Laken (The Phoenix Club Girl Diaries Book 2)

by Addison Jane

  She’d spent too fucking long being beaten down and broken into fucking pieces by this asshole. She didn’t need everyone to step in, to stand in front of her, protecting her from him, or the world, or anything else that could possibly hurt her. All she needed to know was that she could put ten shots in him right now, and every man or woman in that place would grab a fucking shovel. Then offer to be her alibi.

  That is if she got to him first because I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only guy in here with an itchy trigger finger aimed directly at stupidity.

  “All I want, is to be left alone,” Laken murmured, but I could hear the cracking emotion in her voice and see the shake in her hand. She’d been running from this part of her life for years, and now she didn’t have a choice but to face the man who had broken her. “I don’t give a shit about you. Run your world how you want. Just keep me the fuck out of it.” Laken’s body leaned back against me for support. My arm curled around her waist, pulling her securely back against my chest.

  Trenton’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  I didn’t give a fuck.

  This was where she was staying.

  “You heard the lady,” Shotgun interrupted, finally stepping around us and pulling the focus on him. “Get the fuck out.”

  “Or what?”

  Shotgun didn’t miss a beat.

  “Or I pour a gallon of gasoline down your throat and shove a lit match up your ass and let nature decide your fucking fate,” Shotgun answered, his tone tense and irritable, letting me know it wouldn’t take much more for him to follow through on exactly that fucking statement. “Can you see the newspapers now?”

  “Man farts…” Rip answers with a dark chuckle, “… and fucking explodes.”

  “Cause of death… flatulence,” Crush crows from the back of the shop, his voice carrying as he howled with laughter.

  Trenton, though, he was a lot less impressed. “Guess I’ll see you boys around,” he hissed out through his teeth, the pure rage on his face from having to back down was honestly amusing. He couldn’t control it, that unleashed anger. He straightened his jacket and cleared his throat before pushing his shoulders back. “Leah…” he nodded to his daughter.

  “Fuck you.”

  I smirked, holding her a little tighter and resting my chin on the top of her head as the fuckhead made his final exit, not even bothering to pick up his shattered phone.

  The moment he stepped out the doors, Repo and Shake followed after him to make sure he fucking left. That’s when Laken’s entire body relaxed, my gun falling to her side as she sunk into my chest. “Sorry.” She laughed softly, lifting my cut and tucking my gun back inside. “I just wanted him to know I was serious.”

  “Pretty sure your point was made.”

  “You know this isn’t the end, right?” Her voice was tired. “He’s not done.”

  I knew this wouldn’t be the end.

  There was no way in hell a man like that would take no for an answer, but at least it gave us a heads up.

  It gave us time to make a plan.

  Time to get the hell out of here for a few days, maybe a week.

  Time to figure out just how desperate he was to use Laken in his bid for money and fame.

  Time to talk about what the hell this was exactly.

  “Church!” Shotgun shouted, already heading for the door.

  Or maybe not.

  MYTH

  “First off, let’s talk about what the hell happened last night,” Shotgun demanded before any of us had even had the chance to take a seat at the table.

  Laken joined us, her eyes wide as they tried to take in everything inside the small room.

  There wasn’t much to see, some words on the walls, newspaper clippings, old photographs, and the club insignia etched into the table, but it was the beginning of something. We were the newest chapter of The Brothers by Blood MC. The call came up a couple of years ago for members to move, start somewhere fresh, and I put my hand up without a second thought.

  This was where I grew up.

  This was where I decided I’d had enough.

  It was where I decided to stop letting people push me around—my dad, the teachers at school, the kids who thought I was a freak or I was on fucking drugs or something that made me lose my head every goddamn day.

  It had always been home in a fucked-up kind of way.

  Crush pulled his chair back, nodding for Laken to take it and sit at the table beside me. It wasn’t normal procedure, but these weren’t normal circumstances. She offered him a soft smile before falling into the waiting seat, her body finally collapsing under the pressure.

  “Better?” I asked, raising my brow.

  She turned back to me, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

  I could sense the way this meeting with her father had deflated her. Out there, she’d been running on adrenaline, willing to do almost anything to get him the hell away from her, but with an adrenaline rush always came the crash. The time where your brain began to catch up with the actions of your body, and you started to wonder what the fuck you’d been thinking.

  I cleared my throat, sitting forward. “I went to Connor Lint’s hotel room. He was already dead, Jester was there waiting for me,” I ran through the events quickly, still annoyed I’d let myself be that complacent.

  “Blowback from the dead body?” Shake questioned.

  My head was already moving back and forth before he could finish. “Already talked with Samuels. He’s gonna handle it.” He owed me that fucking much for showing up with Mase, even though I’d kind of grown fond of the kid. I’d never tell him that, though. “Apparently, a maid had noted a smell wafting from that room the day before, so it wouldn’t be hard to prove I didn’t do it.”

  “So it wasn’t Connor Lint who called you to make the meeting then,” Repo huffed. “The fuck are we gonna do with Jester? The asshole is psychotic, and it seems like it’s getting worse every fucking day.”

