Damaged: South Side Boys Book 1

by Winter, Alexis

  Damaged

  South Side Boys Book 1

  Alexis Winter

  A Novel

  By

  Alexis Winter

  Copyright © 2019 by Alexis Winter - All rights reserved.

  * * *

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  I’m Damaged. Dark. Haunted.

  A shell of a man with no hope for a future.

  Annabelle Locke is Innocent and pure.

  Is she my cure?

  A bright light of hope in my cold world?

  She’s everything I want and everything I don’t deserve.

  I thought I could have a taste and walk away.

  Now the shadows from my past have returned and I’ll stop at nothing to keep her safe.

  Even if that means I have to lose her forever.

  She can’t know the secrets from my past.

  She can’t know the truth of who I really am.

  Or what I’ve done.

  * * *

  But maybe it’s too late…

  Contents

  1. Annabelle

  2. Jaxson

  3. Annabelle

  4. Jaxson

  5. Annabelle

  6. Jaxson

  7. Annabelle

  8. Jaxson

  9. Annabelle

  10. Jaxson

  11. Annabelle

  12. Jaxson

  13. Annabelle

  14. Jaxson

  15. Annabelle

  16. Jaxson

  17. Annabelle

  18. Jaxson

  19. Annabelle

  20. Jaxson

  21. Annabelle

  22. Jaxson

  23. Annabelle

  24. Jaxson

  25. Annabelle

  26. Jaxson

  27. Annabelle

  28. Jaxson

  29. Annabelle

  30. Jaxson

  31. Annabelle

  32. Jaxson

  33. Annabelle

  34. Jaxson

  35. Annabelle

  36. Jaxson

  37. Annabelle

  38. Jaxson

  39. Annabelle

  40. Jaxson

  41. Annabelle

  42. Jaxson

  43. Annabelle

  44. Jaxson

  45. Annabelle

  Epilogue

  Also by Alexis Winter

  About the Author

  1

  Annabelle

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Know those days where you swear it’s Thursday, but the universe is insistent on treating it like a Monday?

  Welcome to my Thursday.

  Normally I’m pretty good balancing trays, coffee, orders, and traffic with baristas at Perks, the café I manage in Chicago. I’m an artist—a painter, more specifically. Or at least in another life I was. Steady hands are needed to create works of beauty.

  But today? Apparently, whoever is directing traffic for my life is deciding to mess with me in the worst way possible.

  This morning I spilled coffee that somehow missed my apron and landed squarely on the sleeves of my white button-down blouse. My hairdryer finally bit the dust, so my auburn hair is wrapped into some sort of topknot that’s not as cute as the women on Pinterest make it out to be.

  But the coup de grâce? The exclamation point on an already shittastic day? Dropping a tray of samples on the floor when he walked in. Hence the trail of obscenities that I thought I said in my head, but judging by the looks I’m getting from customers, were very much verbalized.

  Great. Not only am I a klutz, but I’m also a foul-mouthed klutz.

  I don’t even know why I’m freaking out. The customers are all regulars. They’ve seen their fair share of spills and broken mugs.

  Okay, I do know why.

  It’s because of him. Mr. Dark and Dangerous.

  “Girl, why are you a hot mess express today?” my best friend and coworker, Tori, asks me as she bends down to help me pick up the tray full of mini sandwiches I dropped on the floor. “This is completely not like you.”

  As we scramble to pick up the scattered sandwiches, I look up to see Mr. Dark and Dangerous at the counter, ordering a large black coffee.

  It’s always the same. I don’t have to see the front of him to know what he’s ordering.

  Though I can’t see the transaction, I can see his very firm backside that leads up to his muscled back and broad shoulders. Then there are the tattoos that travel up and down his arms. Arms that fight a daily battle to stay confined in his tight T-shirts.

  I’m drooling. I know I am. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in real life.

  “Quit staring at Mr. Dark and Dangerous or we’re going to have to get the mop for the puddle you’ll leave on the floor. And with your luck today, you’ll slip on your own saliva.”

  I shake myself out of my not-so-subtle stare and walk back behind the counter. He’s leaving now, and I can’t help but peek one more time at the man who has rendered me speechless since the first time he walked into Perks.

  I had just started—only been here for a few weeks—when he walked in. I literally stopped all movement. I had never seen a man like him. Yes, he was hot in that bad boy kind of way, but there was something else about him.

  As soon as he came to the counter and looked down at me—I’m 5’3” on a good day, so everyone looks down at me—I became enthralled.

  His eyes. They were like dark chocolate but so . . . intense. That’s the only word I could think of to describe them.

