by Geri Glenn
A Kings of Korruption MC Novel
Book Five
By
Geri Glenn
©Geri Glenn, 2018
Bosco is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
This ebook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the reader. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
Cover Art
Wicked by Design
Editing
Rebel Edit & Design
Formatting
Piper Davenport
CONTENTS
Copyright
Geri’s Ramblings
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Let me start this by saying, I know this particular book didn’t have as much action the one’s before it did. I also know you didn’t see a lot of club happenings in this book, but there’s a reason for that. Motorcycle clubs are about family. They take loyalty and brotherhood very seriously. Life in an MC isn’t always balls to the wall violence. There isn’t always shit hitting the fan. They are people with loved ones and children. They love hard. Sometimes, they cry harder.
A lot of the cancer info in this book was as accurate as I could make it. I did a lot of research into leukemia and lymphoma and how they are treated. There may be some things that aren’t right. I tried. I really did. I agonized for hours over websites, trying to be sure I had the right information.
As for the emotions Sarah felt through Millie’s battle, they don’t come from me. I very loosely based that part on one of my best friends, whose son just recently completed his three-and-a-half-year treatment for the same leukemia Millie had. At the time, I lived hundreds of miles away, and could only really be there for her on the phone, but my heart ached for all of them. This was my attempt at crawling inside her mind and doing my best to understand her heart.
As for the series, it’s kind of hard for me to believe it’s over. I’ve struggled with it, cried over it, laughed along with it and screamed at my computer while I wrote it for so long, it’s kind of become a part of me. I don’t know if I can honestly say it is over.
Let’s leave it as ... it’s over for now. I have a couple of novellas I’m putting out this year that you aren’t gonna want to miss (Laynie needs a baby too!). I’ve also left it open for more characters, or extending the stories of the ones we’ve already read about. The Kings aren’t gone forever and you’re going to see lots of them in my new Club Chrome series! I promise!
For Satara
Not only are you one of my very best friends, but you are one of the strongest women I know. You say it isn’t strength. You say it’s just doing what you have to do, but I’m here to tell you; watching you take care of your boy as fought for his life, I stood in awe of your courage and your positivity. I’ll never understand how you took care of him, plus still managed to take care of your three other children, become a powerhouse at the gym, be the best soldier you could be and still have time to keep your marriage healthy and your family full of love. Thank you for choosing me to lean on when you needed to. I just wish I could have lived closer to be there for you more.
Bosco
Ten years ago
I lay on the bed facing my brother, his withered hand clutched in mine. “You look like shit,” I whisper, careful not to wake my mom, who’s asleep in the chair on the other side of the room.
Spencer smirks but is too weak to do much else. “You’re an asshole.”
I give his hand a squeeze, careful of the brittle bones I can feel through his skin. “I know.” We lay that way for several minutes; the silence in the room both welcome and deafening. Staring into Spencer’s pale face is surreal. We’ve lived our entire lives—all fifteen years of them—looking exactly the same as one another, but now, that mirror image is gone. Instead, lying beside me is a skeleton of the boy I know better than any other person on this planet. The image of what I myself would look like if the cancer had chosen me instead of him. “Are you scared?”
Spencer swallows and shakes his head. The movement is so slight, I only notice because we’re sharing the same pillow. “Just tired.” His eyes search mine. “I’m scared for you.”
Freaking Spencer. He always was the nicer one of the two of us; the one that cared more about people. I care, but Spencer has always been different. I’ve seen the kid give his last five dollars to a beggar on the street because he knew he was hungry, regardless of the fact that that money was supposed to buy his own lunch that day.
“I’ll be okay,” I lie. “I’m taking your Xbox though.”
Spencer’s chuckle is nothing but a rattle in his chest and a slight shake of his shoulders, but it’s there. I hate this. I feel so helpless as I lay here and watch my brother waste away to nothing in this bed, and all I can do is crack jokes to make him smile. It’s not fair.
Since his lymphoma was diagnosed, the doctors and my parents have tried everything to fight it. Spencer had gone through chemotherapy and radiation, bone marrow transplants and blood transfusions. Just last month he’d had his cancerous spleen removed, but none of it had worked. It had just made him sicker and weaker, and closer to his inevitable death.
Through it all I’ve watched, helpless, because there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. But at the same time, I’ve been in awe of my brother’s strength. Spencer has remained optimistic and strong, but I, on the other hand, have been silently falling apart.
Since my dad was a match for bone marrow, my parents refused to let me even test my own. This meant any help I may have been able to give was stopped before I ever had a chance to mention it. My mom figured I was going through enough.
I glance over at my mom in the chair. She looks so tiny. She’s exhausted and thin, her skin pale from lack of proper sleep and nutrition. She hasn’t left this hospital since Spencer was readmitted two weeks ago. She’s tried to stay strong for me and my brother, and even my dad, but I don’t know how much more of this her body can take before she gets sick herself.
