Kings of Mayhem (The Kings of Mayhem Book 1)

by Penny Dee

  Even when he paid for the both of us to play, I still resisted.

  “If you beat me, we’ll go home,” he said, picking up a wooden air rifle and loading it. “If I win, we stay and ride the wheel.”

  “There is no way you’re getting me up on that thing.”

  “Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You’re afraid of heights.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” I said raising my chin. “I just don’t trust their safety standards, is all.”

  “Sure, you don’t.” He cocked his gun. “We got a deal?”

  For a moment, our eyes locked in battle.

  “Fine,” I snapped, picking up a rifle. “You win, we ride the wheel. If I win, we aren’t leaving right away, I’m going to pick out the biggest soft toy there is and make you walk around the park with it all morning.”

  CADE

  Now

  She kicked my ass.

  I mean, she really mopped the floor with me.

  When she won the first game, I insisted it was the best out of three. When she won all three, I talked her into game four.

  Which she won.

  And I had to admit, watching her handle that rifle like a badass made me hard as fuck.

  Now I was walking around cuddling a gigantic soft bunny with the biggest floppy ears known to man.

  And Indy was enjoying every second of it.

  The upside—she wasn’t running away from me. Or telling me what an asshole I was. She wanted to stay and make me walk around with this damn thing attached to my hip all morning as some kind of payback.

  The downside . . . well, there wasn’t one. Hanging out with Indy was turning out to be the best day I’d had in a long time. She was relaxed. And she laughed . . . a lot. I missed that laugh. And the way she tilted her head back and half closed her eyes when she found something hilarious.

  Being with her was easy.

  And a turn on.

  Because I had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.

  “What should we do next?” I asked as we walked down Sideshow Alley, eating corndogs smothered in ketchup.

  When I looked at her, she was already looking at me. She had a smear of ketchup at the corner of her mouth, and when I reached over to wipe it with the pad of my thumb, I found myself resisting the sudden urge to lean down and brush my lips against her mouth. Everything in my body begged me to touch her. To lick the sweet sauce from her skin. To part those luscious lips with my tongue and kiss her to hell and back. To reach for her and crush her body against me so she could feel everything she was doing to me. She lifted her lashes and smiled, but it slowly faded as the moment deepened and something shimmered between us. Her lips parted and said kiss me. While her eyes darkened and said don’t.

  “How about the wheel?” she said, breaking the spell.

  I pulled my hand away.

  “You hate the wheel,” I reminded her.

  “You walked around with a massive toy bunny attached to your hip all morning. It would be poor sportsmanship if we didn’t.” She shrugged and took my hand. “Come on. Before I change my mind.”

  The line for the Ferris wheel was short so we didn’t have to wait long. But when it came to our turn, Indy hesitated.

  “No need to be afraid, Princess,” I teased, winking at the young ride attendant who was watching us. In her late teens, she had blonde pigtails and freckles, and a t-shirt that read, Sorry I wasn’t in church, I was busy practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian.

  “I’m not afraid,” Indy protested. She turned to the ride attendant. “Really, I’m not.”

  The girl grinned and held out a bucket of candy. “Some of the parents find it helps to preoccupy the little ones if they’re, you know . . . afraid.”

  Indy gave the girl a traitorous look but took a lollipop from her anyway.

  “What about the bunny?” she asked me, unwrapping the lollipop.

  “Bunny’s coming with us.”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “It’s okay, Cade. Torture time is over. You can get rid of the bunny.”

  I covered the giant bunny ears with my hands. “Get rid of him? No way!”

  I couldn’t wait to see the look on Brax’s face when I gave it to him. Or the look on Isaac’s face when he realized the ears squeaked every time you tugged on them.

  Every. Single. Time.

  Indy rolled her eyes and climbed into the bucket. After securing the oversized, soft toy between us, I sat down next to her.

  “Ready?” I asked as we started moving.

  She nodded but gripped the safety bar so hard her knuckles were white. She could deny it as much as she liked, but she fucking hated heights.

  Growing up, Indy was fearless. She was always getting into mischief. But heights were her kryptonite. The one fear she couldn’t hide. Or conquer.

  When I looked at her, she was biting her lower lip and I felt like a real dick for teasing her. An all-too-familiar rush of protectiveness came over me and I slid my hand over hers. She turned her head, her large brown eyes gleaming in the light of the early afternoon, and a slow smile tugged at her lips as her gaze rolled over my face. When she didn’t pull her hand away, a spark ignited inside me. Her scent. The heat of her skin. They engulfed me.

  Slowly, the town of Destiny came into view below us, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away from her. She slid the lollipop between her luscious lips and my cock hardened even more. I knew how they felt wrapped around me and my body ached to feel them again. I wanted them on me. I wanted to be in them.

  “I’m sorry about what I said last night,” she said.

  “You already apologized,” I replied, trying not to notice the way she sucked at the candy in her mouth. Or the fact that I was falling in love with her all over again.

  Her eyes softened with regret. “I know. But I need you to know that I didn’t mean those things.”

  “Some of them you did.”

  She blinked and nodded regretfully, then turned her head to look out at the view. Golden sunlight danced on her beautiful face.

