Possessive_Sons of Chaos MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  They were quiet for a moment, and she tried to hope the conversation was done. No way it would be that easy, of course.

  “And what about your father?”

  “He’s not my father.”

  “Sorry. Excuse me. What about Smokey?”

  She shrugged. “What about him?”

  “Last I heard, he was drying out in one of barns at the orchard,” Tex said. “We need to decide what happens to him next. Do we let him go, or do we…not?”

  It sounded really innocent, put like that. Like not letting him go would be this benign choice, a better choice. Holy crap. “Why do I choose?” she asked.

  Tex was quiet for a little while. “I’m not going to force you to. If you want to leave that on me, I’ll take it. But I think you should think it through. See what you feel is right. Because whether or not you two have any kind of emotional connection, you do have a biological one, and that means something.”

  Her first instinct was to tell him to take care of it. To wash her hands of the whole, ugly mess, and just pretend she had sprung forth from her mother’s womb like the baby Jesus. Or to call her mother and ask for help deciding what to do.

  But the truth was that putting this burden on anyone else wasn’t fair. Not even Tex. His willingness to take it up was commendable. But it shouldn’t be necessary. She should be enough to take care of this decision.

  Which was all well and good from an intellectual point of view. The emotional truth of it, unfortunately, was that she had no idea what was right from here. “I don’t know,” she said, finally. “I don’t. I don’t want him dead, exactly. But I don’t…ever want to see him again.”

  Tex nodded, thinking. “I have a suggestion,” he said, “if you’re okay to hear it.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  On the back of Tex’s bike, Jessie considered how much had changed. The world was different than it had been a few weeks ago — hell, just one day. She had created a hole in the world, a gap where a person had been, and while she knew it wasn’t something she wanted to do again, she also hadn’t had much trouble getting out of bed this morning. She kept waiting to feel guilty, or like she had inappropriately crossed the will of God, or…something. Like she should go to church and take confession. Ask for forgiveness. But there was no need. Was what she’d done good? No, she didn’t think so. Killing a person wasn’t ever something she would think of as good. But it might have been right. It might have been just.

  She couldn’t think of another situation when she would have accepted ending a person’s life as fair payment for what had gone past. In self-defense, that was something. But that moment there, on that dark night, had been ending something that had been started so many years ago. She had seen in Pedey’s eyes that he remembered it. She suspected that he had lived out that murder — maybe not every night, maybe he wasn’t haunted by its after effects like she was. But he remembered it. He’d never forgotten. Had he even recognized her? Maybe.

  And now, she rested easily on the back of Tex’s bike. She steadied herself against him, but she didn’t need to cling to him, afraid that she would do something to unsteady the bike. He’d talked this morning about getting her one of her own, teaching her to ride, and she thought that might be nice, but at the same time, it was good to be behind him, protected from the wind, feeling the muscles of his stomach flex as he guided them smoothly along the road. Riding on her own might be amazing, but it wasn’t necessarily the kind of freedom she was after. She’d see.

  Now, they rode into the desert. They weren’t following a road that she could see; Tex had her put goggles over her eyes and a bandana over her mouth, and still she tasted dust. She imagined it was worse for those who were riding behind them. Not too many, this time, nothing like the caravan that had ridden out to take on the Racketeers. But enough. A few more bikes, and then a 4x4. Inside the 4x4 were Take, one of the lieutenants she hadn’t really gotten to know, and the man who had once called himself her father. John Hendricks. Smokey. The junkie who had caused this entire mess.

  Tex had left his fate in her hands, and she wasn’t entire sure yet what she was going to do with that gift and curse. She didn’t want to make another hole in the world. It wasn’t good. But was it right? Was it just? She couldn’t decide.

  She found herself wondering what Danny would do. Obviously, if he were alive, none of this would be a problem. But she cast her mind back, trying to remember what, if anything, Danny had said about their father. In those days, he’d come home more often, though “more often” was still once or twice a year – when he wasn’t in prison, which he was as often as not. Mom had never seemed happy to see him there, but he’d always ended up sleeping in her room.

  Danny had always been defiant and absent when Smokey was around. But was that because he was angry their father was there, or because he was angry he still hadn’t earned their father’s approval? How could she know for sure when he probably hadn’t known himself?

  There was no help from the past. What mattered was the future. Tex had said she was the only person who could make this decision, and as much as she hated him for doing that, she also understood why he had. If her father was killed, and she later regretted it, he didn’t want her to regret him. But at the same time, it would be kind to have the burden lifted.

  There were no easy answers. Maybe the easy answers weren’t worth seeking.

  She didn’t know why this bit of desert was different from all the parts they’d already driven through, but Tex pulled to a stop like he knew what he was seeking. The others stopped behind him, turning off their bikes and leaning them up between legs. She dismounted from the back of his bike. Tex made a “come on” gesture in the air, and the doors of the 4x4 opened. Take stepped out, then reached into the back of the vehicle and hauled Smokey out.

