactly like their mother, the woman I’ve fucked over more times than I can count either.
My girls are tiny little things. Petite, all long, silky blonde hair with big brown eyes that when they’re sad can make me do just about anything. Yeah, I’m a sucker for their crocodile tears and pouts. It also hurts because I know their beauty that could be taken away from me any minute. I’ve took it for granted that they’d always be here, and albeit I was the one who fucked up and caused myself this pain, it doesn’t change the fact that deep down I’m terrified of losing the people who mean the most to me.
Pounding footsteps on the stairs sound like a heard of baby elephants, letting me know my other girls are up and about. Great, I thought I’d get out of here unhindered this morning, but it looks like we’ll be running late as per usual. I love my daughters to pieces, but if it’s important for me to get out the door on time you can be guaranteed they’ll make it next to impossible. Most days I wouldn’t give a shit if I was running fifteen or twenty minutes late, but today I’ve got shit to do and places to be.
That reminds me that I’ve got Glock still hanging on the line.
“Sorry, brother. The fucking mad house is awake. We still riding at four?”
“Yeah, man. No changes on my end. Everything’s a go based on last I heard,” he replies around a chuckle.
Rolling my eyes skyward, I curse his ass out internally. He’s only got two kids, babies at that. The bastard wouldn’t be laughing if they were walking and talking already. He’d be moaning right beside me.
“Fuck you, asshole. Just you wait. Before long those boys of yours are going to be up and mobile, and then you are really fucked. Wait until they walk out of your bedroom carrying one of Lexi’s toys, asking a room full of bikers why it won’t turn on anymore, and then we’ll see if you’re laughing anymore.”
Yes, that really did happen. And yes, it was to me.
“Can’t wait. I’ll let you go, buddy. I reckon you’ve got about…”
He says just before,
“Daddeeeee,” rings out from the foot of the stairs.
Catching Avery as she launches herself at me, I squeeze her tight, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair at the crown of her head.
“Gotta go. See you soon, brother.” Not waiting for him to reply, I disconnect the call and ask, “Morning, Ree. You sleep well?”
Nodding rapidly she babbles about something or other before answering me.
“Yep, but mommy didn’t. She was crying again last night. Then Nevie started crying, and then Kota
got sad but she didn’t cry because she’s nearly all growd up. I didn’t cry either cause I’m a big girl now. They didn’t tell me why they were crying though, daddy. Do you know?”
Jesus. I know I’m hurting my wife, I’ve been doing it long enough you’d think I’d be used to the feeling of sorrow hearing about it cause me. But hearing about it from the mouth of my five-year old does something to me. Something that tears my fucking soul to shreds. Avery telling me bluntly in her sweet voice how I’m hurting her mom and her sisters’ hits home even harder than seeing Tilly cry with my own eyes. Why? Because it’s my fault my kids are having to see the devastation I’m responsible for creating.
Behind Avery, who’s still happily in my arms talking a mile a minute, I can see a sad, stoic looking Dakota, which causes me to cringe internally. The look my seven-year old’s wearing is one that makes me feel two inches tall, and like the piece of shit I’ve proven myself to be. I’m not saying I don’t deserve her ire, because I do. I deserve every bit of her anger and sadness, but that doesn’t mean I like it. In fact I more than dislike it. I fucking hate that I’ve put that look there.
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