Scars (Going All the Way, 3)

by Jenika Snow

  Scars

  Going All the Way, 3

  Jenika Snow

  Mickey “Scars” Lore wasn’t always the hardened, coldhearted man he was today. But the brutality of living life, of love and loss, tended to make a man nothing more than a shell.

  Vengeance, violence, and not caring about repercussions was who he was now. And he embraced it.

  As president of the Vicious Bastards MC, Scars had committed a lot of heinous acts in his life, all for the ones he called family. His brothers, the members of the MC, and his daughter, Stella, were all he had now. But with Stella grown and living her own life, Scars found that hollowness in him growing tenfold.

  It was time for him to leave, to retreat to a cabin in the woods the club owned, to try to find himself again. It would give him a chance to think, to recenter. Or maybe it was a chance for him to get so drunk he couldn’t remember his own name.

  But then she came along—Hannah. She was innocent and scared, vulnerable and seeking refuge from her past. Scars should have turned her away, but when she looked at him with eyes that were too knowing, too broken, he felt like he had purpose again. He felt like they were one and the same.

  And the more time he spent with her, the more he… found himself again.

  Scars knew one thing for certain. After this was all said and done and Hannah was safe, he wouldn’t let her go.

  She was put in his life for a purpose, and that was to be his.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  About the Author

  1

  Scars leaned against the meeting table at the Vicious Bastards’ clubhouse and grabbed a cigarette out from the inside of his cut. He knew what expression his face probably held.

  Hardness. Finally not giving a fuck.

  He placed the end of the cigarette between his lips and patted his pockets for his lighter. The sound of the door to the meeting room closing had him looking over his shoulder and seeing Booshie closing them both in.

  Well fuck.

  “Hey,” Booshie said and gave Scars a chin tilt in greeting.

  Scars grunted and lit his cigarette while staring at Booshie.

  After lighting the end of the cigarette, he said, “Hey, man.” Scars tossed his lighter on the table, inhaled deeply, and exhaled just as forcefully. After pulling the cigarette away and glancing at it, Scars took one more hit before snubbing it out. “I really need to quit this shit. I told Stella I would, and look at me smoking.”

  There was a moment of silence before Booshie responded. “It’s a hard habit to kick.”

  Scars nodded and stared at Booshie for long seconds, before finally asking, “What’s up? You look like you got something on your mind.”

  Booshie pulled out a chair and sat down a little ways away from him.

  Scars looked out the window, waiting for this to be over with. He really didn’t want to get into this with him right now. He knew his VP was probably well aware of the way Scars had been pulling away, retreating into himself.

  “Scars.” The sound of Booshie saying his name with exhaustion finally had him turning and facing his brother-in-arms. “I’m your VP, your second in command, and I have known you longer than anyone else in this club.” He left it open like that.

  He knew what Booshie was doing. The other man was letting Scars know they were close and therefore needed to trust each other.

  Scars sighed, ran a hand through his dark hair, and finally nodded. “Yeah, man, I know. I guess I’m just feeling my age.” And he was. Fuck, he was. He was feeling a hell of a lot more than that, but he didn’t say that outright.

  “You act like you’re Ranger’s age.” Booshie grinned, which in turn had Scars smiling too, giving the other man a deep-chested chuckle. “But seriously, what’s up?”

  Scars stayed silent a moment then finally pulled the leather chair out at the head of the table and sat down. “I just think I need to get away for a while, maybe head up to the cabin and just relax.”

  Booshie nodded. “Not a bad idea. You live and breathe this club, and while that is what we need, you also need time to yourself or you’ll snap and end up taking out a prospect.” He chuckled.

  Yeah, and ain’t that the truth. It wouldn't be the first time one of the members kicked a prospect’s ass to let off steam.

  Scars stared at his VP for a moment and finally sighed, really fucking feeling his age lately. “Marriage is next, man,” he finally said, knowing Booshie would know what he was talking about.

  His little girl was getting married. Well, Stella was a grown woman now, but in his eyes, she’d always be his little girl.

  “No shit?”

  Scars nodded. “I’m happy for my baby girl. I really am. I feel like a bastard father for feeling this way. I mean, I still remember her running around the clubhouse throwing peanuts at the guys.” Scars started laughing as he pictured that moment.

  “Kids have to grow up, man,” Booshie replied after a moment.

  “I know, but it makes a guy feel old as shit. It’s like I’m losing the last part of her mother.” That heaviness settled within Scars, and he lifted a hand and rubbed his chest, that ache intensifying. Shit, he wished he could change a lot of shit. It had been a long damn time since he lost his wife, Stella’s mother. She’d been a good woman, strong and understanding, supportive as hell too. She should have never been in this life. They may not have gotten along the majority of the time, and he knew she hated him being in the club, but she stuck it out for their kid.

