Scarred: The Ruthless Rebels MC Series Book 3 Read online

  She believed in me, believed in having something not understanding the monster I am. From the beginning, the devil gripped my heart and never let go. The bitch known as my mother told me I was spawned in evil. She scarred me, marked me, and made sure the world could see me for what I am. A horrible, vile, demonized man.

  Roelyn Duprey had rose colored glasses on. I let her keep them on because I needed her lifeline. The spark between us, I fed. Continuing to fuel, provide the heat, like a flame. I watched us grow, flicker, and rather than watch us fade, at the peak of the fire burning between us, I snuffed it out quickly leaving nothing behind but black smoke.

  My brother needed me and Roe needed me to go away, even if she didn’t know it. I took off, never looked back, and haven’t looked in a mirror since the night I watched myself fuck her in one.

  Spitting in the sink, I rinse my mouth, and walk away never checking my reflection. I know what I’d see. The flames of hell flicker in my eyes and burn in my soul, no need to remind myself.

  Throwing on a clean pair of jeans, I don’t bother with boxers, briefs, or anything to cover my junk. The raw denim rub will remind me I’m alive. Somehow, in the hell that is my life, I keep surviving and I’m not sure why. Sliding on my shirt, I grab my cut as I drop my feet into my boots before I head out, not bothering to tie the laces till I get to my bike.

  Today I have packing duty. I don’t mind. I’ll head to the warehouse, pack the guns to ready for shipment, and then meet up with Waylon.

  My twin, Waylon, or Triple Threat—TT, as he’s known in the club—is everything I’m not. He’s good looking, level-headed, and not held back by a damn thing.

  Me—I’m a scarred mess, hot-head, and haunted by the one thing I gave up so long ago.

  Yeah, tonight calls for the strip club. I’ll pay to have a stranger grind on me till I get hard, then head back to the clubhouse and fuck a trick until I can’t remember my name, my past, and the woman I left behind.

  * * *

  “It’s a boy!” Shamus rushes into the clubhouse announcing. “DJ has a healthy, happy, eight pound, nine ounce, twenty-two inch baby boy. Kenderly is doing good.”

  There are smiles and happiness that fill the space. Shamus comes over to me, slapping me on the back. “You wanna go with us to set up the house, brother.”

  I nod. There isn’t a single thing with any of my brothers I would miss because they’re all I have. And for once in my life, I belong.

  After DJ’s whore mother dropped her problems on Kenderly’s doorstep, DJ claimed his woman and, in turn, the Rebels handled their shit. Kenderly and her mother had an uphill battle to climb with everything they had already lost, but DJ’s mother cost them their home.

  It took some time, but DJ won over Kenderly’s heart. They have a good life, building themselves a solid future. And now their new addition. Everything is looking good for my Rebels’ brother.

  Not too long ago, DJ bought them a big ass house and furnished it to Kenderly’s liking. Now, it’s time for the Rebels to ride in and make sure our newest member is set.

  “Your woman handle buying the goods?” I ask Shamus, knowing he and Andrea have decided not to have kids because of the health risks for her.

  “Shit, brother. She loves shopping for all this baby crap. Kitten has a soft spot for being the auntie, apparently. She even bought Kenderly a video baby monitor instead of the basic one they had on the registry.”

  I laugh. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “I didn’t think so but, apparently, DJ and Kenderly had talked. DJ didn’t want to be fuckin’ his woman and look to the nightstand and see their baby awake.”

  “I never thought a damn thing would give DJ stage fright.” We both laugh before heading out to go set up a nursery Rebels style.

  “Guess a baby changes things. I’m good with how my life is; no change needed here,” Shamus adds with a smirk. Things are good in the club, they are good for DJ and Shamus. It’s even better to feel like I’m a part of something real.

  Andrea is already inside when Shamus, Lurch, Triple Threat, and I pull up. She rushes outside and over to the car parked in front of the house.

  “Mom brought me over, got lots to unload,” she says more to Shamus than anyone with a smile that is relaxed and easy going.