  Jessie wanted to believe in second chances. She also was tired of being taken advantage of. And then she knew what she wanted.

  She’d packed a bag and tucked it into the saddlebag of Tex’s bike when they’d headed out. She drew it out now and waited. Take led Smokey up to her. The man’s legs were unsteady, his hands were shaking so hard they hadn’t bothered to tie him at all, and he was stained with shit and vomit. Take had made him sit on a tarp in the back of the 4x4 and hold a bucket. When Take let go of his arm, Smokey dropped to his knees at her feet.

  “You’ve never been a father to me,” she said, her voice steadier than she expected as she looked for the words she wanted, the last ones she ever planned on speaking to this man. “You weren’t a father to my brother. I could have forgiven you that. But you got him killed. You got him killed for a stupid drug, and you never even tried to make amends. You let us believe it was our fault when it was yours. I can’t forgive you for that.”

  He looked up to her, his eyes clearer than they had been in her mother’s house. “Girl, I’m—”

  “No,” she said. “You don’t talk. I talk. There’s nothing I want to hear from you. Do you understand me?”

  He nodded.

  “We drove all the way out here because it would be easy to kill you. No one would know.” She thought of the feeling of a weapon in her hand, and the intense kickback after she’d pulled the trigger. It had jarred her whole arm. It had felt deeply wrong and strange. And she didn’t really want to do it again, she found. But he didn’t need to know any of that. His eyes didn’t look panicked at the thought of his imminent death. With the intensity of his withdrawals, how much was he even hearing?

  She pushed herself on. She dropped the pack at her feet and kicked it toward him. “This is the part where you get to make a choice, John,” she said. He winced at that, at her calling him by his given name and not ‘Dad.’ That broke her heart, just a little bit. The idea that, somewhere down there, he still wanted to be her father. That almost made her change her mind. But it wasn’t enough. His regret was not enough to undo what he had done. “There’s a couple things in that bag. Enough water that you can get back to town, if you don’
t get lost. Enough drugs to kill you.” She shrugged. “I suppose if you’re careful, you could get yourself to stop shaking and make it back without ODing. Or stay here until you get your shit together and can make it back. I don’t know. But the point is, you have a choice.” She knelt down, trying not to inhale the stench of the man. “But no matter what you choose? I don’t ever want to see you again, John. You never darken my path again. Or there will be no choice.” She reached for all the dark authority Tex could muster when he chose, letting her features darken and twist. “You feel me?”

  It was a long moment. His eyes were focused on her face, as if he was memorizing her. And then he nodded.

  She was done. She slid back on to Tex’s bike behind him, and he didn’t wait. He turned the bike around, starting at a slow pace while the other bikes turned and followed them, the 4x4 bringing up the end again. She didn’t turn around to see if John had opened the bag. She didn’t look to see if he’d found the knife in the bottom, that she’d left there in case he decided that the solution was to end things quickly. It didn’t matter to her anymore.

  She wrapped her arms around Tex’s waist and let him drive them into the future.

  Epilogue

  Jessie sat on the porch of what had once been Logan Polanco’s citrus farm, watching the sun set. Summer was in full bloom now, and it was getting hot, even by California standards. Castello was busy, full of tourists, and she’d started spending more time out at the orchard. It was calmer than in town, and she’d started liking both the peace, and the rough voices of the various club members.

  Take had gone back to Los Angeles, and taken some of the members along with him; others had come from L.A., looking for a more relaxed pace than the busy city. The clubs were both still branches of the Sons of Chaos, but Tex had managed to keep both of the clubs running clean, while still keeping territory safe from those who might have tried to take it over.

  Besides, she had news for Tex tonight. It would keep, but not for all that long. Sure, they’d tried the pills for a few months, but they’d made her moody and swollen, and they’d decided together that they had waited long enough. They were sure, and whatever would come would come. And now it would, in about 7 months, if the timing in her mind was right.

  They’d have to talk about names. It would be too morbid, she thought, to give her child her dead brother’s first name. Maybe the middle name, though. To honor him. To honor what had driven her baby’s parents apart, and then eventually brought them back together. Yeah. That would be nice.

  When Tex’s bike pulled into the yard, she put her boots up on the rail. He could come to her. A broad smile spread over her face as she watched him light up at the sight of her. Yeah. This was going to be a good conversation.

  THE END

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  Read on for your FREE bonus book – Tangled with the Fighter

  Tangled with the Fighter: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance

  By Kathryn Thomas

  I thought my life couldn’t possibly get worse. Then I met him.