  I could barely greet him when he came up to order. Thankfully, he ordered his large coffee, tossed $5 on the counter and nodded before turning to leave.

  And that’s how it is every single time. How is it that when he visits, it’s the highlight as well as the worst part of my day?

  “Are you ever going to talk to him?” Tori asks, bumping my hip to knock me back into reality. “Your eyes bug out every time he walks in. He must know that you like him. Just talk to him! At least ask him his name so we can stop calling him Mr. Dark and Dangerous! It’s a fun nickname, but man is it a mouthful.”

  I laugh at my best friend, who made up the name when we realized we didn’t know his. Unfortunately, we’re not like Starbucks, so we don’t ask for names when we take orders. Maybe we should start doing that?

  I might not know his name, but I know he’s the star in my fantasies every night. And that’s just fine for me. Honestly, even having him there is too much to handle.

  “Tori, you know I’m never going to talk to him. What would I say? I can barely look at the man— can you imagine me trying to talk to him?”

  If she thinks I would ever have the guts to talk to him, she’s out of her mind. I’m not exactly experienced when it comes to men. I’ve only had one serious boyfriend and that ended horribly. But it brought me to Chicago and the start of my new life. Everything happens for a reason, right?

  I moved to Chicago about six months ago—a dream I’ve had for so long I can’t remember a time I didn’t want to be in this city. In those dreams, I was a famous artist living in the Windy City, with my paintings displayed in my own trendy gallery in Hyde Park. My parents would drive in for my exhibits and show nothing but pride on their faces as their only daughter was living her best life.

  But life happens. Dreams change. In ways you’d never expect. I’ve experienced that more
times than I care to admit.

  Instead of a famous artist, or even a budding one, I’m the manager at Perks. It’s nice. I have great co-workers, and meeting Tori was more than I could have asked for when I moved here. Where I’m petite, slender, and can be on the quiet side, she’s tall, athletic, and is the life of the party.

  We’re a great balance. She gets me out of my comfort zone, and I rein her in. Or at least try to.

  “I can help you. You know I always know what to say to guys,” she says. That might sound cocky to some, but I know it’s the truth. “I mean, let’s at least find out his name. What about, ‘Hi. I’m Annabelle. I don’t know what to scream out when I use my vibrator thinking of you every night, so how about you give me something to work with?’”

  I throw my towel as I laugh at my ridiculous best friend.

  “You’re insane. You know that will never happen.”

  “I just want you to be happy. And to have fun. You don’t have enough of it. And I bet Mr. Dark and Dangerous could provide plenty of fun, if you know what I mean.”

  I shake my head and walk away. She won’t give this up, and I don’t have another comeback. I’m sure he would be fun. More fun than I could handle.

  He’s Mr. Dark and Dangerous—covered in tattoos with testosterone oozing from every pore on his hard body.

  I’m a virgin from the suburbs who would have no idea how to handle a man like that.

  2

  Jaxson

  “You’re going to need to sign these. And here’s the purchase order for the new mats, so you’re going to need to review those before they’re processed. Oh, and be sure to check on those new gloves and wrist wraps you purchased that aren’t in yet.”

  No one told me running my own gym would come with so much fucking paperwork.

  After I scribble my barely readable signature on the last form, I sit back and take a sip from my cup of coffee. My afternoon caffeine jolt from the place a few blocks over always does the trick.

  I turn my desk chair around so I can look down at the main gym. There’s a ring to the right where two kids no older than 19 are sparring. To the left is the octagon, where a class is currently being taught. And there’s another section with mats on the floors and walls.

  And it’s all mine. I did this.

  Who’d have thought that I, Jaxson Kelly, fuck-up from the South Side, convicted felon and son of a lowlife bookie, could pull something like this off?

  I continue to watch the action in the gym for a few more minutes, deciding that I’m going to get in some ring time tonight, and turn back around to see Reggie, my business partner and co-owner of the gym, still standing in front of my desk.

  “Dude, why are you still here? Don’t tell me there are other forms to sign.”

  “I had one more thing to talk to you about, but wanted all the signatures first because it could piss you off and I didn’t want you throwing me out.”

  I’ve known Reggie for a few years now. We did time together in prison. Me for being on a second strike and knocking some fucker out cold, who didn’t know the meaning of the word no despite being a cop. Reggie was in for burglary. We were in the same cell block, and even though I’m not the talking type, Reggie and I became brothers. You need someone on the inside to keep your head on straight.

  We came up with the idea of the gym one night during chow, and at first we played it off as a pipe dream. Then as our release days got closer, we knew we needed something when we got out, and neither of us wanted to work for someone else.