  Given the path Andrea went through to finally be okay again and with Shamus, I smile with her. Like me, her life is full of scars.

  Only, in all the turmoil, Andrea has found a way to not allow her scars to define her.

  She lived a different life. Following her dreams into investigative reporting landed her half dead in a hospital oceans away from her home. She survived her traumatic brain injury like I survived my burns. With no place to go to pick up the pieces, she came home. It took a bit, but Shamus and Andrea worked their shit out. Their past isn’t holding them back from a future.

  TT and I won’t have this. Our past defines our future, and it’s not one that looks so bright.

  For a moment, I had hope that somehow I could have a second chance to have something real in my life outside of the club. With DJ and Shamus both getting their second chances, I thought maybe there would be a sliver of time where TT and I could have more than what we have managed to secure. Then I dreamt I caught a look in the mirror and quickly remembered what my life has been destined to be from the moment I was born.

  I am my brother’s keeper. My place on Earth is to protect him even from himself. I don’t have the time or emotion for anything else.

  Our mother is a psycho bitch who thinks my brother is the second coming of her God or some shit. Apparently, during an ultrasound, it appeared that I, baby b, was kicking or hitting baby a—being Waylon. From that moment on I was destined to the damned.

  She even tried to have me aborted, but the doctors said she was too far along and it was risk to my brother. Then we were born.

  She tried to leave me at the hospital. The nurses told her it wasn’t good for infant twins to be separated this early. According to the medical records we later dug up, they felt she was suffering from postpartum depression and the doctor felt she would eventually want me. Having two babies at once, via c-section, meant she couldn’t hold us right away so she didn’t bond properly, the doctor noted.

  Bond.

  What a joke. The woman tried to kill me more than once.

  I’ve never had a mother’s love. Neither has my brother.

  She may have wanted me marked, condemned, banished, and branded, but she wanted my brother to be some savior to the world.

  We just wanted to be boys. We grew into men who just wanted to live life. To this day, I still can’t understand her mindset. I gave up a long time ago trying. TT–that’s another story.

  I’ll go to the ends of the Earth for my brother. I’ll protect him from her, or God himself, if I have to.

  “Snap out of it, these diapers won’t unload themselves!” TT says, throwing a box of the shit holders at me.

  “How many boxes do they think Kenderly needs?” I ask looking at the van full.

  “Daisy, Gloria, Andrea, her mom, Kenderly’s mom and aunt, and every other woman around swear they will go through these and more,” Shamus says, walking inside with a bag of clothes.

  “Wonder what it was like for mom to have twins?” TT says out loud, and my chest stings in the pain I know he feels.

  Yeah, we have no future like what DJ or Shamus have found. I need to stop disillusioning myself into ever thinking I could. Walk the line, it’s what I have to do.

  If I fuck up, I’m not the only one who suffers, TT will too. I won’t do that to him or me. Yes, I’m better off alone.

  Chapter 3

  Locks are made for doors but should be made for hearts!

  The children stand at the large tables covered in newspaper. Most of them have either paint or glue on every inch of their exposed arms. Thank goodness for smocks. I love to have a free for all day where the kids can express themselves. Sometimes, they’ll tell you more
with their creations than words that come from their mouths.

  “Marlayna, how are you doing?” I bend to her level, it always helps to get their undivided attention. She’s been doing so well these past two weeks. Adjustment is hard for most children, but I’ve learned that Marlayna has moved a lot since she was two. She’s lived with five different foster care families and had trial runs with her biological parents. Each time she went to her parents she’s been taken away. I can’t imagine how this impacts her on the inside. One thing I can say, the girl hides it on the outside.

  “I made a house.” She points to the glop of paint on her large paper. It’s green with yellow swirls, glitter and a few foam shapes added in for flowers.

  “I like the colors and the shapes you made.”

  She smiles, but it’s small. The one thing I haven’t seen much of is her smile, but I have hope.

  “I’m gonna have a house like this.” Her light brown hair is in a ponytail today and bobs as she talks. “And they’re gonna be big locks on the doors, and no one can come in.”

