Before I Wake: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel Read online

  I duck my head and tug the silly replica cut my pops had made for me tighter around my middle. Someone wearing my father’s colors steps away from an old tree around the corner of the hotel’s front entrance.

  My father’s men usually hang out in the lobby or can be found coming and going through the front entrance, but the first rule of DDDs is: no loitering. Pops makes sure his club acts as refined as possible in public.

  When I pass the out-of-place man, I let out the second sigh of relief in mere seconds before pulling my phone out to call Ty.

  “Hey.”

  The creepy man’s voice stops me, but only for a brief moment. When I glance over my shoulder at him, I see him advancing towards me, so I quicken my footsteps.

  “Hey, you sure are a pretty little thing. You ain’t no bigger than a minute, neither.”

  I awkwardly laugh. “Yeah. Have a good one. I’m running late,” I lie. Again. This time, only somewhat to my father—well, to one of his men. Weird-as-hell men.

  I realize he’s still following me and step up my pace past the socially acceptable measure. I don’t give a shit if he thinks he’s creeping me out. HE IS!

  “Hey, you ain’t gotta a cigarette on ya by chance. Do ya?”

  He’s actually starting to crowd me, and I don’t appreciate it. Not one little bit.

  I abruptly stop, knowing full well he’s going to run into me. But I can’t care less. I’m trying to fucking run away from another home! Doesn’t he get that!?

  I rest my hands on my lower abdomen and turn to face him. “No. Actually, I’m pregnant. So, unfortunately, I can’t fucking smoke, even though that’s the one thing I’d rather do right now, more than anything else, aside from carry a healthy child.” I tap my belly. “And this one needs all the help it can get already. The poor thing.” I chuckle until I realize that the creepy guy is leaning in like he can’t even see. Much less ride a bike. “You ride a motorcycle? Your eyes are awfully cloudy. Isn’t that a sign of cataracts or something? Surely you can’t ride if you can’t see.”

  “Yeah…”

  Now that he’s closer to me, I can say he’s stinky too. And he creeps in even closer.

  “You’re that MC dude’s kid, the one that runs these streets. I heard it was a pregnant chick…” He looks me up and down.

  I’m trying to figure a way out of this fucking conversation. But his odd-as-hell remarks won’t let me leave!

  “Right. I’m King’s kid daughter.” I thump his cut then move to step away. “The same King who owns that color.”

  But, before my hand can even make it back to my side, he’s wrenching it behind my back and pulling me forward. He has my arms pinned around me with one of his hands, and the other is wielding a knife at my throat. He leans with his face into the left side of mine before draping his forearm around my neck, blocking the knife from the public’s view. Then his words and his spit hit my neck and my ear.

  “I know exactly who the fuck you are. You’re my winner winner turkey dinner. Daddy gets to fucking eat tonight, bitch.”

  His erection grinds into me from behind and I almost lose my coffee. For real this time. But a shiny, stark-white van comes to a screeching halt right in front of me and the doors are slung open.

  The only fucking thought to cross my mind is, Why in the hell is Ben in the back of this white van? And holy shit, he’s gonna be pissed when I puke all over it. It looks awfully clean.

  Then my new friend from my pops’s club mutters, “This the bitch I was ‘possed to catch? She dat one, yeah?”

  Then...it’s like my head splits the fuck open.

  “What the fuck you mean she’s fucking gone?!”

  I didn’t speak the words to Dreads over the phone. I don’t even think hollering would accurately describe it. But it was loud.

  And I stay loud. “How the fuck does she go from being where’s she’s supposed to be, WITH YOU” I yell—obviously, “to fucking gone? That makes no fucking sense, Dreads! NONE!”

  I finish pacing the hallway around another fucking headache. I know, I know. Surprise, surprise. But this one was alcohol-induced. And completely my own fucking fault. Last night, I did nothing but toss and turn. I slept like fucking shit, actually.

  I pop two Tylenol—because I’m not trying to kill myself. I know what kinda headaches I’m supposed to reserve the little yellow pills for. And, believe it or not, but after all of my brushes with death, I’d rather not chance it—at all—this time around.

  “Have the brothers continue to circle the perimeter. I want the NOPD notified. LSP. I don’t care. Notify ALL the damn authorities. Get a fucking missing persons. I’ll be on the next flight out.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear, prepared to hang up, but I hear him yell my name.

