Angel: RBMC: Ankeny IA Read online

  ANGEL, 1st Edition Copyright 2020 by Kristine Allen, Demented Sons Publishing.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Design: Jay Aheer

  Photographer: Jean Woodfin, JW Photography

  Cover Model: Aidan Stewart

  Editing: Olivia Ventura, Hot Tree Editing, www.hottreepublishing.com

  The purchase of this e-book, or book, allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. This does not include the right to resell, distribute, print or transfer this book, in whole or in part to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. For information, contact the author at [email protected]. Thank you for supporting this author and her rights.

  Warning: This book may contain offensive language, violence, adult and sexual situations. Mature audiences only, 18+ years of age.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Dedication

  Royal Bastards MC Series Second Run

  About This Book

  Royal Bastards Code

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Epilogue Two

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by Kristine Allen:

  About the Author

  Walking with one foot on the wrong side of the law left me high on adrenaline. The last thing I wanted was an ol’ lady. There was too much risk involved. Too bad she hit me like a bullet to the chest. Literally.

  To Kristin. My PA, but more importantly, my cheerleader, my friend, and my taskmaster. You keep me organized, motivated, and listen to me ramble when I know you have a million other things to do. Love you, girl!

  ROYAL BASTARDS MC SERIES SECOND RUN

  E.C. Land: Cyclone of Chaos

  Chelle C. Craze & Eli Abbot: Ghoul

  Scarlett Black: Ice

  Elizabeth Knox: Rely On Me

  J.L. Leslie: Worth the Risk

  Deja Voss: Lean In

  Khloe Wren: Blaze of Honor

  Misty Walker: Birdie’s Biker

  J. Lynn Lombard: Capone’s Chaos

  Ker Dukey: Rage

  Crimson Syn: Scarred By Pain

  M. Merin: Declan

  Elle Boon: Royally F**ked

  Rae B. Lake: Death and Paradise

  K Webster: Copper

  Glenna Maynard: Tempting the Biker

  K.L. Ramsey: Whiskey Tango

  Kristine Allen: Angel

  Nikki Landis:Devil’s Ride

  KE Osborn: Luring Light

  CM Genovese: Pipe Dreams

  Nicole James: Club Princess

  Shannon Youngblood: Leather & Chrome

  Erin Trejo: Unbreak Me

  Winter Travers: Six Gun

  Izzy Sweet & Sean Moriarty: Broken Ties

  Jax Hart: Desert Rose

  Royal Bastards MC Facebook Group

  Links can be found in our Website: www.royalbastardsmc.com

  Features characters from:

  Grimm, Hammy, and Coy from the Louisville RBMC Chapter by Sean Moriarty and Izzy Sweet

  Jameson and Sadie from the New Orleans RBMC Chapter by Crimson Syn

  Declan and Diesel from the Flagstaff RBMC Chapter by M. Merin

  Croc (mention) from the South Australia RBMC Chapter by Khloe Wren

  I’m Jude “Angel” Bearheart—newly appointed Enforcer for the Ankeny RBMC. They don’t call me the Angel of Death for nothing. I do the “disposal and cleaning” for the club.

  Ridding the world of evil was my justification for my actions. I was the executioner when the judge and jury failed the victims.

  When I found myself at the wrong end of her gun, the hunter became the hunted. Angry hazel eyes flashing fire, she had the nerve to demand an exchange I never saw coming.

  A dirty politician gunning for us on one side and a rival club on the other—we were trapped. Finding a way out while I kept her alive would take a miracle.

  Except I found myself moving heaven and hell to protect her—because she was mine.

  PROTECT: The club and your brothers come before anything else and must be protected at all costs. CLUB is FAMILY.

  RESPECT: Earn it & Give it. Respect club law. Respect the patch. Respect your brothers. Disrespect a member and there will be hell to pay.

  HONOR: Being patched in is an honor, not a right. Your colors are sacred, not to be left alone, and NEVER let them touch the ground.

  OL’ LADIES: Never disrespect a member’s or brother’s ol’ lady. PERIOD.

  CHURCH is MANDATORY.

  LOYALTY: Takes precedence over all, including well-being.

  HONESTY: Never LIE, CHEAT, or STEAL from another member or the club.

  TERRITORY: You are to respect your brothers’ property and follow their Chapter’s club rules.

  TRUST: Years to earn it… seconds to lose it.

  NEVER RIDE OFF: Brothers do not abandon their family.

  Jude, eight years old

  The yelling was followed by a crash and the tinkle of broken glass hitting the tiles. My mother cried out, and I wanted to go to her, but I couldn’t. I raced upstairs to make sure Jasmine was safe.