  “This place . . . coming back. It’s been strange.” I could see the remorse in her expression. She looked sad. Lost.

  I gently turned her chin to look at me. “I know.”

  She licked her lips and I had to fight the craving to cover them with mine.

  “Thank you for being so nice,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  Heat flared in me. There wasn’t one nice thing I was thinking in that moment. My eyes were focused on those lips. On that milky, smooth throat and how I wanted to bury my face in there and cover it in my kisses. I held back a moan. In my mind, I was already kissing her. Touching her.

  And that was when I realized.

  I wasn’t falling in love with her all over again.

  Because I had never stopped.

  I never would.

  And I was fucking doomed.

  INDY

  Now

  We didn’t leave the festival until after lunch. The hours just flew by. Before I knew it, the sun was getting lower in the sky and our date was almost over. As I climbed on the bike behind Cade, I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Today had been surprisingly fun.

  We rode back to the clubhouse and my heart began to sag a little. My hangover was finally catching up with me. I felt strange and reasoned it was because of all the alcohol my organs had marinated in the night before. Alcohol was a depressant and I’d had enough of it to make me depressed for a week.

  When we pulled up to the clubhouse I wasn’t sure if I was ready for today to end.

  And that confused me.

  “Thanks for today,” I said.

  Cade held up the giant bunny. It had ridden home between us, its big ears flopping about in the wind.

  “Want to come with me to give this to Brax?”

  I grinned. Yes. Yes, I did.

  “He’s over at the playground.” He gestured toward the clubhouse. “He and Vader’s little girl have a play date e
very Saturday afternoon.”

  As we made our way up the driveway, I looked up and came to a sudden halt.

  Across the parking lot, a large coffin was being unloaded from a truck and carried into the workshop of Shadow Choppers, the custom motorcycle shop co-owned by the Kings. Next door to it, was their tattoo shop called Sinister Ink.

  “Is that my daddy’s coffin?” I asked.

  It was a lame question, because of course it was.

  All fallen Kings were buried in a custom-sprayed coffin, usually to match their motorcycle paint job, and always with the Kings of Mayhem patch on the sides.

  “Ah, yeah . . . sorry, Indy. Picasso is getting it ready for the funeral.”

  I watched the coffin disappear inside the workshop, hating the feeling of sadness that swept through me. My daddy didn’t deserve my grief. He was lucky I was even here.

  “I’m sorry, Indy,” Cade said again.

  “Why?” I looked at him, my eyes narrowed. “You didn’t kill him.”

  I stalked off. I didn’t know why I was suddenly so angry. Only moments ago, I had been fine, and now—now I hated everything about this Godforsaken hick town and this stupid motorcycle club.

  “Hey . . .” Cade called after me. When I ignored him, he caught up to me and gently turned me around. “Come on, Indy. I know you’re hurting.”

  My anger—or whatever the hell it was I was feeling— peaked.

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” I folded my arms. “I’m not hurting. I’m not hurting at all. My daddy was a mean sonofabitch who cheated on my mom, and put a fist in her jaw more than a couple of times. He was a bad husband and an even shittier father. So, no, I’m not hurting. I’m nothing. So spare me the apologies. And let’s just get this shit done so I can get out of the fuck out of here.”

  I had no desire to be back in the Kings of Mayhem compound. I wanted to go home. Get as far away from all of this as possible. But as I stomped toward the timber fort and playground, the sight of it made me come to a quick halt. Garrett Calley and my daddy had built the playground for us when we were kids, and twenty-five years later, it still looked the same. Two little blonde kids played on the timber fort and they could have easily been Cade and me when we were little. They were laughing as the little boy chased the little girl around the swing set, and when the little girl fell down, the little boy rushed to her and helped her up.

  How many times had Cade done that for me? Picked me up when I had fallen down.

  Cade stood directly behind me.

  “The very first time I kissed you was on that fort,” he said, his voice husky and his breath warm against the back of my neck. “We were five years old. Do you remember?”

  I nodded and tears sprung to my eyes as my anger started to wane.

  Hell. My emotions were all over the place. Stupid hangover.

  “Yes, I remember,” I whispered. My heart pounded in my ears as those happy memories rushed at me all at once. We had spent hours playing on that stupid playground. And he was right; the very first time he had kissed me had been behind the timber fort when we were five, and it was the first of many. Although, by the time we were teenagers, the kissing was a little less innocent and involved a lot more tongue.

  My heart ached and my chest felt heavy. They were happy times, but again I felt at war with myself. I sighed. Exhausted. It was time to stop running from my past and face it head on.

  Without turning around, I asked, “Can you take me to see my father?”

  Cade’s voice was deep and strong. “Of course.”

  INDY

  Now

  Dead people don’t look like they are sleeping. They look dead. Gone. Empty. My father was no different. His eyes were closed. I mean, he looked like my father. Beard. Longish hair. A face marred by grief and the torment of losing his son. Not to mention the drinking and drugs. But he also looked dead.

  Not sleeping.