  “What?!” I bark into the phone.

  “We found Ty circling the building downstairs thirty minutes later when we realized she was missing…”

  “Okay, and how the hell does that help me? Tattling on her won’t bring her back. Make the brothers circle. I’m coming.”

  “No, Jacques. Wait. Think about it, brother. If you come down here, what’s going to stop him when he get’s back there?”

  I hardly understand his fucking logic. “He won’t. Ben won’t. He’s fucking found her! He has what he was coming after, Dreads!”

  “Does he?! Think about it. This has nothing to do with her. This is about Roxy now, brother. Not Eden. It for damn sure ain’t about Eve. Never was. She’s just caught in the middle—of your fucking shit. I hate to say it, but I’m being honest. Ben wants to better you, Jacques. Don’t you see that? That’s what all this is about. He never wanted a fucking truce. Never. Hell, I doubt his fucking father did too. This is about them. And you. Or what’s left of you and your pops. As soon as he trumps you, and you’re gone and he steps in. Don’t you see that?”

  It takes everything in me not to spike the goddamn phone against the floor and then beat the shit out of it until it can be replaced with Dreads fucking Burgh. “Touché, motherfucker. I’ll stay,” I grit out around my teeth. “But not for long. I-I…” I don’t know... I can’t tell you what’s happening., It just feels like something inside my chest cracks wide open. I use the hand with Fuck tattooed across my knuckles to rub the pain. “That kid may be mine, Dreads,” I mutter across the phone line.

  “I know it, brother.”

  “And I-I—” I wince, trying to swallow around the lump lodged in my throat so I can finish saying what the fuck I’m trying to say. “Keep her safe. I can’t lose her. Not yet, Dreads. Don’t stop until you find her, man. Do you understand? I don’t give a fuck...”

  Rage courses through me, converting the pain into something a little more productive. Something I can handle. Not tears. I’ve never been able to stand tears, much less my own.

  “Slay who the fuck you must. Kill whoever’s damn family needs to be killed. I don’t give a fuck, Dreads, what it is YOU have to do. Just get her back here. Get her fucking home. Okay?”

  “I’m on it,” he responds, but it isn’t enough. Nowhere near it.

  “Nuh uh. You say it! Say it’s fucking done the next time I speak to you! Find her, Dreads, or I will. I’ll make you circle these goddamn streets while I’m down there,” I growl before hanging up the phone.

  A soft knock sounds on my door, and I swear to Christ it’s so loud that it resembles a jackhammer hitting a load of concrete. Especially as this new brand of headache creeps in. I chew up two yellow pills, and for reasons I won’t explain because I’m too goddamn pissed, I chase it with a double scotch, neat.

  “Come in!” I bark as I slam the glass on the table and then fill it back up.

  When a tiny little brunette walks in wearing next to nothing, my eyebrows shoot up around the rim of my glass as I take another sip from my scotch. I have to cough to clear the damn liquor from my throat before I can speak to the woman I’ve either never met before or don’t have the pleasure of remembering.

  “’Lo
.” I smirk and set my glass down. “And who might you be? You lost, little bit? Ya look it.” I point to the door behind her—the door she just closed—then shake my head. “No, ma’am. I have enough problems. And all ninety-nine of them are in some way directly linked to women. Or, more specifically, a woman. And I don’t need any more drama. And I for damn sure—believe it or not,” I chuckle before settling into my seat behind my desk. After I take a long swig of my scotch, I set the glass back down and lean back in my chair. “I also don’t need any more head. And that’s all you’d be to me, sweetheart. Let’s keep our dignity and virtue this day, shall we?” I wink at her.

  “Ahh...yeah, okay. I’m Lissa, Slim’s niece. We’ve met a few times before. And I ahh...I heard about your memory loss. That must really suck. Look, my uncle wanted to talk to you. Said there’s been some guy calling asking for you. He called the bar phone a few times. Then the garage. Now, he’s flipping through the compound directory or something. He’s dialing every damn number but yours. Slim said the guy says his name is Ben.” She shrugs then turns and leaves the room.

  MOTHERFUCK! After grabbing my phone, I slam from my chair. When I glance at the screen on my way from the room, the blood drains from my face. Shit. I missed four fucking calls from Ben’s cell while I was barking orders and lollygagging on the phone with Dreads! Why the fuck is my phone on silent!?