  Not only had my mom told me that I was responsible for her if things got “loud,” but Ogun had told me I must always watch her when my father drank his alcohol. He wouldn’t say why, but I believed him. After all, he was my best friend—he didn’t lie to me and he was crazy smart.

  “Jude?” she asked from her doorway. Her dark curls framed her little face.

  “Come on, Jazzy. Let’s play a game,” I said in a voice brighter than I really was. Partly because I’d barely gotten over being sicker than a dog and I was still not feeling great.

  “What game we gonna play?” She was three years younger than my wise eight and easily distracted. Thank God.

  “Put your shoes on,” I told her. She slid her little light-up shoes on and closed the Velcro. I grabbed her jacket and helped her put it on. Then we slipped down the back stairwell, ignoring the shouts.

  Quiet as I could, I turned the doorknob, and we w
ent into the backyard. Skirting along the bushes that lined the fence, we made our way through the dark to the gate at the back. It was locked, but only from the inside.

  When it creaked as I swung it open, I glanced over my shoulder toward the house. Fear had my blood pounding in my ears as I scanned the illuminated windows for a sign of someone looking out. When no one sounded the alarm, we rushed through the gate and across the golf course.

  The full moon lit our way.

  “Jude!” Jasmine whined. “I’m tired!”

  “Shhh! It’s only a little bit further. You’ll love it,” I whispered.

  Then we went through another gate and into the backyard of a house bigger than ours. No one had lived there since before school started. Taking advantage of it, Ogun and I would sneak in to play in the treehouse. It had become our very own secret fort.

  “Go on up!” I hadn’t ever brought Jasmine, because it was for boys only, but that night my father scared me more than others. Not only had he been drinking, he’d been drinking before he got home. He started out by yelling at me for leaving the remote on the couch, then he shoved me, and I fell to my butt on the floor. He’d never pushed or hit me before.

  When my mom came down the stairs, he turned on her. The shouting had gotten louder.

  I’d known right away to go get Jasmine. She was young enough that while the yelling frightened her, at least she didn’t understand the ugly things our dad said to me and our mom. At least I hoped she didn’t.

  Not realizing the true situation, she eagerly climbed the ladder that led up to the mystical fortress my friend and I had claimed.

  If I’d been paying attention better, I would’ve noticed there was a faint glow from behind the curtains. Jasmine gasped, and I stared wide-eyed at the intruder in my castle.

  “Who are you and what are you doing in my treehouse?” the girl demanded. Though she tried to sound tough, I could see her hands shake as she pulled her coloring book to her chest.

  “This is my treehouse,” I announced, full of self-importance. After all, she was trespassing, not me.

  Her green eyes narrowed, and her chin jutted out. “It is not. I live here, and my daddy said it’s my special place.”

  It was then that I looked around and saw that a ridiculous transformation had happened to my hideout. It was painted pale pink. Pink.

  “Uh,” I stuttered, not sure what else to say. I was sure the little interloper had to be mistaken. Yet, my hands gripped Jasmine’s shoulders as I held her protectively in front of me.

  The girl studied me for a moment, then she smiled. My heart tripped.

  “If you want, you can stay. But you have to promise to slay the dragons if they try to get in. Can you be a knight?”

  “Um, okay.” I didn’t want to play with a girl who wasn’t my sister, but if it meant we were safe for a while, I’d promise almost anything.

  “What’s your name?” Jasmine asked curiously.

  “Korrie. Who are you?” the girl asked.

  “I’m Jasmine. He’s my brother. Jude.” She nudged me. “I wanna color,” she whispered.

  The girl beckoned her over. When she sat down at the small table, they became immediate friends. While they colored, I tried to act busy reading one of her mystery books. Except my eyes kept straying to her dark hair that glowed deep red when the little Christmas lights hit it right.

  “Don’t you need to go inside?” I finally asked as I nervously looked out the window again. I was pretty sure it had gotten late.

  “My dad said I could spend the night up here since tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “Oh” was all I could mutter.

  We ended up staying in the treehouse until all the lights were out in the surrounding houses. Korrie had a whimsical way of making me temporarily forget the turmoil that waited at our house. It was almost as if she cast a spell. Like the fairies in the coloring pages.

  I hated to leave, but I knew we needed to go home.

  “You can come back whenever you want,” she said with a yawn. Jasmine and I carefully climbed down.

  After sneaking across the golf course, we went in the back door using the key Mom had hidden in the flowerpot.

  Heart pounding and worried that we’d get caught, I helped my sister up the stairs. After I got Jasmine into her jammies, then read her a bedtime story in a whisper, I tiptoed to my room.

  The next morning, my mom was awake and moving around the kitchen when I shuffled in wearing my Batman slippers. When I yawned, she spun to face me. “Jude!”