  He doesn’t care that I’m a single mom struggling to keep my head afloat to provide for my daughter, that my life has no room for a washed-up MMA fighter, that the last thing I need in my life is a bad boy—an arrogant, womanizing, wrong-in-all-the-right-ways bad boy.

  He thinks that just because he’s hired me to keep his house in order, that I’m his to boss around.

  He thinks he knows me, knows what I want, what I crave, what I fantasize about.

  He thinks I’m his to enjoy. That he’s going to make me beg and scream.

  The worst part of it all? I think he might be right.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Leo, my darling,” the woman’s deep, husky voice floated above the sound of the music. “Come back to bed and have another sip.”

  Leo growled, annoyed at her whining and nagging. “No,” he seethed, “I’m done.”

  The woman, with her tan skin and jet black long hair that just barely covered her exposed breasts, stood up from her spot on the king sized bed. A bottle of vodka was in one hand and two crystal tumblers in another. She walked slowly, as if in a dream, allowing Leo to watch every inch of her body move and bounce gently with her gliding steps.

  “I'm going to pour two glasses full of this—” she held up the purple and clear bottle to the light and studied the label. With a small, knowing smirk she turned back to him and continued, “—this very expensive bottle of vodka. If you care to join me, then you may have the second glass. If not, I'll drink both all by my lonesome. But in either case, I want you to crawl between my legs and fuck me like you’ll never fuck again for the rest of your life.” Her face contorted into a somewhat pout with her faded red matte lips puffing out and her dark brown eyes deepening.

  His irritation of her battled with his urge to pin her down and fuck her until she screamed. Finally he reached out a hand. “Shut the fuck up and hand me the damn glass.” He slid to the end of the large, Jacuzzi tub where she stood overlooking him. His arm outstretched, demanding that she comply.

  “Nah, ah, ah, Mr. Lionheart. Not until you say the magic words.” She slid into the water next to him and straddled her long, silky legs around his waist beneath the bubbling water. Her stomach rested against his as she took a sip from the tumbler, leaving her lips moist and glistening..

  “What the fuck did you call me?” He hadn’t allowed anyone to call him that in over two years now. This bitch crossed a line..

  “Mr. Lionheart. That’s who you are, isn’t it? A king in the ring. What was your slogan? ‘Roar so loud it shook a nation?’ God, that was so corny, but...” She slithered closer to him, tracing her red painted fingers up and down the nape of his neck and outlining the lion tattoo on his chest. “You’re the wildest man alive.”

  Leo grimaced. She was quoting a time that he wished to never relive, a person whom he could never get back. He wasn’t the lion anymore, and everyone knew that. He turned his head to stare directly at the unfamiliar face. She looked eager, almost desperate. Leo knew that he was supposed to sip the vodka from the glass, then bend her over against the edge and. It was part of the show, part of the act. He might as well play along.

  Leo hooked his arm around the woman’s tiny frame. She laughed awkwardly as he pulled her closer. Still, she managed to keep the drinks square in her hands. Not a drop was spilled. Leo found himself more concerned with that than with her safety.

  “I love a strong man. I think I’ve found myself the strongest.” She handed him the glass and pushed her slit against his hardening cock..

  The water crested over her chest as she leaned her naked body into his. His arm wrapped around her to take a sip of the cold, tantalizing drink. It went down smooth, just like the other six glasses he'd taken in that morning. Vodka was always his first drink of the day, at least it had been since he'd quit his old life.

  He continued to hold his lips on the smooth glass rim as the woman began to softly and slowly move up and down and around on his lap. The water made them feel weightless. The floating sensation made her pull and sway farther away from him with each movement.

  When she found herself in the middle of the ten-person tub, she turned around to face him. Her eyes dug holes in him as she pleaded with him once more, “Come and get me, Lionheart.”

  Leo had had enough. “Stop calling me that,” he said bluntly.

  “Why?” she asked coyly. “What would you do to me if I called you that again?”

  He took a long sip and then placed the glass on the tile surrounding the tub. Leo stood, his entire naked body exposed to her and his tall, chiseled body standing over her like a monument. His motion caused the water to splash over the side of the white porcelain bath. He watched as the empty glass was pushed over by the pseudo wave and fell to the floor with a crash, shattering itself into a million tiny parts.


  “I will be very angry.” There was more truth to that than he’d liked, but the woman didn’t seem to pick up on it. All she saw was Leo Connelly, the “Lionheart” whose body was forged in the blood and sweat of the octagon.

  “Oh?” Her eyes lit up as she watched the erection rising with every pulse between his legs.

  “And is Lionheart going to teach me a lesson?”.

  “In a manner of speaking.” You want a lesson? I’ll give you one you’ll never forget. “Turn around.”

  She did exactly as she was told. At least she listens to something I say. Water sloshed around Leo’s legs as he approached. The woman’s ass was exquisite—full and plump with drops of water rolling from her round curves.