Just Right (Legion of Guardians Book 3)

by Xyla Turner

  Just Right

  Legion of Guardians

  Xyla Turner

  Contents

  Just Right

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Author Note & Disclaimer:

  1. Rehab This

  2. Go Back

  3. Work It Out

  4. Fantasies

  5. Amends

  6. One Kiss

  7. Choices

  8. I Want It

  9. Serious Shit

  10. Neighbors

  11. Mending Hearts

  12. Nice Swag

  13. Not Over

  About the Author

  Also by Xyla Turner

  XYLA’S CONTACT INFORMATION

  Just Right

  Legion of Guardians MC Series

  By Xyla Turner

  AZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS

  237 Flatbush Avenue, #187 Brooklyn, NY 11217

  This is an original publication of AZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2016 AZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS

  Cover Page by Taria A. Reed

  Edited by Gayla Leath

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized edits.

  All rights reserved.

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  To my family, friends, co-workers, supporters, and fellow authors!

  To the fans of Legion of Guardians!

  Xyla World, this couldn’t happen without you.

  Shatisha Nash, my friend and confidant.

  Gayla Leath, my editor. Thank you for all that you do!

  To my sister, thank you for your support.

  #2017

  #NewStart

  You are the One and I won’t look for another!

  Author Note & Disclaimer:

  Hey Xyla World,

  This book was a tough one but a much needed one as it was so complex with the different qualities that Apollo and Lori brought to the making of this story.

  First, you’ll see that the names Connor and Apollo (both the same person) are used interchangeably. You’ll find out more about why that is but I just wanted to let you know it’s not a mistake and it was done on purpose.

  Second, there are some mental health components to this book that both of the main characters face. My goal is not to diagnose, trivialize or give remedies because there are so many components to the various disorders that are mentioned and I do not want to mishandle them. One of my goals is simple awareness. I want to show that with love, support and the proper assistance, we have hope.

  I choose to believe in that.

  Hope you enjoy.

  Xyla

  One

  Rehab This

  Apollo:

  Rehab was a son of a bitch.

  It was punishment pure and simple, from detox to regaining the motion in your arm after being shot. Nobody could convince me otherwise.

  It was worth it but it hurt like a bitch. An asshole was about to kill my Guardian brother and his lady. Shit, it wasn't anything for me to put him down. I’d killed before, during my time in the army and after I’d been discharged. Mostly self-defense shit but the one that haunted me was Turo. He was my bunkmate when we were in stationed in Afghanistan. Our operation was compromised and by the time I caught up with him, his legs had been blown to bits, there was a hole in his stomach and his left eye was not there. The man begged me to end it for him. He said there was no more life in him, and he wasn’t going to make it. Some would have called it a mercy killing but I recall it as a torture for me.

  That ordeal kept me up most nights, which is why I never minded working surveillance at night. The evenings have a certain calm which provide a pleasant relief while in the darkness. There was no need to be 'on' or even on display; it allowed someone like me to just be. I could fit in like everyone else and avoid the hassles that came with daylight. The clarity and brightness of daylight enjoyed by others can be all consuming anguish for a man struggling with his own darkness. The majority of my life was dark, at least until the Guardians, more specifically Razor.

  Mom and pop had died in a car accident when I was seventeen. A tractor trailer had crushed them and both caskets were kept closed at the funeral. The only family I had left were my cousins who lived a few towns over. Once I graduated high school, I was at the nearest recruiter’s office because my anger was about to get me in some major shit, even though I’d wanted to right the wrongs of the world. I also wanted to right the wrongs in my world, which I couldn’t. Being a part of a team was great for me but after a while, burn out started to peek through in various forms of mental disorders including obsessive disorders, depression and antisocial behavior.

  Once I was off active duty, I found another group to join up with, the Guardians, but they weren’t half the team as the guys I served with. Well, not until Razor took over. I was a Guardian in the Manor chapter before he got there but I wasn't really doing shit. Barely came to any meetings but stayed for the parties. Never really said much to anyone which allowed me to fly under the radar with my personal issues. After Razor took over the club, he met with every single member with a list of documented accomplishments or infractions, and talked about where he wanted to take the club. Our meeting was brief but always had a lasting effect because it seemed he knew more about me than he let on.

  Razor started to invite me out to various events; meetings with other clubs, introductions and shit. He brought me along with him when he first traveled and visited the local businesses and other non-profit establishments. One night, after a few beers and pills, I asked him what the fuck he was doing dragging me all over the place.

  He looked at me with those piercing grey eyes and said, "Waiting for that leader to show up."

  Then Razor walked away from me and joined the rest of the guys in the back of our broke-down bar, at the time called The Spot. His words continued to haunt me every time I thought about our leader talking about waiting for another leader to show up. At first, I was pissed because I was offended but later I was intrigued; not enough to clean my shit up but enough to sober up and hide my addiction better.