  I avoid looking at the marks on her neck. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable and most of all, my heart, my emotions have to stay in check for my job.

  My heart clenches remembering that same wish when I was younger. If only it had a lock. All this sweet little girl wants out of life is a house with a lock. She wants to feel safe and protected. So much innocence and I just want to wrap her in a bubble and keep her away from everything and everyone.

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “Yep,” she says proudly. “And I’m gonna dance like I do at Mrs. Brown’s house. She just turns on the music, and I can dance wherever I want.”

  A smile graces my face thinking about this little girl dancing all around a house feeling safe, loved, and appreciated. All children should be given that in life. Unfortunately, so many don’t.

  “Sounds like you have a plan.”

  I remember when I was younger and used to plan my future. Nothing is how I ever thought it would be. Things may not have gone according to plan, but I have a job I absolutely love and feel like I make a difference. In the end, I may not have everything I wanted, but I have something. In a world where so many have nothing, I’ll hold onto the little things I managed to find.

  She shrugs and a sad look sprinkles her eyes. She turns, picks up the paintbrush, and begins her work again. I clearly know when I’ve been dismissed. That’s okay because every day she gives me a little more of herself. That right there is a treasure I hold dear.

  I rise and announce, “Five more minutes. You have five more minutes to wrap up what you have. Five minutes.” Repeating myself over and over is a part of my life. Most of the time it’ll take me saying those words ten or twenty times before the little ones will finally get to where we need to be. Every day is a challenge, but I love it and would have it no other way. After clean up and lunch, it’s time to rest.

  Nap time is supposed to be quiet time. It’s supposed to be when I can get all my state required paperwork done on all my children. It’s supposed to be a time when I can get my lesson plans and prep done for the next week. It’s not. No, I spend after-hours time doing those things. There are so many things that go with my job besides the time with the kids. If seeing them grow and learn wasn’t so rewarding for me, it wouldn’t be worth it for everything we have to do. Watching a child master something new, overcome a fear, being a part of their childhood memories—it’s all worth more than money can ever buy.

  Today, it’s raining, so no outside time; which means the kids still have energy. It takes a lot of patting backs, reminders to stay on cots, and a few prayers above to get them to sleep, which is where all my prep time flies. Although the clock tells me that I only have fifteen minutes before I have to wake the little ones up, I suck in those minutes getting a recharge for the afternoon.

  The door to my room opens and Ms. Marie is there. She waves me to come to her, and I look to my assistant who nods telling me she’s fine with the children.

  Stepping over the cots is a bit of a challenge, but I make it and step outside the door. The slow click echoes through the hallway. A woman with dark brown hair that falls down her shoulders and wire rimmed glasses stands there. She’s dressed in a professional skirt and button-up blouse.

  “Ms. Roe, this is Mrs. Easton. She’s Marlayna’s case worker.”

  The woman extends her hand and smiles warmly. “Nice to meet you, but I’m sorry they are under these circumstances.”

  I go on instant alert as she releases my hand. Inside I’m jittery. Normally, any meetings with a child’s case worker, social worker, special education services are planned way ahead of time.

  Her face is somber. She hesitates, and my heart rate picks up. “The Browns’ were in a car accident. Mr. Brown died on impact, and Mrs. Brown is in ICU. They are unable to take care of Marlayna; I need to take her with me.”

  “Take her where?” I jump a little too quickly.

  “I’ll take her to the group home in Keensaw, Georgia for the time being.”

  “She has to come to school.” When she shakes her head, my stomach hollows. Keensaw, Georgia is on the other side of the county and not in our district. She’s making progress here … with me. I’ve had to let a lot of children go over the years as they grow up, move on, and some even having to be shuffled in a system that is overrun. This one, well, it hurts and it hurts deeper than ever before.

  “She’ll attend school close to the home if they have a program.” Even if stomping my foot wouldn’t help anything I want to do it. It’s not mandatory that children go to preschool, it’s optional. Therefore, Marlayna could be sitting in a room day in and day out or in daycare.