“Scott?” Spencer’s voice is raspy, his breathing more labored.
I drag my eyes back to my brother. “Yeah?”
“Take care of them.” I know what he’s asking. He’s as worried about our folks as I am, but the fact that he’s asking at all causes my heart to drop. He’s saying goodbye.
I don’t want him to go. I’ve never lived a single second without my brother. He may have been born a full four minutes before me—a fact he’s never let me forget—but I wasn’t far behind, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. What am I supposed to do without him?
I feel so selfish even thinking these thoughts because I know, Spencer is tired. So freaking tired. He’s been fighting this cancer with everything he has for more than two years and he’s ready for it to be over. I fight back the
tears welling in my eyes and take one last look at my brother before wrapping my arms around him, holding him tight to me, burying my face in his neck so he can’t see my pain. “I love you, asshole.”
Spencer’s hand in mine squeezes just a little, and after a moment, he lets out one last rattling breath and his entire body relaxes. Anger, sorrow, and anguish consume me as I hold Spencer’s lifeless, skeletal body in my arms. I don’t even realize I’m screaming until my mother is at my side.
Her sobs make her entire body quake as she leans over the bed, folding my brother’s body and mine into a tight embrace, her own grief taking over as she forgets the false strength she’d been so sure to show up until now. Tears stream down my cheeks, my face still buried in Spencer’s neck, as my entire world spins out of control.
I can’t do this—I can’t live in this world without my brother. He’s my conscience, the one that always keeps me on the right path. He’s my best fucking friend. How the hell am I going to get through any of this shit without him?
Eventually, the doctor approaches, laying a gentle hand on my back. “I’m sorry, son. I need to take a look at him now.”
Letting go of Spencer takes more courage than I’ve ever needed before in all my fifteen years. I’m not ready to let him go. As I pull away from him, I press my forehead to his and squeeze my eyes tight, forcing myself to take a deep breath.
Finally, I stand, not bothering to open my eyes until I’ve turned, and I walk right out of the room.
Sarah
Three years ago
I’ve only been home from work for five minutes when the motorcycles come roaring up to the front of my house. I wobble over to the window, shoving my foot into the second leg hole of my stretchy pants. My fiancé, Mouse, is a prospect for the Kings of Korruption MC, but he rarely brings friends home. This time, though, it sounds as if he’s brought the whole damn club.
Lifting a finger, I push aside the curtain and my heart sinks to the floor. I was close. It’s nearly the entire club, but I don’t see Mouse anywhere. I scan the crew of six men as they walk toward my front door, and when my eyes land on Gunner, the club’s president, panic slowly sets in. Their serious faces have fear sinking its vicious claws deep into my soul. Dropping the curtain, I press my back against the wall.
A wave of ominous dread washes over me as I squeeze my eyes closed and place my hand on my rounded belly, as if to protect our unborn baby from whatever these men are here to tell me. The entire club was supposed to be at a picnic this afternoon, and now they’re here on my front step, with the president leading the charge. The president of the Kings of Korruption isn’t prone to making house calls to prospects’ pregnant girlfriends unless something serious has happened; even I know that.
Visions of Mouse lying broken and bloodied on the side of the road fill my mind. I’ve always been terrified he’d wreck that damn Harley, but Mouse loves it, and there’s no way I’ll ever get him off of it, so I mostly keep my mouth shut.
As the heavy-booted footsteps thump on the wooden planks of my front porch, I take a deep breath and force myself to shove off of the wall. The doorbell rings, echoing throughout my tiny home and I pick up my pace, shoving my fears aside as I hurry to unlock the deadbolt. If Mouse is hurt, I need to be strong for him.
I swing open the door and come face-to-face with all six men. They stare back at me, their heads hung low and their faces blank. “What’s happened to him?” I breathe.
Gunner takes a step forward. “Honey, why don’t we talk about this inside.” I stare up at him. For the first time ever, I’m not afraid of the giant man himself, but of what he’s going to tell me.
Without a word, I step to the side and hold the door open as one by one, each of the men step into my home. Ryker, the clubs vice president, is the last to enter and he turns to watch me as I close the door. “Let’s take this into the living room, yeah?”
Already, the tears are building in my eyes as I take in his gentle tone and soft smile. This is bad. It’s really, really bad. Throwing up my hand, I fight back my mounting panic. “I need to know what’s going on.”
None of them move. Standing shoulder to shoulder in the tight space, each of these scarier-than-life men look at me with sympathy, and I have to force myself to stand still when what I really want to do is shake the hell out of them until they tell me what’s happened to my man. Taking a step forward, I look up at Gunner. “Tell me!”
Gunner reaches out, his giant hand gripping my shoulder. “It’s not good news, sweetheart.”
