Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC TENNESSEE series, book 1)

by Penny Dee

  I can still remember the day they moved in. I was six years old and excited to have new neighbors. From the porch swing, I had watched them unload their belongings from the rented U-Haul and take them inside the house that had been vacant for almost two years because crazy old Mr. Fratts had died in his chair in front of the television and, according to my grandmother, no one wanted to live in a house where someone did such a thing.

  But as I watched the new family move in, I figured she was wrong.

  The small blonde lady with the pretty eyes and kind smile didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she looked like she didn’t have a care in the world. She was exceptionally pretty, and I found her fascinating to watch. She wore her jeans tight and her tank tops low, and you never saw her without red lipstick. Rosanna—it was the prettiest name I’d ever heard, and she was sweet and kind and had a voice like honey.

  Then there was Jack, and he was like nothing I’d ever seen. A tight T-shirt straining over a wide chest, ink-covered arms thick with muscle, black jeans, and worn motorcycle boots. Back then, he was like a giant with big strong arms and shoulders so wide, he looked like he could carry the world on them.

  But it was the little boy who stole my heart.

  Cooper William.

  The little boy with big black eyes and dimples in his chubby cheeks.

  I caught his attention by wrapping a note around a small garden pebble and used a slingshot to send it over the garden fence and onto the porch where he was busy drawing. We should be friends, the note said. It never occurred to me that he couldn’t read yet. That he was almost eighteen months younger than me and hadn’t even started school.

  Rosanna joined him on the porch, and he showed her the note. She smiled as she looked over at me, then beaconed me over.

  “I think you two being friends is a lovely idea,” she’d said. “And I have a feeling the two of you are going to be the very best of friends.”

  That afternoon, Cooper and I played until the sun disappeared from the sky and the moon came out, and I joined him and his family at the little dinner table by the windows, where we ate meat and potato stew, and Rosanna drank wine from a little crystal glass she’d picked up from a thrift store. Cooper had two nephews, twins, and they were little devils, running around in diapers and getting up to no good.

  I smile. That hasn’t changed.

  Except for the diapers bit.

  My smile fades.

  And the fact that Cooper is gone.

  After his death, I kind of went off the rails. I dumped my boyfriend of eight months, dropped out of school, and floated around the country trying to find something to fill the void. I didn’t stop to process his death because it was too painful to face. Instead, I blocked it out. Afraid if I let it in, the pain might kill me.

  So I ran from it.

  Still run from it.

  Every. Single. Day.

  Finally, last year I decided to go back to college because I figured I needed some kind of stability in my life. That’s when I stopped using a new town and a new job to keep me distracted and started with the one-night stands instead. Because anything was better than feeling the loss of my best friend.

  Thankfully, my return to school coincided with meeting Riley and Sebastian. Riley came up to me on my first day back and practically insisted we become best friends while Sebastian was in three of my classes and gravitated toward me like I was a tractor beam.

  Soon the three of us were a regular thing, eating lunch on the quad and getting drunk at the local bars. Somehow, they brought some sanity back into my life.

  Thinking of my friends, I smile. We’re a small pack, but we’re a strong one. I don’t know what I would’ve done without them during the last four months.

  Oh, hell. I have to call Riley. I’d fled town before ringing her.

  Turning on my now recharged cell, I see she’s left me a thousand messages.

  “Dammit, Bronte, you didn’t let anyone know you were leaving,” Riley wails on the end of the line when I ring her.

  “I sent you a text.”

  “Yeah, exactly… a text. How was I supposed to know if it was genuine or if the creep had somehow gotten your cell and had you tied up somewhere.”

  She’s right.

  The quick text message I’d sent to both her and Sebastian had been irresponsible. I should’ve called them to explain. Clearly, I hadn’t thought my plan through, which is hardly surprising since I’d skipped town in the middle of the night. In a blind panic, I’d grabbed some clothes, shoved them in a bag, and then hit the road, driving through the night until I reached Flintlock. Then, of course, my phone went flat.

  “I’m sorry, it was a last-minute decision. After what happened, I had to get out of there. I didn’t know what else to do.” I bite my lip while feeling bad for making her worry. Riley always looks out for me. “But I’m fine. I promise.”

  She sighs. “I suppose you’re forgiven.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’ll probably do you some good hanging out with your family for a while. Maybe Seb and I can come for a visit.”

  “To Flintlock?” I chuckle. “You’ll die of boredom.”

  “I don’t know… some fresh mountain air might do me some good. Are you going to stay long?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. At least a few days. It feels good to be out of town for a while.”

  “I don’t blame you, babycakes. What did Whiney Warren say when you told him he’d need to find someone to cover your shifts.”

  Oh, shoot.

  Whiney Warren is my boss at the bar where I work three nights a week. Geez, I haven’t called him either. At least, one thing in my favor, I’m not due back at work for another two days.

  “I’ll let you know,” I say sheepishly.

  “You haven’t rung him yet?”

  “Before I rang my best friend! Are you kidding? She’d kill me.”

  “Nice save.”

  “Thank you.”

