Chapter 33
KINGSTON “FROST”
The dungeon is the name of an abandoned house we use for things that I’m about to do to my old man.
Enough is enough. My parents have haunted my days and nights for too long.
I’m not going to give them anymore head space.
They’ve sucked the life from me and I’ve never had the chance to find out who the real me was.
The brotherhood helped raise me and are my family, except there wasn’t much in the way of emotions or growth.
At least, not for me. Too dumb for college, so I watched Smokey head off.
The only thing I was good at was drawing.
Uncle Jorden bought me a sketch pad, and from there, I drew. Drew things I saw and imagined.
Once Skull took over the MC, him and Smokey offered to set me up with my own shop. As much as I hated owing them, I took them up on the offer, paying them back all the monies they put in.
Now, Stevie’s shown me there’s life outside of anger and hatred.
My mom’s dead, and after today, my old man will join her.
Sure, killing him doesn’t make me a better person, but I don’t give a shit.
The sooner he’s gone from this earth, the easier I can breathe.
It’s not only me and my club that I have to protect.
It’s Stevie and our kids. They’ll be better off not having to breathe the same air as my old man.
At the back of this house is the destroyed kitchen from years ago, which is where we entertain our dark ventures. My old man’s wrists and ankles are tied to a chair. The two prospects stand by the door, and spread out through the room are my Uncle Jorden, Skull, and Smokey.
I circle Billy. He hasn’t aged well, which is no surprise.
Obviously, prison didn’t cure him of the bottle.
He’s soaked in sweat and whiskey, chin resting on his chest, still knocked out from Crew’s punch.
Leaning against one of the existing counters, I glance over at the different weapons I could use.
I’d love nothing more than to torture him, except the desire has faded.
Damn, Rebel!
She’s softened me.
I meet each person’s gaze, but it’s my uncle who speaks. “We all want him dead. The question is how quickly.” Jorden glances over at my old man then back at me. “He was right. I didn’t care much about your mom, my sister, but he had no right to kill her.”
My casual shrug and folding of arms matches my words. “He did me a favor. Took care of the hell I went through with her.”
Jorden’s head bobs, staring at my old man, yet continuing to talk to me. “I’m sorry for not stepping in earlier, Kingston.”
I spit out, “Frost.”
His eyes rise to meet mine. “Frost. I knew how they were. I should have stepped in and took you out of there. The old Prez would have supported it.”
I wave my hand in the air. “It’s done.”
Pushing off the broken cabinet, I round the chair, standing behind it, and smack Billy in the head. He lets out a small moan, yet remains in the same position. I grab a handful of his greasy hair, yank his head back far enough to cause his eyes to open.
Clenching my jaw, I say, “I’ll be the last thing you see before hell.”
His psycho laugh puts me on edge. No matter if I’m a little boy or a grown man, he shoved a lifetime of fear in me, which sprouts when he is around.
He sneers. “I guess we’ll meet again in hell.”
His laughter grows in volume, triggering a sharp shiver traveling through my body.
Anger. A chill. Panic. I don’t remember taking the switchblade out of my pocket, but I press the button to deploy the blade, and hold it against his throat.
A trickle of sweat drips down my forehead, over the bridge of my nose, dangling at the end of it.
It drops onto his face, and I smile. I thought I’d be nervous, except I’m not. Only anticipation.
A vision of a pregnant Stevie pops into my head.
She turns toward me, flashing a captivating smile.
We both have a devilish look in our eyes.
She sways her hips, twirling in circles in the kitchen, pretending to be shy.
Then she reaches for me, pressing her hand against my cheek, sliding it across my jaw to the other cheek.
My hand imitates the vision. I press the knife hard against my old man’s neck and slide it across his throat.
Blood bubbles at the wound and then spurts out.
He moves his head to break free from my grasp.
His body wiggles and he gurgles out a few pleas.
My hand tightens in his hair; eyes fixed on his slashed throat.
His body convulses, eyes roll to the back of his head and then he goes limp.
Finally, I push his head away and it falls forward, causing blood to run down his torso.
I breathe through my nose, let it out, and close my eyes.
Done. My living hell is gone. I can focus on building a family with Stevie.
When I lift my head, Jorden, Smokey, Skull, and the prospects are staring at me.
I wipe the knife off on my pants, pocket it, and say, “Someone call Jasper.”
Skull says, “Already did. He’ll be here in ten.”
I step out of the house, hop into my truck, and speed away.
The urge to hold Stevie is strong. Ever since my break down while having sex, I’ve become vulnerable, leaning on her for support.
When things are overwhelming or my anger grows, I rely on Rebel to pull me to safety.
