Kings of Mayhem (The Kings of Mayhem Book 1)

by Penny Dee

  “I told my son not to invite her. I know who her parents are. What they do. Where she comes from. What white trash nonsense they bring to the town.”

  My fists tightened against my cheeks, and my nails dug into my palms. George Jones Sr. was a douchebag just like his son.

  “Veronica is on her way, and once she gets here, we’ll settle this,” Buckman said calmly, ignoring his comments.

  As if on cue, a sporty Mercedes pulled up to the curb and Ronnie climbed out. Dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans, a loose, silk top, and knee-high boots, she exuded a cool authority and commanded everyone’s attention. I watched her throw her tasseled leather bag over her shoulder and close her car door. As she walked toward us, her long, curly hair swung around her shoulders and down her back.

  “So, what’s this about?” she asked as she came toward us, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. She looked calmly at the two Georges and then over to me.

  “Indy assaulted my son,” Mr. Jones said before Sheriff Buckman had the chance to explain. “And I want charges pressed.”

  Despite the threat, Ronnie looked unfazed and calmly folded her arms. She swept her heavy-lidded eyes over George Jones Sr. with cool disdain before slowly turning to Sheriff Buckman.

  “Is this true?” she asked evenly.

  “I’m afraid so,” Buckman said. “She hit George in the face. Close fisted. Clocked him right in the eye.”

  Ronnie’s expression didn’t change. “And what was George doing at the time?”

  “That’s hardly the point,” Mr. Jones snapped, turning his sweaty face red. “The little shit hit my son!”

  Ronnie slowly turned back to him.

  “It’s been my experience, Mr. Jones, that there are always two sides to every story, and sometimes those sides vary greatly. We’ve heard your son’s version, now let’s hear Indy’s.”

  “Version!” Mr. Jones raged. “My son’s version is all over his fucking face!”

  “Mr. Jones—”

  “It’s okay, Sheriff,” Ronnie said coolly. She nodded to me. “Go ahead, Indy.”

  I looked at the three adults and then to George—who still wouldn’t look at me. But his face was turned and I could see the beginnings of the shiner over his left eye.

  “He was behind me when I was at the barbeque table getting a plate of food. He tried untying my bikini top. When I turned around to confront him, he and his friends laughed. I turned back to my plate of food and he did it again. I knew what he was doing. He’d done it to Mallory in the pool so her boobs fell out. He was trying get my bikini loose. So I turned around, and I warned him. I said, “I know what you’re trying to do, George Jones. I don’t care if this is your birthday party or not. If you do that again then I am going to lay you on your ass.” That’s when he reached over and tried to yank down my bikini top. He wouldn’t quit.” I looked at George, who finally looked at me, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “So, I made him.”

  George looked away.

  “So you admit to hitting him?” Buckman asked.

  “Of course, I did.”

  “Charge her!” Mr. Jones roared. “You heard the little shit, she admits it.”

  Ronnie’s voice broke into the melee. “You want to talk about pressing charges? Go right ahead. In fact, I insist on it. Let’s talk about how a seventeen-year-old boy continued to touch a fifteen-year-old girl after she told him to stop. I’m pretty sure that’s the very definition of sexual assault.”

  Mr. Jones thrust his hands on his hips. “Now wait just a minute . . .”

  Ronnie raised her eyebrows at him. “Wait for what exactly, Mr. Jones?”

  “It was a prank. They were just fooling around.”

  “You see, that’s where you’re wrong. Your son was physically harassing Indy and she fended him off with reasonable force. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”

  “Sounds about right, Ronnie,” Sheriff Buckman said as he wrote on his notepad.

  “Let’s discuss the charges I want pressed on your son for trying to take the clothes off Indy without her consent.”

  “Take her clothes off—wait, you can’t press charges! He’ll never get a football scholarship to A&M. You’ll ruin his life.”

  “Maybe your son should have thought about that before he went all grabby on a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  “That’s not what happened—”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “You’re overreacting,” Mr. Jones muttered, still refusing to see that what his son had done was inappropriate.