  Then she was gone. Killed by a rival MC that had come seeking retribution. Stella’s mother had been in the wrong place at the very wrong time. Shit, that moment in time had nearly cost Scars his life too.

  This life was ugly and violent, but it was all he knew. So after he’d gotten his own revenge, taken out the motherfuckers who’d taken her from him, he’d immersed himself in his club and made sure his daughter always knew she had a family.

  Now, she was starting one of her own.

  Scars looked over at Booshie and saw the other man shifted in the seat, clearly uncomfortable, because Scars was not a man who showed emotion, and right now, he felt it dripping from him like a leaky faucet.

  “Kids grow up, brother, leave the nest, and start their own families.”

  Scars knew Booshie was trying to show him the bright fucking side, but right now, he was in a foul place and didn’t want that positivity crap.

  So he just nodded. He focused on the wall ahead of him, lost in thought. “They went to The Springs this week, and I know Cadeon plans on proposing.” And I know my baby girl will say yes. She’s in deep with that boy, and I can’t even be mad. He treats her like the queen she is.

  “How do you know? I think you’re getting yourself pissed over nothing.”

  Scars snorted and glanced at Booshie, focusing on the other man again. “He asked me for permission to marry her, showed me the big fuckin’ ring too.”

  Booshie was silent for a moment. “Damn,” he finally muttered.

  Yeah, that about summed it up. “Of course Stella doesn’t know, but she’d told me they were talking about it, and then Cadeon came to me before their trip, asked, and pretty much sh
oved the diamond in my face.” Scars scrubbed a hand over his face. “But she hasn’t said anything to me about it when she called to check in, so I assume he hasn’t asked yet.”

  “You’re not losing her,” Booshie said right away, as if to make me feel better. “It isn’t like she’s leaving town with him. Cadeon is rooted in Reckless and respects the hell out of you and the club.”

  Scars nodded. “I know, and I’m happy for them. I truly am. But when—if—you ever have a kid and go through this, or lose someone you love, you’ll know what I mean, how I feel right now.” His words must have had Booshie thinking, because the man didn’t say anything for long moments.

  “Scars, I look at Stella as if she were my own flesh and blood. I watched her grow from a screaming toddler to a gorgeous woman. But even after that, I know I could never really understand what you’re going through, not after all you lost.”

  It was as if Booshie’s words had the scar on his face throbbing, that painful reminder coming up once more. He forgot about it most times… the times he didn’t look at his ugly mug in the mirror. Then it all came rushing back.

  As if on instinct, Scars lifted his hand and touched the raised flesh. It was a nasty fucking scar that started right below his left eye and moved all the way down to his jugular. He’d gotten it the night his wife had been killed, the night he almost lost his life too. It was a reminder of that violent evening, the moment his world changed and he became who he was today.

  “Take some time off, get your head on straight, and when you come back, everything will be as you left it.”

  Scars nodded, hoping that did the trick to clear his head. “Yeah, I think a couple of days in the cabin might do me some good.”

  “You could take one of the girls up with you. You know they can make you forget your name if they try hard enough.”

  He knew the look he gave Booshie said “yeah, fuck no.” Why Booshie even suggested that confused the fuck out of Scars. He hadn’t been with a woman in a while, and had no plans to any time soon. He didn’t need that mess in his life.

  Besides, he wanted to be alone.

  Booshie stood and clapped Scars on the back. “The fort will be held, brother. We can’t stay united if your head is somewhere else.”

  Scars stood and walked away from the table, giving his brother a hug. “You seem different, more upbeat. You get laid or something?”

  Booshie just grinned and shook his head. “Nah, I think I found myself an old lady.”

  Well, at least one of them was happy. Maybe one day Scars could find himself a good woman too, one strong enough to deal with his shit and the life of the MC.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe he’d be alone for the rest of his miserable life.

  2

  God, Hannah had actually done it, actually grown a pair of balls and left the fucker, fought back, made sure she had a fighting chance.

  Left my stepbrother behind, injured and bleeding.

  Those words played through her head over and over again. She’d left, but at what cost? Hannah knew she’d hurt Landon. She knew she’d hurt him pretty damn badly. There had been a hell of a lot of blood.

  Tears blurred her vision as she maneuvered the shitty car along the twisting and turning road. When Hannah had left, she didn’t have an actual destination in mind, but getting as far away from the life she’d had with Landon was all she’d been able to think about.

  Landon had been a constant thing in her life since she was twelve, when her mother married his father. He’d always been an asshole, cruel and mean on a good day, brutal on a bad day.

  And after their parents died in a tragic drunk driving accident when Landon was twenty and she was sixteen, that’s when things had changed drastically. He’d changed for the worse. Landon hadn’t ever been the best person to her, but once there wasn’t the buffer of their folks between them, Landon became this hateful, possessive person.

  He saw her as something more than she was, something more than she’d ever be.