  I flip the ringtone back on as soon as I step from the bottom stair. Then I look towards the bar. “Slim, he on this line?” I stalk to him only to stop when he shakes his head.

  “No, he’s on the one in your office right now.” He pulls his own phone from his ear. “Clutch said he said he’d hold. They’re downstairs, He points to the hidden stairwell behind the bar. “Thanks, Slim!” I yell over my shoulder just before the door closes. Then I hoof it towards the open double garage doors.

  When I round the corner, I nearly run into the front desk clerk, who’s a hundred years old and been answering the phones for Pops at SOS since 1979.

  “Shit! Sorry, Miss Judy.” I almost duck around her but stop first to make sure she doesn’t spill her coffee. Then I bolt around her before shooting through my office door. I reach for the phone as soon as I enter and shoo Clutch from my seat. “Give it to me. He still there?” I bark at one brother while my anger and hatred for another—one I was supposed to be able to trust above no other—swells to depths I didn’t know were possible. “Where the fuck’s she at, motherfucker?” I growl as soon as the phone is cradled against my shoulder. “I said!—”

  His quiet chuckle shuts my loud shouting up. Quickly too, as I realize he’s the one in charge now. Not me. I don’t have anything of his any longer. I killed that. I killed her. Roxy.

  “She’s safe—” I lie around his taunting laugh even as it nears maniacal and it’s obvious his sanity is as lost as he is. As he’s been. “I didn’t hurt her. I just...have her tucked away. I hope you enjoyed her elaborate funeral. She sure did, though she was sad when you didn’t even try to show up. She was devastated by it, actually.”

  See, I don’t know the damn rules between Ben and me because I don’t fucking remember them. The last I recall, I could trust Ben more than I could trust Dreads! And I also realize my memory is only as good as ten fucking years ago, so little help that fucking is too. But it doesn’t really matter what I remember. Not anymore. Not with this motherfucker changing the goddamn game. So I’ll make up my own damn rules. He doesn’t know it yet, but he broke all them when he took my Vagabond. That’s all I know. That and I will fucking get her back.

  “Did you fucking hear me, you crazy motherfucker? I said she’s safe! She’s fine. You want to talk to her?” I motion towards Clutch. Then I grab a pen and scribble a note.

  Go get Slim’s kid niece! Now! I need her to be Rox for two seconds!

  I shove the note at him. To Ben, I say, “She’s in the shower, but I’ll pull her out. God knows I’ve seen it before. Wouldn’t mind seeing it again, either…” I let my words trail off, relieved when I hear him cracking up over the phone.

  One second, his laughter is so hysterical that it borders fucking creepy. Then, the next, he’s shouting like a madman screaming for his life.

  “SHE’S MINE! NOT YOURS! KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER!”

  “Okay, okay...I will. Shit. Chill, brother.” I chuckle then go a tad more serious. “Now, my little Vagabond. Quid pro quo. You keep mine safe”—I make the sign of a cross across my chest and mentally chant a Hail Mary or seven before lying through my straight, white teeth—“I’ll keep yours safe. Deal, brother? That’s the deal. Otherwise, Rox won’t even know what hit her. ‘King’ is already asking for the club’s vote, bro.”

  “W-why’d you keep her alive? Why not just kill her? You’re gonna kill me!” he shrieks, causing my headache to flare to new levels.

  I swallow the sixth pill in the last hour before chugging the contents of someone’s random beer on my desk. Random, flat beer.

  I toss it in the trash and egg my prey on with my words like the villain I claim to be. “I wouldn’t kill you, brother. Not right off. The club gets to vote, remember? Think of all that fun time we’ll have while we wait…”

  “Pfft.” He huffs a breath out over the phone.

  I’ve got him. I know I have him—hook, line, and sinker. Now, I just gotta reel him in.

  I grab the pen and scrawl more of my chicken scratch across a piece of paper.

  Tell Dreads to bring the brothers back. Let King know that his kid’s here in NYC. Do it, Clutch. NOW!

  I underline ‘now’ a few times and add an exclamation point. Then I stand to my full height.

  “There’s no way you’re getting any nearer to me than I want you to be,”

  Ben says. “I know where you are, brother. Not vice versa. Stop with your game of cat and mouse. We all know who the mouse is. And the cat.” His words are as taunting as his laughter.