  “Indy told him to stop,” Ronnie said. “And he didn’t.”

  “Well, maybe if she wasn’t wearing such a tiny bikini . . .” Mr. Jones let his sentence trail off when we all gave him a filthy look. Well, all of us except George Jr., of course. He was too busy trying not to cry. Stupid ass.

  “Don’t embarrass yourself with that old chestnut,” Ronnie said with a cocked eyebrow.

  George Jones Sr. shifted uncomfortably on his feet. His comment had been spoken with misogynist fuckery, and he knew it.

  “It’s about time we start looking at bad behavior for what it really is and stop brushing it off as harmless playfulness.” Ronnie raised an eyebrow at Mr. Jones. Again, her hooded eyes took him in with unflappable contempt. “How would you like it if I reached into your pants and tried to pull them down, grabbing your balls along the way?”

  “What the fuck—?” Mr. Jones’s eyes went so round I thought they were going to bulge right out of his head.

  But Ronnie remained unfazed.

  “What? Because it’s a pair of balls it’s somehow different than a pair of breasts?” Ronnie leaned forward. “Open your eyes. Inappropriate touching is inappropriate touching.” She straightened and turned to Sheriff Buckman. “Are we free to go?”

  “Free as a bird,” Buckman replied, with a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “What about the charges against George Jr., here?”

  Ronnie looked at George Jr. and he withered beneath that look because Ronnie was not someone you fucked with. “I ever hear about you touching another girl inappropriately again, there’ll be trouble. Do you hear me?”

  “Are you threatening my son?” Mr. Jones gawped.

  “No. I’m warning your son to stop putting his hands on other people without their consent.” She looked at me. “Come on, Indy. Let’s go.”

  I walked behind Ronnie and climbed into her car. Behind me, George Jones Jr. started to cry.

  “You know those charges probably wouldn’t have stuck,” I said, once we were inside her car. For all of my fifteen years, I knew how things worked. You didn’t grow up an MC kid and not know a thing or two about prison sentences and criminal charges.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Ronnie said, pulling onto the street. “People are starting to take this kind of situation a little more seriously nowadays. And so they should. Because stop means fucking stop.”

  “You certainly scared them.”

  “Serves them right.”

  We pulled up to a set of lights.

  “You think George had his lesson scared into him?” I asked.

  “If anything, I think he will think differently before he touches someone inappropriately again.”

  I sighed. “The sad thing is, if Cade were here, then it would never had happened.”

  Ronnie looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “If Cade were here, George Jones Jr. would be in a body bag.”

  CADE

  Now

  I didn’t see Indy until after lunch because I was busy at Spank Daddy’s. The police had been called. Apparently, one of the dancers—a feisty redhead called Bronte—stabbed her ex-boyfriend with her stiletto when he climbed on stage and tried to drag her off. By the time I got there it was fucking chaos and the club was lit up by the lights of an ambulance and a patrol car.

  Something like this would usually shut us down for the night. But one call to Sheriff Buckman, and the situation was handled. The blood got cleaned up, everyone was treated to a round
of free drinks, and we were back up and running like nothing had happened.

  When I got back to the clubhouse, Indy was waiting out front. She stood up when she saw me, and Christ, she looked incredible. Silk shirt. Black, thigh high boots over a pair of blue jeans I wanted to undo with my teeth.

  She walked toward me and all I could think about was how good it had felt falling asleep next to her last night. But I knew, fucking knew, if it happened again, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her. There was only so much a man could take.

  “I wanted to thank you for last night,” she said, digging her hands into her back pockets. She seemed nervous. Cautious. Her walls were down but she was definitely still reserved.

  “It was good to hang out,” I replied, trying not to notice the subtle hint of her nipples pressing against the silk of her shirt. Or the way her jeans clung to her firm thighs.

  “I mean, for not taking advantage of the situation,” she explained. “You know, in your bedroom last night.”

  Her words wiped the smile off my face.