A giant tear makes it’s escape from my burning eyes as I stare back at him. “Tell me,” I repeat through clenched teeth.
Gunner sighs, his shoulders rising and falling as his gaze moves from my eyes to my hand. He swipes a thumb over the back of my hand as he says, “Mouse is gone, honey.” The sob that rips from my throat is more like a scream, but I don’t look away from him. He’s not done. “We were at the cookout and having a good time. Mouse was talking to Laynie when it happened.”
I yank my hand from his and lean forward, determined not to fall apart. “When what happened?”
I just want him to say it. I want him to stop stalling and just tell me.
“A drive-by,” he finally says, his gaze searching mine. “Fuckers came out of nowhere, opened fire on the club. Mouse was the only casualty on our side.”
His sorrow filled stare disappears as I allow my eyes to fall shut and I wrap my arms around myself as violent tremors consume my entire body. Shot. My Mouse, the same Mouse that had left this house just this morning after making love to me and placing a gentle kiss on my belly, had been shot. Dead. Gone forever.
Slowly, I fold my arms over my belly, and through my tears, I glare up at the man in front of me. “Get out.”
“We’re here for you, Sarah. The whole fuckin’ club,” Gunner says, his hand on my shoulder, squeezing softly. “Bosco is your go-to man from here on out. You need anything, you call him, okay? Anything.”
It’s their fault this happened. It’s their club that cost Mouse his life. “Get out!” I shriek.
“I’m so fucking sorry, honey.”
As Gunner turns to leave, the other men each offer me soft-spoken apologies before following him out. I fall to the floor, my arms still cradling my belly, my body swaying from side to side, rocking my unborn baby girl inside of me who has just lost her daddy. Comforting her from a pain she doesn’t even know she’ll have one day.
Just when I think I’m alone, a pair of strong arms wrap around my shoulders and I fall apart, unable to hold back the grief any longer. Bosco doesn’t say a word as I cry. He just holds me as my entire world falls to pieces.
Sarah
Opening the letter, my heart sinks when I see the bright orange paper the electric company sends to warn its clients of an impending service disconnection. Six hundred and thirty-two dollars and seventy-three cents. I don’t have that kind of money. Hell, I don’t have any money.
My bank account is currently stocked with a measly thirty-seven dollars, which needs to last us until I get paid next week from the shoe store I work at. Shit. I grab the phone and dial the number to the customer service line, hoping like hell they’ll cut me a break until I can sort this out. Maybe they’ll let me make some sort of payment arrangements or something. I have to at least try.
As the autumn leaves change to beautiful reds and yellows, the sun in the sky is setting earlier and earlier every day, and the nights steadily grow cooler. We’ll freeze without electricity.
I hit the send button and press the phone against my ear, expecting to hear the drone of the ringing on the other end, but instead, I’m greeted with the canned voice of the operator. We’re sorry, your call cannot be completed at this time. Please call *600 to speak to a customer service representative about your payment options.
Defeat settles on me like a weighted blanket. I have no phone, and soon I’ll have no electricity. Next will be my water bill, which I also owe an insane amount of
money on after only making small monthly payments, hoping it would be enough to keep them off my back.
Dropping into one of my old, worn-out kitchen chairs, I toss the phone and the bill onto the table and rest my head in my hands. I’m a total failure. It seems like no matter how hard I work, I can never get ahead. Instead, I just fall further and further behind.
This wasn’t the way this whole thing was supposed to go. I was supposed to be an amazing mom that bakes cookies and gets up early to make everyone a hot, delicious breakfast. I was supposed to be one half of a productive team. I once was part of a team, but even after three years without Mouse, I’ve gotten no better at doing this whole adulting thing on my own. I work my ass off but it’s never enough.
There has to be something I can do. I already work full-time at the shoe store, but the pay there is complete crap. How is anyone supposed to support a family on a minimum wage paying job? The problem is, besides a high school diploma, I have zero education and a daughter that needs round the clock care, but the daycare she goes to is only open Monday to Friday. That limits my work options.
There’s no point in even asking my parents; they barely speak to me anymore. Not since I stopped going to church with them and started dating a biker. Then I put the icing on the cake by becoming an unwed mother. For shame.
Slouching in my seat, I fold up the letter and stuff it back into the envelope, hiding the orange paper from my sight, but it continues to eat away at my thoughts. Hopelessness washes over me. I need another job. I need to make more money, but how? I barely see my daughter as it is, and if I start working more hours I’ll never see her. Besides, who would I even get to take care of her?
As if she knows I’m struggling with the fate of our very being, a cry echoes throughout the house. With another deep breath, I stand and drop the envelope onto the table. Nap time is over. I’ll have to think about how badly I’m failing as an adult later. As I reach her room, I roll my shoulders and force the panic from my mind and the tension from my body.