  She pauses. “This has got you really spooked, hasn’t it?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “I guess.” She sighs. “So, tell me, what’s the talent like in Flintlock, Tennessee? Are there gorgeous mountain men lining the streets to help lift you over puddles? Because if they are, just say the word, and I’ll be there… you know… as moral support to my best friend during her crisis.”

  Riley has never been to this part of Tennessee and thinks that all men in my rural town are built like The Hulk, look like rugged mountain men, and fuck like Christian Grey.

  I think about Jack, and before I realize it, I’m smiling.

  “That is so thoughtful of you. I’ll tell you what, the first one I see I will give him your number.”

  “Liar.”

  I laugh. “I’ll call you soon.”

  “You better, babycakes.

  After hanging up from Riley, I call my other best friend, Sebastian, and then my boss at the bar who reluctantly agrees to give me some time off. As I end the call, my phone immediately rings with a number I don’t recognize.

  My spine begins to tingle.

  I don’t like answering phone numbers I don’t know, but I feel compelled to in case it is an emergency.

  “Miss Vale, it’s Officer Johnson. I attended the break-in at your residence last night.”

  I know who he is. He’d made a lasting impression for all the wrong damn reasons.

  “Yes, I remember. Have you found out who broke into my apartment?”

  “Not yet, ma’am, but we’re working on it.”

  Somehow, I don’t think that’s true. Last night, he gave me the impression it was all in my head.

  “Okay, so what’s the reason for the phone call, Officer?”

  There’s a pause. “Just a simple follow-up call, ma’am. I wanted to make certain you were doing okay after the incident the last night.”

  I think about the incident the last night, and my skin pebbles with goosebumps.

  “I’m fine, t
hank you.” It’s difficult to keep the hard edge out of my tone, and I’m sure Officer Johnson can hear it.

  “You had anymore issues?” he asks. “Seen anyone hanging around your apartment today or anything like that?”

  “Actually, I’m out of town for a few days.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, that’s probably a good idea. Create some space between you and what’s been going on here.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Do you need to know that?” There’s that hard edge in my tone again.

  “In cases like yours, we like to know where the complainant is, just to be on the safe side.”

  “What do you mean?” Panic squeezes tight in my stomach. “I mean… can’t you just call me like you did today?”

  “Sure, but it’s a safety thing.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m safe. I’m staying with family. Look, I have to go. Thanks for calling.” I hang up and immediately regret my words. Officer Johnson will only have to look up my details and know where my family lives.

  Dammit! I should’ve said I’m staying with friends.

  Because something tells me I don’t want him knowing where I am.

  JACK

  The blonde with the big rack, face full of makeup, and the tiniest waist I’ve ever seen, is called Dolly, and she looks exactly like her namesake, the legendary Dolly Parton.

  Dolly is married to my father and runs the Kings of Mayhem clubhouse bar like a tight ship.

  As quick as a whip, you’ll only ever underestimate her once.

  For almost two decades, she’s kept a clubhouse of sweaty, greasy, foul-mouthed bikers under her thumb and won’t take any shit from anybody. She’s the mom us motherless sons of bitches need, and we all love her for it.

  When I enter the clubhouse, she’s chewing out TJ, one of the bar staff for being late.

  “This isn’t up for no debate, Terri-Jayne. Midday means midday, girl, not ten minutes past one.”

  “I know, Dolly, but like I said, my car wouldn’t start, and when I went inside to wake Jethro, he got mad, and we had a fight. And he was real mad, too. Said he needed his sleep, and I should stop being so needy. So, I had to catch the bus, and you know what the bus service is like in Flintlock… it’s as reliable as a holey prophylactic.”

  “And suddenly, it’s my problem.” Dolly throws her hands up in the air. “If I’ve told you once, honey, I’ve told you a hundred goddamn times, you need dump that no good sonofabitch and get yourself a real man who doesn’t sleep all day and drink all night. Not to mention one that has a job. If I didn’t dislike the jerk so much, I’d hire him myself just to piss him off.” Seeing me walk in, Dolly puts her hands on her hips. “Now, you get to it and help me unload these cases of beer into the refrigerators. Church is about to start, and you know how those boys feel about warm beer.”

  TJ looks contrite. Dressed in nothing but a pair of denim cutoffs, a Slipknot tank, and a pair of holey sneakers, she looks like a kid. She’s twenty-one, but she’s a young twenty-one.

  Dolly walks over to me.

  “Am I interrupting something,” I ask while leaning against the bar.

  “Don’t mind me, honey. I’m just yelling at my staff…” she rolls her eyes, “… and Lord knows she’ll give me another reason to yell at her tomorrow.” Dolly watches TJ carrying a case of Miller Lite over to the refrigerators behind the bar. “If seeing her big doe eyes and sad face didn’t play on my heartstrings, I’d damn well fire her ass. But that’s the thing, I’m just a big ol’ softie for them strays.” She shakes her head before turning her attention back to me. “What do you need, honey?”

  “Bronte is back.”

  Her eyebrows lift and her glossy lips break into a smile. She’s all white teeth and pink lipstick. “She is? Well, that’s fantastic news. She come back for your party?”

  I pull a face.

  My party.

  Don’t remind me about the goddamn party. It’s the last thing I want.