  “He’s crazy, but he’s got his ducks in a fucking line,” I insisted, letting them know they couldn’t just assume crazy meant stupid. “He went into yesterday’s meeting knowing that there was a possibility I would beat the shit out of him and he would need to have a get-out-of-jail-free card ready.”

  In a perfect world, if I could get a professional fight, it would be a lot easier to keep an eye on. There’d be security, referees, people making sure he couldn’t slip shit into the ring.

  It would be fair.

  But this world was all but perfect, and I was acutely aware of the lengths this fucker would go to, to win a fight—whether in a ring or not.

  “If we plan a fight, and I win, he’s just gonna keep coming,” I explained, placing my hands on the table. They curled into fists, the heat of my body surging. I hated being on the back foot. It wasn’t how I worked, especially when it came to people who were afraid to pick up their balls and go one on one.

  If you’re constantly coming in second, you work your ass off until you’re fucking number one. I had a lot more respect for a guy who would jump in the ring and get the shit beaten out of him and lose than I did for any asshole who was willing to hurt people to make up for his shitty fighting skills.

  I had almost killed the asshole who tried to use my sister against me.

  I was going to do worse to Jester if he thought he was going to hurt the people I loved to boost his fucking self-esteem.

  A light tickle on my leg surprised me, and my eyes flicked down.

  Laken’s hand settled on my leg as she scooted her chair closer, the touch light, cooling the heat burning through my veins and fogging my brain. I turned, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. She didn’t speak but simply sat tall with her eyes straight ahead. This was a woman who had respect for the room she was in, but who still wanted to show me some kind of silent support and let me know she was there.

  Just like an old lady.

  I could feel that cool, calmness from her moving over me.

&
nbsp; The corner of my mouth curled up, and I huffed out an amused breath.

  “So, what do you wanna do?” Shotgun questioned.

  I’d been looking to get the fight over and done with before, but I was a lot more aware now of just what Jester was looking for.

  It wasn’t a win in the ring.

  It wasn’t to prove he was the best.

  It was a mission to remove any competition—permanently.

  “We get out of this media crazy, get our shit together, and make a plan,” I answered, my fists loosening, my palms spreading out on the table. “Deal with him before he deals with us.”

  There seemed to be a wave of acceptance and nodding heads move throughout the room.

  “Now that’s settled, someone tell me what we know about Trenton Clarke,” Shotgun urged again as the room settled.

  “He’s crazy,” Rip snorted as he settled back against the wall, representing the Exiled Eight in this glorious fucking mess. Huntsman was out trying to manage the press and the drama that went down at Dynasty last night, trying to pull together a disastrous opening and make sure the second night went off without a hitch.

  “Not crazy,” Auron disagreed surprisingly, his heavy gaze focused on the table in front of him. The kid was a killer shot, his sniper skills at levels normal men couldn’t think of achieving, but when it came to human interaction, he preferred none. “He’s a narcissistic sociopath.”

  Repo choked out a laugh. “Come again?”

  “A narcissistic sociopath,” Auron repeated like maybe he’d been misheard when really, we just had no idea what he was fucking talking about.

  “And what does that mean?” Laken questioned, pulling her hand away and sitting forward, no doubt a part of her desperate need to know what the hell was wrong with this man she called her dad.

  Auron eyed her across the table, the entire room holding its breath as he tried to find the right words to explain. “In a nutshell, it means he thinks he’s the fucking best, and he’s willing to do whatever possible to make other people see it, too.”

  Nailed it!

  “Sounds about right,” Laken scoffed, leaning her head back and letting her eyes fall closed. “He’s always been an asshole. We had to learn how to smile, how to cry, how to walk, how to pose for photos…” she paused then continued, “God help us if something came out in the press which was less than flattering.”

  Fame was hell.

  I’d spent years in it myself, and for the most part, I did a fucking horrible job at it. The press hated me simply because I never gave them anything they could use. I didn’t stop for photographs, and I didn’t answer questions because that wasn’t the reason I was doing what I was doing.

  The fighting part had always been for me.

  The money part, for my mom and sister.

  As far as I was concerned, I didn’t owe anyone a fucking sound bite or a story.

  Laken, though, she’d been raised within the public eye, every move, every choice, every part of her life scrutinized by fucking millions of people, all who wanted desperately to rip her to shreds and see what was inside. And none of it was a choice of her making.

  “When my mom died, it reached a whole other level,” she continued, clearing her voice when it cracked. “He started inviting the press to the house, we were doing conferences and documentary-type shows. Every man and his asshole were right there with a camera asking me how it felt to have the one person who gave a shit about me torn from my life at thirteen. It felt like I’d had my chest ripped open, and someone was reaching inside and gouging at my heart.”

  She held her breath for a moment, a knot forming between her eyebrows. “He ran for office that same year. And won.”

  His wife dies, and he uses it to his advantage. Talk about proactive.

  I reached over, grabbing her cold hand and placing it between mine, rubbing softly.

  Laken’s shoulders began to slump instantly, and she rolled her head toward me, her eyes opening for a second, and for the first time, I fucking saw them smile. In the midst of the pain I knew she was feeling at that moment, it was so fucking real.