  So here we are. I take care of operations; he keeps us in the black. And clean. That was the one thing we were dead set on—making sure this business was on the straight and narrow. Between the two of us, we have too many ghosts from the past, and we know we need to keep them there.

  I take another sip of my coffee, waiting for Reggie to drop whatever bomb he’s holding. I consider throwing the coffee at him if I don’t like what he’s about to say, but it’s too good to waste.

  “How is that coffee place? You go there a lot.”

  “You want to talk to me about coffee?” I know he’s stalling. And so am I. I’m not telling him that even though the coffee is damn good, the scenery is much better. More specifically, the cute little redhead I could fit in my pocket.

  “No. Okay. Here goes,” he takes in a deep breath. “We’re going to need to put one of the new classes on hold. I was taking out the trash today and noticed when I walked in the back alley that someone fucked with the outdoor camera. We might be in a better part of town than where we came from, but you know we can’t not have security. And honestly, it needs an upgrade. That’s going to cost money, which means we can’t afford to pay another instructor.”

  He’s right. This news does piss me off.

  “Cut the kickboxing classes for now, but let’s try to get them on the schedule no later than three months from now.”

  “I was thinking of the self-defense instructor. He costs more money and—”

  “No!” I bark at Reggie. He’s seen my temper before, but even this is taking him by surprise. “The self-defense class stays. I don’t care if I have to pay for the new fucking system out of my own pocket if that’s what it’ll take to keep that class going.”

  Reggie takes a few seconds to gather himself after my outburst. I’m not surprised this takes him by surprise. We might have done time together, and he might know more about me than just about anyone else, but he has no clue about everything I’ve been through. And why offering this class means so much to me.

  Hell, it’s half the reason I opened this place: to ensure women could protect themselves.

  If I couldn’t protect her, at least I could help protect others.

  I don’t let my mind go down that road. I’m already wound up tight and need to go a few rounds. Thinking of my baby sister won’t put me in the right headspace, and I don’t need to accidentally beat the shit out of another sparring partner.

  “Okay. Well then, I’ll fix the schedule and delay the kickboxing classes. And I’ll do my best to get them back on the schedule sooner rather than later.”

  “Thanks, man. Sorry I blew up like that.”

  He shakes his head and stands up to leave. “No worries. Just didn’t know you were so passionate about self-defense classes.”

  And he won’t ever know the reason behind it. No one will. Ever.

  3

  Annabelle

  I can’t believe I just pulled that off. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I finished wiping down the counters in the café.

  Tonight was a big night for Perks. About a month ago, I had an idea for live music a few nights a week—just for a few hours, until we closed at 11. The owner loved it and told me to run with it. We have so many musicians in this city—some who are trying to make it big and some who just want to perform on the side—that it wasn’t hard to line up acts for the next month.

  We always do well during the daytime hours, but nights have always been a bit slow, and I thought this would boost the night crowd.

  And boy, did it! So much so that once the night began, I didn’t stop serving drinks until we turned the lights up at 11. And luckily, there were no spills, breaks, or any other type of catastrophe today.

  Even though being the manager at Perks isn’t exactly my dream job, it was nice to feel a sense of accomplishment. Right now I have the same feeling I used to get when I finished a painting: the satisfaction of completing a project and seeing an idea come to life. It’s something many people take for granted. I used to. And I never will again.

  Life is too short to not celebrate the little victories. We aren’t promised a tomorrow.

  We were a skeleton crew, just me plus Kristina, a nice girl who works a few hours a week after school. Earlier in the day, someone had called in to say they couldn’t make it, and no one wanted to pick up a last-minute shift on a Friday night, so I got it. I’d rather not work on a Friday night either. But it’s not like I had anything else
to do other than continue my latest Netflix binge with takeout Chinese food.

  The problem was that Kristina, still being 17, couldn’t stay after 10 p.m. So it was just me closing up the shop.

  I didn’t mind though. I cranked up my music as I counted the money in the drawers and disassembled the machines for the night.

  With a spring in my step, I shut off the lights and locked the door behind me. It wasn’t the first time I’d closed alone, and I usually got an uneasy feeling of being on the streets alone at midnight. But not tonight. Tonight I was too excited to let that get to me.

  I decided against getting an Uber or taking a cab home. I was too excited. Taking a few extra minutes to walk to the train station was exactly what I needed to get some of the energy out.

  And now here I am—headed home and lost in my thoughts. I might be an artist—or so I still like to tell myself—but I didn’t know much about pulling together a live music night. Ask me to put together an art show and I’ll do it for you in five minutes. But music? The idea had me in knots for weeks. But the two acts I lined up for tonight loved the atmosphere and have already asked to play again. One even said he’d tell his buddies about it and try to connect them with me.