  He wanted her, and although they weren’t related to anyone that actually counted, even though she never—would never—see him as family, as a brother, Landon had some kind of proprietary hold over her. Or so he thought.

  For two years—until she turned eighteen and could leave—she’d had to deal with his cruelty, his possessiveness. With him being the only “family” she had left, she toughed it out, finished school, and had hopes to one day go to college and escape the nightmare that was her life.

  But she started noticing the looks he’d given her, always watching her with… interest. She’d been seventeen. He’d been twenty-one. And she knew that if she didn’t escape, if she didn’t leave behind the toxicity that was Landon, he’d drag her down.

  He was a bully.

  He was insane.

  He’d force her into things she didn’t want.

  And that’s where she was now, how she’d gotten here.

  That was how her real story started, it seemed.

  She was tired, wanting nothing more than to sleep, but she had to keep moving before she allowed herself that. She had to put as much distance as she could between them before she passed out.

  She wiped angrily at her tears, ones that were from frustration and exhaustion, tears that were from self-loathing and hatred.

  “Never again.” She gritted her teeth. “Never again will I allow myself to be cornered.” She was starting her life over. With no family or friends, she was all on her own, but that was something she was looking forward to.

  Peace.

  Quiet.

  Stillness.

  3

  Scars got into town an hour ago and headed up to the cabin to get settled. He also needed to see how bad the cabin was. He knew the guys hadn’t been up there for quite a while. Aside from the closed off, musty air and a thick layer of dust on everything, it wasn’t too atrocious.

  There were no supplies, just a couple cans of old-ass baked beans, some jars of vegetables he knew one of the old ladies had canned a couple years ago, and some of those fake-ass sausages that were probably made out of pig lips and assholes.

  So yeah, he’d needed to head into town.

  Scars didn’t know how long he was going to stay at the cabin. He just needed to get his head on straight and his shit in order before he went back to Reckless.

  He had a cell if shit went down and the club needed him or if Stella wanted to talk, but aside from that, he was disconnecting. But hell, even his cell got shitty fucking reception at the cabin, and more times than not, it didn’t even work in town. But they knew where he was, so if it was important, they could find him easily.

  He sat in the driver seat of his truck, staring at the grocery store in town. Richie’s Foods was small and had been owned by the same family for the last two generations. Because the town was so intimate, this was within a fifty-mile radius if you wanted to eat something that wasn’t fresh meat or takeout from the diner.

  Scars scrubbed a hand over his face. Shit, he was tired, the scruff under his palm scratchy from a couple days’ worth of growth, because he hadn’t bothered shaving. What was the point? He was going to be isolated up in the cabin, and no one was going to see him.

  He got out and slammed the truck door, the vehicle old and rusty but a beast and able to take the winding mountain roads like a champ. He headed inside, glancing to the left at Bernadette's Diner. The little mom-and-pop restaurant had been around for longer than Scars could even recollect.

  Hell, Bernadette had been in business since well before he’d been coming to the cabin. It was a staple in town, their peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream is what they were known for.

  Scars told himself he’d go there before heading back to the cabin, pick himself up some dinner to go and get a chunk of that famous peach cobbler. Because truth be told, he had no intentions of coming back to town unless he ran out of food, hell froze over, or worse, he didn’t have any more liquor.

  Scars had never been
the social type, and aside from his club, the men within the MC who he considered family, and his baby girl, he was not a fucking people person.

  He headed into the grocery store, the cool air washing over him as soon as he stepped inside. Despite being high in the mountains and the temperature far less stifling than if he were in the city, it was uncharacteristically hot this time of year. He sensed a storm coming, the air humid and thick, the scent of rain hinting in the air.

  He went through the store quickly, just wanting to get the fuck out of there. He got cases of beer, bottles of liquor—you know, the important shit.

  He grabbed nonperishable items, a large bag of potatoes, onions, and some jugs of water. There was a well at the cabin, but he hadn’t checked to see if things were still working properly, so to be on the safe side, he’d buy some gallons from the store. He’d get the meat from the butcher, hell, maybe even smoke some. He tossed in canned goods, junk food, and a few frozen items for when he was too hungover to cook.

  He didn’t know when he’d leave the cabin, so he’d busy himself with drinking and fixing shit.

  Once he checked out and paid, he threw the bags in the back of his truck and headed over to Bernadette's. The bell above the door dinged as he entered, and instantly he smelled the scent of food frying. Although the diner was small, and the town was as intimate as you’d imagine a mountain community to be, the inside of the diner was already packed with the dinner rush.

  He made his way up to the front counter and took a seat at the only empty spot, braced his forearms on the aged and worn linoleum countertop, and waited to be served. He looked around, recognizing a couple of the older customers, ones he’d seen over the years. And although he made this town his home just as much as he had Reckless, he wasn’t up here enough to really be friendly with anyone.