She rids me of self-hatred. The way Stevie gazes at me has me doing some soul searching.
I might be a motherfucking crazy biker, but there’s also more to me.
She’s shown me that through her whispers and caresses.
She has yet to ridicule or laugh about my moment of weakness.
I fucking cried like a big pussy while fucking her, but instead of disgust, she gave me space to let it go and I love her for it.
Fuck, yeah. I love Stevie, my little rebel. I want a fucking life with her. To watch our kids grow up while we grow old. To experience the rest of my sunrises and sunsets with her before the fires of hell call for me. But first, I need to head home for a shower.
By the time I arrive at the club, everyone is lit out of their minds, except for Crew, Duchess, and Stevie.
When she locates me, her smile that I hold close to my heart spreads across her face.
Like a cheesy fucking romance movie, we walk toward each other, and I cup her face, kissing her as if the world has faded away.
Yeah, cheesy fucking romance, but Rebel did this to me.
For a split moment, she dissolves my masculinity, replacing it with a wimpy ass boy, destined to please his girl.
The kiss ends, and she has tears in her eyes.
My brows cave and I ask, “Why are you crying?”
She has one hand on her belly and the other cradling my cheek as she whispers, “I’m scared.”
“About what?”
Stevie shakes her head and adds, “Everything. You leaving and not coming back.” She looks down at her stomach. “The babies.” She sucks in a breath. “My mom. Today is the anniversary of her death and…” She starts sobbing, hiccupping to control it. “I miss her. I miss Alicia.”
“Rebel.” I sigh, resting my forehead against hers. “I can’t do anything about your mom or Alicia, but I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that. I don’t know what you do when you speed off with your brothers. I don’t—”
I press a finger to her lips to silence her. “First off, you don’t need to know. Secondly, I’ll always come home. That I know. Thirdly, I’ll be there for you and the babies.” I slide my hand over her hair and kiss the top of her head before adding, “Not only do you have me, but the entire club.”
I realize the room is quiet, yet I keep my attention on Stevie. “Look at me, Rebel.” Her tear-soaked eyes gaze up at me. “I promise you that I’ll never leave you alone. And when my time comes, you will be taken care of by this club. We’re family.”
Tears stream down her face as her thumb caresses my lips. Then she blows my mind.
“I love you, King.”
Those words from her dilute the blackness in me. My soul is no longer pitch black but morally grey...and I don’t fucking care who hears what I got to say.
With my hands holding her face, eyes locked on hers, I spill my guts. “I love you, too, Rebel.”
She abruptly stops crying, mouth hanging open then whispers, “You do?”
“Yeah.”
We’re staring at each other and then I turn toward the rest of the room. “What the fuck are you all looking at? Get me a beer and Stevie a water with lime.”
For some time, we sit together, smiling like the world has granted us a wish.
At one point, Stevie takes my hand, wanting me to dance, but I sure as fuck am not going that far.
I don’t dance. She shimmies away toward the women to dance while I get hammered.
Rebel spends all her time in the back dancing and watching a movie with the old ladies.
Every once in a while, I’ll look for her to make sure everything is fine.
My drunk ass can’t drive, so Stevie does. Stumbling into the house, hands and mouth all over her, we somehow manage to make it to bed. Unfortunately, I pass out fully clothed.
Early morning, I find Stevie curled into a ball in her bra and underwear. A sun ray shoots through the crack in the drape onto Stevie’s face. She’s beautiful. I shake my hungover head.
Shit, I’m pussy whipped.
Instead of waking her, I cover her with the blanket then head to the kitchen for water and coffee.
The coffee brews while I glance out the window, thinking about last night.
I killed my old man and I feel nothing. No sadness.
Guilt. Nothing. It’s not the first time I’ve killed, but since Stevie has drawn out my softer side, I assumed watching the life drain from his eyes would haunt me.
I sigh, scrubbing my face with my hand, because I realize I can’t feel anything for someone I didn’t have emotions for in the first place.
He was my tormentor in life. I sure as hell won’t make him my tormentor in death.
Besides, my emotions seem to be exclusive to Stevie. Sure, my club brothers are my family and I’d do anything for them, but for Stevie, I’d create a whole new fucking universe to keep her and our kids safe.
Hands slide over my stomach, and Stevie rests her head against my back, asking in a groggy voice, “Why are you up so early?”
I place a hand on top of hers. “My head hurts.”
She lets out a little laugh. “Well, you drank enough beers and shots.”
Looking over my shoulder, I ask, “You want a tea?”
“Yes, please.”
As soon as her hands disappear from my abs, a cold hits me, wanting to hold her forever.