  At least I thought I was.

  After missing one of Razor's meet and greets because I was sleeping off a combination of shit, he broke down my door in the compound early one morning. The look on his face said it all and he said the words that would have either ended my tenure with the Guardians or forced me to do something besides just hang out there.

  "Apollo, you want to be a real Guardian? It seems you want to enjoy the perks but you don't want to commit. Where I'm trying to take this group, I need a full commitment and if you're unwilling to give that, then I don't need you here. I need men that are skilled, trained and fucking alert."

  He saw the pills spilled out on my desk and on the floor. Fire seemed to come from his eyes. In standard behavior for any addict, I donned a look of innocent confusion and started to explain.

  "Those are for my injury from war. I only …"

  Razor started to rise from his seated position and sneered, "Don't you dare fucki
ng lie to me. Not you of all the fucking people I know. Not you."

  Therefore I shut up, because he was right. I’ve never lied to him before. I didn't say much but if my opinion was asked, I said how I felt, always. Bronx and I shared that quality.

  Razor stood up and sighed. "I'm trying to do something with this club. I could use your help, but not like this." He shook his head. "You want to be a part of that change? You go away, get your shit together and then come find me. I won't leave another option out there because if you can go and serve your country, serve these men and fight like the devil gone mad; I know you can clean out. This shit," he pointed to the desk, “is for weak people. You, my brother, are anything but that."

  Then he was gone.

  The very next day, I was in a different sort of rehab. Not a standard rehab facility but with my bible-toting cousins who had the patience of Job. With me screaming, yelling and being nasty for over a month, they prayed for my soul, wouldn't let me leave and I cleaned out. I had no woman who cared for me to help, no friends who bothered and a President who left me no other real choice. I'd always respected Razor for his line in the sand that day.

  Even when I came back, almost two months later, I tried to bring it up and thank him. Razor wouldn’t let me. All he said was, "That's what real families do. What brothers do."

  My president pulled me in for a hug.

  That was nine years ago and I've had his back since then. Always will. Anyone step out of line about him, I put them in their place. Anyone act like they had problems, I was there to end whatever they thought about starting. I knew Razor could hold his own. He also had Bronx, who was an ex-MMA fighter; so the Pres was always protected. Razor probably had some grand plan all along about making me the Sergeant at Arms, because that meant I was the protector of not just him but all my brothers as well as the enforcer. None of this was a problem for me and that was one thing about Razor that no President had ever done before. He put people in the best place for them. Not just have a warm body but one that was skilled, equipped and ready for their duty. This made him an extraordinary leader. Though the club was divided when Shark left because he wasn't the new president, people followed Razor and were loyal because Pres or not, he cared, he led, and he sacrificed.

  "Fuck," I yelled out loud. "What the fuck are you trying to do? Break my arm?"

  Donna had my sore arm bent and tilted slightly above my head. It wouldn't extend anymore and she seemed to be leaning on.

  "I'm sorry, honey." She placed it back down and said, "It would help if you took the pain killers. I promise."

  Fuck that.

  "Listen, I done told you already. I ain't takin’ that shit," I sneered.

  Her face lowered as she kissed my shoulder then trailed up to my ear as she murmured, "That's right. I'm sorry. I'll make it all better."

  Then her hand moved to my crotch and that shut up any protest that even wandered into my mind.

  Once she finished making it all better, she left and I stayed in my room where I'd been holing up lately. I couldn't really go out on the missions, and I was in pain half of the time so there was no need to try to even be silent company.

  However, brothers were brothers and I couldn't get any rest. They were constantly knocking on my door, bringing food and shit. They even had their women, especially Shay, coming to bring breakfast. She just wanted to test her nursing skills on me. The more I got to know her, the more I liked her. Razor had always liked her but he was someone who kept independent thinkers around him; especially the vocal ones. She fit that bill to a tee. Bronx had been in love with her for years and they had finally gotten together and were to be married soon.

  I kept trying to tell Shay that she didn't owe me for killing the guy who was about to kill my brother, Bronx. She said she wasn't coming by because of that but I knew it had to be the only reason. She didn't bother me because she talked a lot which meant I didn't have to, and she said the craziest shit.

  "You fucking that nurse?" Shay asked one day.

  "Yeah," I replied.

  "She don't strike me as your type." She kept flipping through the channels.

  "Don't have a type." I watched the stations fly by with one blank screen after another.

  "Doubt that. Every man has a type, even if they don't know it yet." I saw her head turn towards me. "But she looks a little loose."

  "I ain't marrying her Shay."