  Who the fuck did she think I was?

  Some douche who couldn’t get a girl to fuck him willingly, so he took advantage of her when she was emotional?

  Did she really not know me?

  “It’s not my style,” I said, pissed.

  I walked past her toward the barbecue tables.

  If Indy noticed what her words did to me, then she didn’t show it.

  “I was wondering if you had any plans?” she asked. “I thought maybe we could go for a ride to the lookout.”

  I turned around. At the mention of the lookout, my stomach burned with pain. I didn’t go to the lookout anymore. Not since … not since losing her.

  “The lookout?”

  She grinned. “Yeah. Can we?”

  I gave her a forced smile. “I haven’t been out there for years.”

  “Really?”

  The lookout had been one of our places. As teenagers, we’d lost hours there. Drinking. Stargazing. Watching the glittering skyline of Destiny. Making love.

  My heart warned me not to go.

  Spending so much time with her was a tease.

  “I only have a couple of days left in Destiny. I thought it would be nice to go and see some of the old hangouts.”

  “You not staying for the wedding?”

  Disappointment and something close to alarm spiraled through me.

  “I don’t think so,” she said softly. “I don’t belong here anymore.”

  I wanted to grab her and tell her that yes, yes, she did belong here. But Indy’s walls had only just started to come down. I didn’t want to scare her off. The tortoise won the race. Not the fucking rabbit.

  “The lookout, huh?”

  “Is that a yes?” she asked with a grin.

  The way she smiled at me, I’d say yes to anything she wanted.

  “Whatever you want.”

  Her grin was big.

  “I just need to get something from my car, okay?” she said.

  Her rental was parked across the lot. She ran toward it while I grabbed a second helmet from inside the club. As I came back outside, I saw Genevieve storm into the lot.

  When she got close enough to Indy’s car, she pulled a handgun out of her bag and aimed it at the tires.

  Alarm ripped through me.

  “Genevieve!” I yelled.

  Indy looked up at the sound of my voice, and when she saw the gun in Genevieve’s hand, she ran for cover.

  The first bullet took out the front tire. The second pinged the front panel and echoed across the lot. The third bullet got one of the windows, the fourth lodged in the rear passenger door.

  Hearing the gunfire, Davey, Isaac, Vader, Maverick, and Joker ran onto the lot.

  “Genevieve, you fucking psycho fuck!” Davey screamed at his ex-old lady.

  She swung around to Davey, aiming the gun in his direction. Everyone ducked for cover. “Is this why you left me, Davey? For this stuck-up city whore?” She swung back toward Indy’s car and fired another shot, killing the rear tire.

  “No, I left you because you’re a crazy bitch,” Davey yelled back, NOT helping the situation.

  “I saw you. And her.” She pointed the gun at Indy and I instinctively stepped in front of her. “I saw her half-naked and draped all over you yesterday morning.”

  “You’ve completely lost your mind!” Davey yelled. “She’s Cade’s old lady, ain’t nothing to do with me. I was just giving her a lift home, is all.”

  “You lying piece of shit!” Genevieve screamed at him.

  While she was preoccupied slinging insults across the lot to her old man, I rushed at her. She struggled but I managed to wrench the gun out of her hands without having to drive my fist into her like I wanted to. I didn’t hit women. Not even crazy bitches like this loose cannon. But part of me wanted to because she had pointed a gun at Indy, and that made me see fucking red.

  I pushed her away from me and I was quickly forgotten as she stormed over to Davey.

  “You forget you got two kids at home? You prefer to hangout and fuck whores?”

  She lunged at Davey with clawed hands but he pushed her away and she fell to the concrete.

  Indy knelt down to help her up. God knows why. Considering the psycho had just pointed a gun at her and shot up her car. The old Indy would have knocked her on her ass. But this Indy was more in control.

  “He’s telling the truth,” she said, placing a hand on her arm to help her up. “He was just giving me a lift home.”

  But Genevieve shook her off and gave her a scowl full of pure venom. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, you fucking city piece of shit.”