  “Yes, you’re absolutely right, you pussy. Everyone knows what a fucking pussy you are. Every fucking brother in this club. Do yourself a favor: Take the fuck off, man. You’re my cousin, even after all this bullshit—first and foremost, you’re my last living relative, man. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you don’t leave Eve the hell alone. She has nothing to do with any of this, man. Nothing.”

  I wait for what feels like an eternity. I wait in silence, standing side by side with three of my closest brothers. Clutch, Slim, and Nails. And, as patiently as the man himself, Job, we all look at one another before glancing at the next brother. Waiting for this crazy asshole’s response.

  “I just don’t see how that’s possible right now, Jacques. I’m sorry. And I do want you to know I appreciate your heartfelt words, as fake as they are. How long did it take you to decide to go the brotherly-cousin-love route? Or was it just natural?”

  I glance to Slim, knowing he heard the bastard.

  He shrugs before mouthing, “Okay. Keep him talking, then.” He turns to Clutch and mutters something about pinging his phone to triangulate his location.

  I nod then give them both a thumbs-up.

  Fine, then. I will keep his ass talking.

  “It wasn’t a decision, Ben. I’m not the one playing fucking games. I’m not kidnapping people!” I shout.

  “Oh? Is that so? You didn’t? So she’s the liar, then? She’ll have to pay for that too, as well as escaping. I told her I don’t like liars.” He tsks under his breath.

  I scramble to think of something to distract him. Something, anything!

  Fuck it—Jacqueline always said that the truth shall set you free. So free, let it let me be…

  “Fuck it, yes!” I holler into the phone. “Yes, I kidnapped her. Yes, she’s important to me! Is that what you fucking want to hear?! She’s carrying your fucking niece or nephew, Ben! What the fuck do you want from me?!” I have to blink tears away.

  Tears I don’t understand because I don’t fucking remember! I just know I have a goddamn fucking hole in the center of my chest
and a headache the size of the city I run, and she makes all that shit go away! She makes the ache in my chest stop. She makes the headaches fade to nothing.

  I just know I fucking need her, okay? I lost her. Again! And I just fucking want her back!

  I must've actually said the last part, because my cousin responds to it.

  “And you’ll get her back...and the bastard child she carries. Just not maybe together. All in due time. It’s time you learned while you were back here, back at home…”

  Did you catch that? He said here…

  I did.

  “...and while you were making sure your pops was proud and you ran your club the right way—the way Jacqueline would've wanted you to. The way she planned for Archer Bishop Cain to run it—you stupid fucking idiot. You still think this has to do with the women, don’t you? The few women...the handful they constantly fought over. Jackie, your ma. Ilsa. Then what was that chick’s name? The redhead?”

  “Ruby,” I grit out, wondering where there hell this crazy motherfucker is headed with this rant. “Get to your point.”

  “It was never about those few women. It was about the thousands, Jackie boy. Didn’t you know? Oh, wait... No. You wouldn’t. You didn’t find your ma’s diary like I did at eighteen. I’ve known since I was a boy... Why the hell did you think I took off? I went chasing after my own pops and my own dreams. It was all about the skin, baby. The trade. Ya know?!” he shrieks across the line.

  My gaze lands on Clutch’s about the same time his shoots to the ground.

  “What are you fucking talking about, Ben? What trade? No, I don’t know!“ I cover the mouth of the phone. “Clutch. Slim. Somebody fucking say something. Guns, I get. Drugs...ehh, an evil necessity. Just keep it out of the hands of any kids. Hence the rule at the club. No one under the age twenty-one. But skin? What the fuck is he talking about?”

  My cousin chuckles on the other end again, and I open my mouth to tell him he can go fuck himself, but he cuts me off.

  “Keep my Roxy Bell safe. I’ll be calling her back. Tell her I hate that I missed her. Maybe the next time we speak, you and your brothers can figure out your own MC history. My father did, God rest his soul. I made certain of it before I capped him twice in the head after sending him a note from Arch, telling him to meet him at the café. It was one of his favorite places to eat and sip coffee. I did it with one of your nines, too. Thanks for letting me borrow that, by the way. When I swiped your little bitch—I mean, Vagabond—the first time, I didn’t have one on me. Me and my… What do you call us? My new brothers and I? I mean, with all due respect, I coined the term first. ‘No Name No Colors.’ Isn’t that what you’re referring to when you refer to the men who tried to kill you out on I-95?”