  "Okay, okay." She started flipping again. "Just saying, I ain't feeling her and I know you don't really give a fuck but I don't give one that you don't."

  I burst out laughing. "What did you just say?"

  "Just saying," she laughed. "I don't care that you don't care, I'm just telling ya."

  "Point taken, Shay."

  "Good, now what the fuck do you want to watch. My finger is starting to hurt."

  I shook my head and probably had one side of my mouth tilted up to keep from laughing. The woman was a handful but she was Bronx's handful and he loved every goddamn bit of her. I never envied he and Razor for finding love. The Pres fell hard for Kylie, who happens to be best friends with Shay. She is a singer, a damn good one at that. However, after her mom fell ill, she came off the road to take care of her. Then she had some trouble so the Guardians were called in and their story started. They were married earlier this year. Anyone who meets them knows they’re in love. I never envied them. But, sitting in my fucking room injured with no woman but the nurse who was paid to take care of me, who'd fuck me and then leave; well, that would get any man thinking about his future. If not that then the fact that when all the cards have been dealt, it's nice to have someone there just to shoot the shit with you. Someone that would stay. Someone that would be my handful.

  Two

  Go Back

  Lori:

  "Girl, where is that man of yours?" Aunt Barbara asked.

  "He's out of town for the weekend. Had to take care of some business over in Philadelphia," I answered.

  "Oh. He's pretty hot," she exclaimed.

  "Yeah, he is," I admitted.

  "So, you liking that new house of yours?"

  "Yeah," I said as we waited for my parents to show up for our Saturday luncheon. "It's really nice."

  "Well, how are you really doing, dear?" Her sharp eyes tried to read me but she should have known better.

  I had mastered my expressions a long time ago; that skill had become easier when you had so many things to hide. My aunt probably wasn't aware of the past issues I had with cutting and varying types of obsessions. Mom wouldn't have told her and if she did know, she would have surely thrown it in my face by now. Shay and Kylie didn't even know the things I had dealt with in the past. However, here sat my aunt, who knew I'd been away and she wanted me to open up to her. That, I was not doing.

  "I'm doing really good. My boyfriend is the best and looks out for me. My house is so nice and at my job, the people there respect me and what I bring to the table." I spouted that off with no feeling at all. "How's Uncle Greg? I saw him last week over in Manor."

  That would shut her up. It might have been mean but people like Aunt Barbara weren't really interested in my well-being. They just wanted to talk about someone else to keep the attention off their own messed-up lives. Uncle Greg was a philandering maniac who hid nothing from his family or community about his dealings, especially with younger women. You would think a known scandal like that would keep her humble. Instead she was quite the opposite; it kept her nosy and in everybody else’s business.

  Like mine.

  Just like a pro, she nodded and said, "Well, you know your uncle. He’s always getting into something silly, and as always I'm there to clean up the messes. You know," she paused, "like parents do when their kids fall off track. Somebody has to come in and keep things afloat. You'll see as you get older."

  She was an evil shrew but she had years of practice, and I was sure a lot of pain that needed to be released somehow. I understood that, more than she knew but I did know pain. After my ‘i
ncident’ at the bar, I rode off with some random guy. I was not thinking clearly which could have been from the alcohol or the fact that the love of my life had just crushed my whole world with only a few sentences.

  The irony was that I thought I was still in control. I ended up at my place with some biker from out of town and we did nothing because I was crying so hard he dared not touch me. He eventually drifted off to sleep and then I cut myself with a razorblade. However, this time I was under the influence, and in my desperate need for control and relief I cut too deep. The next place I woke up was in a hospital where my mom and dad stood over me with unshed tears in their eyes.

  "Glad you're back," my dad had whispered.

  The only thing I could do was say, "I need some help. I have to go back to rehab."

  My parents shook their heads with relief and approval. I couldn't imagine the heartache that they felt and turmoil that the past few hours had caused them. It wasn't my intention but I had completely spiraled out of control.

  I went to a different rehabilitation clinic that focused on patients that cut or did self-harm. I stayed for ninety days. They focused on patients that cut or did self-harm. The place was not a shock for me and I knew the format, layout and the outcomes. It had worked before and if I worked at it right this time, it would work again with the needed results. I needed help and that meant letting go of everything. My recovery was my top priority.

  Before the incident, I would cut occasionally when I was stressed or feeling out of control. My obsession with 'that man' contributed to my need for control but it made the cutting worse because I had none when it came to him. I was obsessed with this notion of being with him and in my head, he only had to notice me. It had happened months ago but the point of the rehabilitation was to treat my obsessive behavior and the cutting. It had to stop and become a problem I could move past. My psychiatrist worked with me at the facility and I had two counseling sessions a weekly. This wasn't new for me but I definitely wanted it to be my last episode.