  I wanted to kill her. I’m not kidding, the rage was blinding. She had just pointed a gun at Indy. Shot up her car. Called her a whore.

  I stepped toward her to tell her to mind her mouth, but Indy put a hand to my chest to stop me. “We’re going for a ride, remember?”

  I wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding my wrath. My fists curled at my side as I tried to calm my temper. When I lost my mind to my rage, I was like a fucking freight train. Indy was trying to stop me before I reached that point.

  “Let’s not waste any more time on this,” she said.

  I fired a dark look at Davey. “You take care of this mess.” I gestured to Indy’s bullet-riddled rental car. “Get it fixed and let me know when it’s done.”

  “Come on,” Indy said, taking my hand and leading me over to my bike.

  Climbing on, I helped her onto the back and secured her arms around my waist and roared out of the compound. It was the best fucking feeling in the world. My girl. On the back of my bike. With her arms wrapped around me.

  Fuck the craziness happening at the clubhouse.

  Nothing mattered but this.

  CADE

  Now

  It was late afternoon so the traffic was light. I took it easy, not wanting to rush our time together, and if I was honest, being out on the road with my girl on the back of my bike was pretty much my idea of heaven.

  As we made our way up Calvary Hill to the lookout, we left the world behind us.

  There was a space for parking at the top and I pulled my bike up near the edge, overlooking Destiny in the distance. Streetlights twinkled like diamonds in the dying light of dusk and stars started to appear in the indigo sky.

  Indy slid off my bike and walked over to the edge, taking in the glittering view below. As I joined her, her subtle scent engulfed me.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Let’s see, I’ve been back in town for three days and I’ve already had a gun pointed at me twice. I’ve performed crude surgery on the side of the road to save the life of a guy who may or may not have been deliberately run off the road. And I’ve managed to alienate an entire motorcycle club because I’m a nasty drunk. Hmmm . . . let’s see, I guess my rental being riddled with bullets by a psycho ex-old lady seems . . . expected?”

  When she p
ut it like that, I couldn’t help but grin. The old Indy was back. And she seemed more relaxed. She was smiling and goddamn it was beautiful.

  “I really am sorry,” I said.

  “For what? You didn’t make Genevieve crazy.” She gave me another smile before turning away to take in the view of Destiny sparkling below us. I watched her stretch her arms up and inhale the twilight air, fascinated by the way her face looked in the fading light. She was more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen. “I always loved this view,” she said. “I used to love coming up here. With you.”

  She looked at me and something shimmered between us. I felt a pull so strong toward her that all I wanted to do was take her in my arms and kiss her. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t scare her away from me now. If I had to, I would take all the time she needed.

  “I haven’t been up here in years,” I admitted.

  “Really? I thought this would be the perfect spot to bring all your girls.”

  I hated that she thought I was some kind of biker man whore.

  “Indy…”

  “I often thought about this place.” She cut me off. “The twinkle of the city lights. The smell of the wild lavender.” She turned away from the sunset, her brown eyes gleaming like dark stone in the dusk light. “You really don’t come up here?”

  I shook my head. “Not since … this is where I read your letter.”

  At the mention of the letter, she cringed.

  “It’s okay,” I said quietly.

  Indy took a cautious step toward me, nervously shoving her hands in her back pockets. “About that—”

  “It’s okay.” I cut her off. “I understand why you wrote it. I was crazy. I had lost my mind.”

  When Indy had taken off for college without me, I had followed her. Despite her demands to stay away. I had ridden two days to get to Seattle and then proceeded to terrify her with my craziness. I mean, I really lost my shit. I turned into a real emotional psycho. For the first time in my life, I was out of control and desperate, and completely unsure of what to do.

  I was so in love with her and terrified because she didn’t want me anymore. I begged her. Stalked her. Pleaded with her. I didn’t sleep. Drank too much. And combined with my extreme emotional state, I became a desperate wreck who did crazy shit that frightened her. Like begging on my knees on her front stoop, with my fists pounding against her door.