  “Can she stay with me?” I gasp as the words leave my mouth realizing what I just said. Me, taking on a child? My mind scrambles for something, anything, but it whirls for a moment.

  “The facility is a private run, church owned establishment. We have over fourteen thousand cases in the state of Georgia and only around four thousand foster parents trained and approved. Marlayna isn’t established in a school district like our older teens; it’s easier to move her than the other children the Browns’ had in their care,” Mrs. Easton explains, and my heart shatters for all of these children, but most especially Marlayna.

  “There has to be something I can do for her.” Each word pains me as it leaves my mouth. My heart is shattering into a thousand pieces.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Roe, but the foster parent program is a lengthy one that you will need to go through. Unfortunately, we don’t have that time in this moment. I need to take her.”

  I beg as I fight back tears. “Please don’t.”

  The thought of her being alone again, when she just found a safe place to live breaks my heart. I was her. I see me in her. There’s so much potential for her in this life. I overcame because of the people who came into my life. She can too, but she needs good people and a solid home not continual change.

  “I’m sorry, but this is a must. You can come and visit her if you’d like. And, if you really want to do the foster parent paperwork, we can discuss it.”

  There’s not much about my job that I hate, but this … this is at the top of my list. I have no other choice. My hands are tied. I haven’t felt this helpless in a long damn time.

  “I’m a foster parent, can I keep her?” Ms. Marie says, and my eyes shoot to her in surprise. “My husband and I have only had one child come through our doors, but we are approved.”

  Looking expectantly at Mrs. Easton, hope blossoms.

  “Ms. Marie would take excellent care of her. I can attest to it.” My mouth rambles on so quickly there’s no stopping it. “She’s great with kids. Runs this center so well it’s won awards.”

  Mrs. Easton holds up her hand. “I’ll see what I can do, but right now I have to take Marlayna with me. It’s state policy and I can’t change that, but if you give me your information, Ms. Marie, I’ll see what I can do.”
/>   My heart hammers in my chest knowing that I have to get that little girl and give her over to this woman. The twist in my chest is painful, and I hope Ms. Marie can get her and quickly so she doesn’t feel like she’s lost another place in her life.

  Quietly, I enter the room and move through the little blue cots, coming to the sleeping angel. Her hands are tucked under her cheek and a small Barbie blanket is wrapped around her lower half.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I sit on the floor and begin to rub her back. “Marlayna, it’s time to wake up,” I soothe, fighting back my emotions.

  It takes a bit, but her eyes finally open. She yawns and stretches her little arms, the sleeves of her shirt riding up.

  “Hey, bright eyes, I need you to come with me.”

  She sits up immediately and looks around the room very alert. Her eyes catch on the woman standing next to Ms. Marie then back to me. “Where?”

  “Come and we’ll talk.”

  She looks at Mrs. Easton then back at me. “Something happened.” Damn, for only being four-years-old she’s so damn intelligent at reading situations. That’s wonderful, yet sad for the reasons she’s had to learn that particular skill.

  “Yes, something has. Let’s go…,”

  “No!” she shouts. The room begins to stir just from that one loud word.

  “Calm down. It’ll work out.” I don’t want to lie to her and tell her everything is going to be okay, because I have no idea if it will be. Hell, I don’t know what tomorrow or the next minute will bring. Her panic only makes my emotions go into overdrive more.

  “I’m not going to Mrs. Brown’s house, am I?” she asks, quieting her tone and realizing what’s going on as she becomes more awake. The sad look on her face has me wanting to reach out to her and wrap her in my arms, but I don’t. If she needs that from me, she’ll let me know.

  “No, Marlayna. Mr. and Mrs. Brown were in an accident. Mrs. Easton, over there, is going to take you to a big house with lots of other kids.”

  The little girl closes her eyes and lets out a breath. Damn, I swear she’s a twenty-year-old trapped in a four-year-old body. I know what it is to have to grow up way too fast, and it breaks my heart that she’s endured her circumstances so young in life.