  I knew I was done then.

  “Go finish packing,” I told her, giving her hand a final squeeze. “I’ll come up soon.”

  Laken’s brow pulled in, a deep crease forming between her eyes for a second before finally taking a breath and climbing out of the chair.

  “Can you check on Kennedy,” Repo suggested, pulling the door open. “She’s like six shots deep, and we won’t be going fucking anywhere if she’s puking tomorrow morning.”

  Laken flashed him a confident smile followed by a sharp salute. “I will work on sobering her.”

  “Thanks.” He chuckled.

  “What do you think?” Shotgun asked the second the door clicked shut behind her.

  I rocked my chair back, rolling my neck. “I think he’s coming after her.”

  I didn’t think it.

  I knew it.

  “This is too big for him not to use for his benefit. Laken seems to think the world loves him, which may be true when it comes to politics, but I can tell you now, I’ve heard some stories about this man and the people he associates with and his dirty fucking deeds.”

  It was like he saw the UFC as slumming it and didn’t bother even to attempt to put a mask on.

  There were a lot of rumors floating around about gambling debts, and he was well known for paying fighters off. Stacking the winning side by bribing fighters—using any means possible—and then making a shit load of money. But I’d also heard shit about him taking money from companies and criminals alike, to get him to sway votes for committees he was on and use his pull within Congress.

  “So, we have a fucking problem, then.” Shotgun sighed, sweeping his fingers through his hair and letting it flop to the side. “First, Jester, now this bullshit.”

  Trenton Clarke was looking for something to give him that extra push he needed. I saw the way his control was slipping, something you would have never fucking seen in that man a few years ago. I couldn’t tell just yet if it was stress or maybe desperation.

  Neither were good.

  My muscles tightened as my head began to throb.

  I’d already learned my lesson about underestimating desperate men.

  Especially ones who are mentally incapable of admitting defeat.

  Trenton Clarke needed people to love him.

  And a long, lost severely damaged daughter was a guaranteed ticket.

  “So, I guess you need to make a decision,” Shake announced, drawing my attention toward him. “There is a difference between a club girl and an old lady.”

  This was the hard part.

  Or maybe it was the easiest part.

  A club girl would always be protected by the club. If someone tried to hurt them, if they found themselves in the line of fire, the club would have their back. They were ours, a part of our family, and what they did for the club didn’t make them any less a part of that culture.

  But the reality was, if you were an old lady, the club wouldn’t just douse the flames if they got too close, they would find the person who lit the fucking fire and make sure once and for all it could never burn you.

  “Let’s be realistic here…” Crush cut in, tapping his finger on the table, “… I don’t think any of us really classed her as a club girl, anyway.”

  A wave of nods filled the room, and I couldn’t help but grin when I leaned my head back and gazed at the ceiling. “I think I knew she was mine from the moment I met her,” I answered quietly. My heart was screaming at me, reminding me just how good it felt to have her wrapped in my colors. My head, on the other hand, still a little unsure of how she might react.

  “Okay, so club girl status is removed,” Shotgun announced with a shrug. “Not quite old lady status in place. Dating. Going fucking steady. What the hell ever.”

  “And if Trenton Clarke comes at us?” Shake asked, his eyebrow raised.

  My answer was sim
ple.

  “I’ll bury him next to Jester.”

  Shotgun’s eyes moved around the room, gathering my brothers’ reactions, searching for any objections to moving forward with this plan of action. I wouldn’t blame them if they did, there was a possibility we were about to become national news.

  The poster boys for everything the world should fucking hate.

  But unlike Trenton, reputation didn’t rule here.

  The only opinions my brothers cared for were those of the men around us.

  Fuck the rest of the world.

  Fuck their judgments about who we were or the shit we’d done.

  “All right, let’s talk plans.”

  LAKEN

  It took me almost forty minutes to get Kennedy to her bed.

  Only ten of those were me trying to convince her she didn’t want to travel in the morning with a hangover. The other thirty were spent waiting for her to pee, so I could help her up the stairs.

  As much as I loved that woman, I had left her sprawled across the bed, her clothes and shoes still on, and drool dripping down onto the comforter. It would be a nice surprise for Repo when the boys were done in church.

  I eased the door closed behind me, waiting for the soft click before I let out a long breath and tiptoed down the hall to my room, ready to climb into a scalding hot shower and wash away the thick layer of today off my skin.

  Stripping off my clothes down to my bra and panties was the easy part, it was standing in front of the mirror and reaching for the makeup wipes which had my stomach swirling.

  Even all this time later, it hurt to see them.

  That reminder.

  That guilt.

  I sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the dull throb as I wiped the makeup remover across my stomach, the light-colored scars instantly peeking through.

  “Why do you hide them?”

  I gasped, dropping the wipe and grabbing the sink to try and steady my legs. “You need to get out.”

  “That’s gonna be a no,” Myth threw back, doing the complete opposite and stepping inside the bathroom, pushing the door shut with his boot. “Tell me.”