  Her hand fluttered up to cover her mouth but not before I saw it.

  “Mom, what happened to you?” Worried, I rushed over to grab her arm.

  “Oh, I, uh, accidentally opened the door right into my face. I was daydreaming and not paying attention.” She gave me a small smile but cringed when it made her lip bleed from the cut.

  Not thinking, I reached up to touch it. “Oh, Momma,” I said sorrowfully.

  Then the weirdest thing happened. The cut seemed to… erase? The bruising around it seemed to recede like the tide when we’d gone to the ocean but didn’t come back. Same with the bruise on her cheek when my pinky touched it.

  Frowning, I pulled my fingertips from her face, looked at them, back to her, then tried not to fall over. Suddenly, I was so sleepy. I wanted to curl up on the kitchen floor to take a nap. It seemed to beckon to me, and as I leaned forward, she caught me.

  “Jude! Oh no,” she whispered as she scooped me up and carried me back to my room. Once she laid me down, I yawned loudly before my eyelids were so heavy I couldn’t keep them open.

  It seemed like I slept forever that day. I was vaguely aware of my parents talking, but I was too tired to care what they were saying. When I finally woke up, it was dark out.

  Brow furrowed, I went downstairs to get a drink.

  “Grandpa? Grandma!” My parents were sitting at the table with my grandparents.

  “Jude,” my grandfather replied with an easy smile. He was one of my favorite people, and I forgot about the lateness of the hour and how tired I’d been as I rushed to hug him.

  “Why are you here? What time is it? How did I sleep so long?” I rattled off questions.

  “You must not have gotten over being sick, Jude,” my mother started to say, but my grandmother laid her hand on her arm.

  “No, Angeline. He needs to know. If he doesn’t, he won’t know to control himself and he’ll be found out. Can you imagine what that would be like?” My grandmother spoke gently to my mother. In confusion, my gaze darted back and forth.

  “I’ll be in the study,” my father gruffly said as he stood. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. I’ll do better.” The last part was said so softly, no one but me seemed to hear it.

  “Come sit down.” My grandfather patted the chair my father had vacated.

  “But I’m thirsty,” I said. It had only gotten worse since my father left the room.

  “I’ll get you a drink,” my mother said with a sigh. “You sit.”

  “Your mother tells me you were very sick,” my grandfather began. I nodded as my mom set the glass in front of me. After a big drink, I was much better.

  “Can you tell me about what happened when you were sick?” he asked.

  “Dad,” my mom pleaded. “He just had the flu.”

  “Angeline, let the boy speak.” His tone was gruff and firm. “You can’t make it not so by ignoring it.”

  My mom sat at the table and covered her face with her hands.

  “Um, I slept a lot. And I was really, really hot. Mom gave me some medicine, and it helped, but I was still hot.”

  “What about your dreams?”

  My eyes widened as excitement crept in. “They were so cool! I dreamed I was flying! I was me but I was a big, huge bird. I flew up, up, and up, then landed in the clouds, and a big golden hawk told me I had important things to do. That I would be responsible for so many people. That I must protect the weak, but not the evil.” I
said the last in a deep playful voice. “Then I dove out of the clouds. I was going so very fast I thought I was going to crash, but I woke up and I was better. It was so wild, Grandpa!”

  “How long did he sleep?” Grandpa asked my mom.

  She seemed sad, so I piped in. “I slept all weekend!”

  My grandfather looked at my mom. “Three days?”

  She nodded as she kept her face covered.

  What my grandfather told me after that seemed incredible. My mother silently cried, and I jumped up to put my arm around her. “Mom, it’s okay. I’ll be careful. I listened to what Grandpa said, I promise.”

  Her arms wrapped around me as she held me tight. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

  “Angeline, I will teach him. He already knows he must control this gift to not be found out. He will grow stronger as he gets older, and it won’t take as much out of him to heal a simple cut. You worry too much. It’s that husband you should be worried about,” my grandfather said with a scowl.

  “Dad, stop. He’s a good man. He just can’t handle his alcohol.” Though I was young, I wanted to argue. My dad hadn’t been a good man since he lost his job and had to get a different one.

  “Then he shouldn’t drink” was my grandfather’s gruff reply.

  “Not in front of Jude. Please,” my mother said. As if I wasn’t already aware. I may’ve only been eight years old, but I could see, and I wasn’t stupid. She always made excuses for his behavior. For the drinking. For the abuse.

  “You will come to our home, and I will teach you the ways of our family,” he said.

  “I’m not leaving Jasmine,” I insisted with narrowed eyes.

  “He has school!” my mother angrily spat at the same time.

  “Then we will compromise,” my grandfather said as he looked down his nose and crossed his arms.