  I stared down at him, my chest tight. It was real. It was over. There would be no more stalemate between us. No more unanswered phone calls. No more missed birthdays, Thanksgivings and Christmases. No more nothing between us.

  The end.

  I felt even further away from him than ever before.

  “Excuse me, Miss Parrish?” The morgue attendant approached us. “These are your father’s personal affects. He had them on him when he passed.”

  He handed me a plastic envelope. Inside were his chunky silver rings, the watch Bolt and I had given him for his thirty-fifth birthday, his wallet, and one other item that surprised me. It was a handmade friendship bracelet I’d made for him when I was ten.

  “He was wearing this when he died?” I asked.

  The attendant nodded. “We weren’t sure if you wanted it back or if you’d like him to wear it.”

  My heart swelled unexpectedly. He’d kept it all these years.

  I looked down at him lying still on the stainless-steel stretcher, the sheet pulled up to his chest. I reached for his wrist, momentarily stunned by how malleable it was, and secured the leather bracelet around it. If he’d worn it all these years, then it had meant something to him.

  Maybe I had meant something to him too.

  As I child, I thought my father’s meanness was my fault. That I’d done something wrong to make him angry at me. Then, as a teenager, I told myself it was because he was a monster who just didn’t care about anyone anymore. Then, as an adult, my perspective was different again. I understood his grief had taken him. Changed him. Made him mean. He hadn’t abandoned me. He had hidden from me. Protecting himself from further heartache. And he had let it destroy us.

  Losing his son had shattered his marriage, his relationship with his daughter, and his mind.

  Now the tears rolled down my cheeks as I whispered my last goodbye to him.

  “I hope you’re happy now that you’re finally with Bolt,” I whispered.

  I felt something in me weaken.

  I turned to Cade.

  “Take me for a ride. I don’t care where, let’s just ride.”

  CADE

  Now

  I kept a journal.

  I know. Big tough biker dude, right?

  But the truth was, after I’d returned home from chasing Indy to Seattle and behaving like a complete psycho, my mom forced me to see a counselor. My head was out of control and she was worried I was going to really lose my shit. It was a good move, because the counselor—a youngish guy called Donnie from San Francisco—really helped to pull me out of the pit I’d fallen into.

  One of the things Donnie asked me to do was to keep a journal. To write down the things that happened throughout the day and how they made me feel. He said it would help put things into perspective, and he was right. Writing it all down helped calm my craziness because it made me stop and take a breath. I was able to vent. I was able to get it all out of the tangle in my head and put it together on the page.

  Even as life moved on without Indy, I continued to write in my journal. It helped with all of life’s sharp turns, like when my father died in a bar brawl less than a year after Indy left, and Donnie’s death in a car accident only a few months after that. I kept writing about everything. When Caleb went to prison for assaulting a college kid who was raping an underage girl, because he’d beat him so bad he put him in a coma. When Krista thought she was pregnant and the relief I had felt when she wasn’t—because having a baby with another woman would make me feel even further away from the one true love of my life. When Travis Hawthorne was released from jail and the devastation that followed. I had written it all down and it had helped, kind of like some literary Prozac.

  Tonight, it was all about Indy. About how she was back in town. How she had asked me to take her to see her daddy. How she had stood over his coffin and stared down at him with tears in her eyes. How her wall of anger had finally come down and she’d reached for my hand. How my heart had longed to take her in my arms and hold her to me so I could absorb all the pain from her body. It all tumbled out o
f me and onto the page. About the ride we went on afterwards and the sapphire blue sky above us as she wrapped her arms around my waist and held on tight. About longing to feel her lips against mine just one last time.

  Afterward, we’d gone to Billy Joe’s in town and eaten burgers and fries, washed down with cherry colas. Her walls were down and we had talked for so long our asses stuck to the vinyl booths when we got up to leave. It was almost as if the years had peeled away. As if the old Indy was back.

  When we got home, she wrapped her arms around me and whispered, “thank you” against my neck, before disappearing inside.

  Now, I sat alone in my room, my body aching for my girl.

  A sudden ping against the window made me look up. I stopped writing and waited. Ping. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in years. I put down my journal and went to the window, and there she was standing in the moonlight. Indy. Still dressed in her jeans and boots, her arm paused in mid throw as she prepared to throw another stone at my window. I leaned down on the windowpane and couldn’t hold back the smile.

  “You know, you can use the door. I’m pretty sure your mama ain’t gonna holler at you for being out after dark.”

  She smiled and shrugged. “Now where would the fun be in that?”

  I grinned. I was so pleased she was back. “Want to come up?”

  Her smile faded and something in her body language changed. She nodded. “Just for a bit.”

  She hoisted herself up, and I guided her through the window like I had a thousand times when we were kids.

  “You okay?” I asked. I could see in her face that she wasn’t. Her eyes were sad and there was a vulnerability to her that I hadn’t seen before.

  “Thank you for today,” she said. “I’m pleased I went and saw him. It was good to get things off my chest.”

  She smiled awkwardly and wrapped her arms around her chest as if she didn’t know what to do.

  “You feeling okay about it?” I asked, refusing to acknowledge how beautiful she looked. Or how her tank top and tight jeans clung to her perfect body.