  My sister has gotten it into her head to throw me one for my fortieth birthday on Saturday, despite me begging her not to. Because no one tells my sister no. Even the president of a damn motorcycle club.

  “Don’t remind me about it.” I grimace. “But no, she’s not here for the party. Don’t think she even knows about it.”

  “She back for good then?”

  “Not sure. Didn’t get much out of her. She drove through the night to land on her grandma’s doorstep about a couple of hours ago.”

  Dolly puts her hands on her hips. “Oh, Lord.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’ve got that look about you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She cocks her head and her eyes sparkle over my face. “You’re worried about her.”

  “Don’t I worry about everyone?”

  She smiles. “True.”

  I push off the bar. “Anyway, I’ll make sure she drops by before she heads back to Nashville.”

  “You do that because that girl is as sweet as pie, and I sure do miss seeing her sunny face around the place.”

  The crashing sound of beer bottles smashing against concrete grabs both our attention. We both look over to see TJ has dropped an entire case of beer onto the floor.

  “Lord give me strength,” Dolly says with another eye roll, then she walks away to handle the mess.

  I leave them behind and head for the chapel. It’s already full of my Kings of Mayhem brothers when I stride in and take my place at the head of the long table.

  There are twenty-one of us in the Tennessee Chapter—nineteen fully patched members and two prospects.

  The prospects aren’t welcome in church. Not until they’re fully patched.

  Right about now, Dolly will have one of them helping TJ clean up the mess behind the bar. While the other prospect will be assisting our maintenance man, Luther, fixing something in the clubhouse.

  Today we’re meeting to discuss two things—our cannabis crops and a psychopath.

  After thirty years of bootlegging our King’s Pride moonshine up and down the Appalachian trail, ten years ago we went legit. Got ourselves a legal setup to make the white lightning we are known for. About the same time, we expanded our interests into cannabis crops, and for more than a decade have grown crops across several Christmas tree farms throughout Appalachia.

  This year, we have increased the crops from ten thousand plants to more than fifty thousand, making the upcoming summer harvest the biggest one yet. In less than a month, it’s going to be all hands on deck for picking.

  “Everything in place?” I ask Bam, who’s overseeing the harvest.

  Bam is the eldest of my twin sons.

  “All farmers are onboard,” he says. “And we currently have a crop value around eight million.”

  An appreciative murmur fills the room.

  “Is security in place? I ask. “Or do we need to bring Bull and our Mississippi brothers in to help?”

  A rival club, the Appalachian Inferno, has been causing trouble with the crop. They’re a much smaller club, more like a backwoods cult run by a man called Max Stonecypher, who has numerous wives and a lot of henchmen. Their trade is hillbilly heroin, something the Kings of Mayhem keep as far away from as possible. But lately, they’ve been dabbling in the weed market, and that isn’t going down well and won’t stick with me. There is also a concern they might fuck with the upcoming harvest.

  “I’ve got the mayhem army in place,” Wyatt says.

  The mayhem army is a nickname for a group of locals trained in security. A handful of men and women who probably shouldn’t have weapons but who are loyal to the club and will do anything for us if the pay is right. They’re a small group, but they’re trustworthy. So, if the Appalachian Inferno decide to fuck with our harvest, we’ll have the manpower to stomp them into next week.

  Next on the agenda is the psychopath.

 
I send a photograph around the table. It’s of a man called TomTom. A low-life parasite lurking in the shadow of the state’s underbelly. He moves about in a dark world doing the dirty work for those who don’t want to get their hands dirty. Sometimes, he gets paid for it. Other times, he does it for fun.

  “According to a reliable source, this guy is a known associate of Ghost. Been riding with him until he was picked up by law enforcement last week.”

  “What was he arrested for?” Shooter, my best friend and VP, asks.

  I’ve known Shooter since elementary school. We joined the club as prospects together. He was the best man at my wedding and helped pull me out of the depth of the bottle following Cooper’s death.

  “The name Britney Traeger mean anything?”

  “The teenage runaway who got murdered?” Shooter asks.

  “She wasn’t a runaway. She was walking home from her job at a burger joint in town when this piece of filth picked her up.”

  “I remember the story… her body was pulled out of a pond near the cemetery,” Shooter states.

  “She’d been raped and murdered.” I can’t help but seethe whenever I think about the Britney Traeger case. The Kings of Mayhem don’t tolerate violence toward women and children, and knowing what this fucker did makes my blood burn.

  “And this is the asshole who did it?” Dakota Joe asks.

  “According to law enforcement,” I reply.

  It’s unfortunate the police picked him up before we got our hands on him. Not just because he knows where Ghost is, but because he is a raping and murdering sonofabitch who deserves a good ol’ smackdown from someone who isn’t afraid to keep smacking him down until he doesn’t get up.

  But not even my friendship with Sheriff Pinkwater can get me access to the piece of scum.

  I’ll have to wait for the right moment to strike, and we have plenty of loyal friends behind bars willing to do it for us if needed.

  Either way, TomTom is going to tell me where Ghost is, or I am going to make him suffer.

  “He’s an ugly motherfucker,” Merrick mutters as he passes the picture to Ares.