Angels and Ashes (Heaven's Rejects MC Book 2) (4 page)

“Naw, I want ‘ancakes. Can you make the shape of a weenus?”

I stop dead in my tracks.
Did he just say what I think he did?
Turning to face him, I watch as Wesson hops up into his usual seat at the island and lets his legs swing while he waits for his breakfast. Just looking at him, I know I must not have heard him right.

“Wes, what shape did you want them in?” I sheepishly ask, hoping to hear something different.

“A weenus. You know, Mama, like what I have.” Wes beams at me while the shock registers across my face. Setting the spatula down, I place my elbows onto the cool marble and lean close to him.

“Wes, where did you hear that word?”

His legs swing harder, knocking against the wood of the island. His eyes draw down to the counter as he stammers to answer me.

“Wes, I asked you a question,” I say with a bit more authority. “Please answer me.”

“I promised not to tell,” he says with a sniffle. His reaction to my question sends dozens of horrific scenarios running through my head. There’s no way my little boy is going to be faced with the sick and twisted shit my brain automatically went to with his confession.

“Wes, you will tell me now or you’ll be sent to your room. Answer me.”

“Colt said it, Mama,” he whimpers. “He got hit at school.”

A sigh of relief courses through me, knowing that no one has harmed my boys. Turning back to the pancake box, I stifle a laugh. I swear my kids could be on
America’s Funniest Home Videos
with the things that come out of their mouths. I seriously wonder if anyone else has to deal with their kids asking for weenus pancakes. Walking over to the fridge, I gather the supplies and begin to make Wesson’s pancakes. After flipping a large stack of warm cakes smothered in butter and syrup, I set them down in front of Wesson and trudge off to his brother’s bedroom to start our normal morning routine. I try to be nice waking up Colt, but as soon as I rip the covers off of him, it’s game on. What should be a five-minute process turns into a twenty-minute ordeal until he finally admits defeat and gets up for school.

Colt shuffles into the kitchen and deposits himself next to his syrup-covered brother before he begins to pick at his food. Today’s going to be one of the bad days for my precious boy. I can tell from the look on his face that he dreamt about his dad again. I can always tell the mornings it happens by his lack of appetite and inability to talk. Walking over to him, I slip my arm around his chest and pull him close.

“I know you miss him, baby, but you have to eat. Daddy wouldn’t want you to be all skin and bones. He raised you to be big and strong like him,” I whisper in his ear.

Colt only nods and picks up his fork, shoveling a cold pancake into his mouth. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, I check on Roxie and quickly go to the bedroom to change. By the time I’m back, Wesson is playing peek-a-boo with Roxie while Colt keeps his older, brotherly eye on the both of them. I honestly could not have asked for a better set of kids. From the moment Roxie was born, Colt instantly took on the role of man of the house. The level of devotion for Roxie’s safety and care makes me proud to call him my son.

Scooping up Roxie from her swing, I send Wesson off to put on the clothes I laid out for him while I change Roxie and get her dressed. By the time he walks back into the kitchen, we are all dressed and ready to go drop them both off at their schools. After Brent died, Wesson really regressed in his interaction with kids so I decided to put him into a local daycare and pre-school across the street from Colt’s elementary school. Not only did it make it easier by having them both so close to each other, but Wesson started to come out of his shell more, and after six months, he finally returned to the crazy little boy that I had before his dad died.

“All right, ladies and gentleman, let’s get this school show on the road.”

The drive to both buildings is only fifteen minutes away and takes no time with the level of traffic on the city streets of Upland. It’s one of the reasons why I like this city. It’s far enough away from Los Angeles to actually feel cozy and safe while at the same time close enough to do just about anything you could ever want. Most people wouldn’t classify California as cozy, but to me, it is a decent substitute for my hometown, Jackson, Mississippi.

After dropping both Wesson and Colt off in front of their buildings with their curbside class monitors, I make a quick pit stop through Starbucks to grab my usual—non-fat, vanilla latte with an extra pump of caramel—before heading home. Pulling back into the driveway of the house, I compare the other houses on the street to ourmodestly sized home with a much-larger-than-normal yard. It’s the typical Spanish-style with a fenced-in archway surrounding the porch. Brent had always hated that Californians called a quarter of an acre a large yard, so when he saw the acre that came with this house, he snatched it up quickly.

The flowering trees blow in the early fall breeze as I turn off the engine of our black minivan and step out into the dry morning heat. I unlatch the car seat containing a sleeping Roxie and head toward the house. Before I can make it through the gate of our front sidewalk, a flash of white from the center of the door catches my eye. Setting Roxie down onto the sidewalk in her car seat, I find that the item that caught my eye is a letter taped to our front door.
What in the hell could this be?
It’s too early for the mail.
Pulling the tape from the door, I turn the letter over and get the shock of my life.

“Darcy” is scrolled across the front of the crinkled paper in a familiar script I never thought I would see again—Brent’s.

Why the fuck did I agree to do this shit?

I knew running our legitimate security company would come with some crazy ass jobs, but this one really takes the cake. Playing scary bodyguard to the latest virginal pop princess has been like living in hell surrounded by those screaming bitches on that housewives show the club whores like to watch. One of these days I need to put a parental lock on those channels; their cackling has been interrupting Church far too many times since that show came back on.

Jesus Christ, if I had known when I volunteered to give Hero the day off so he could take Dani to her lady doctor appointment, I’d have assigned one of the prospects. Shit, Slider would probably get off on this, unlike me, who has spent the last forty-five minutes watching this scrawny blonde chick with tiny tits sing the same song. If the money wasn’t so damn good, I’d have walked by now.

“Thank you, everyone, I love you all. Goodnight!” screams the girl I’ve now named
Fuck Me Barbie
, taking one last bow before exiting the stage on the left. Thank fucking God, this shit’s almost over. I need a stiff drink and one of the club girls on her knees to wipe this shit from my mind. I wonder if Bubbles and that mouth of hers has been used tonight. Call me crazy, but other than a warm pair of lips around my cock, I wouldn’t dare sink my dick into their black holes of pussy. I make for damn sure our girls are clean, but I’m not about to put my dick where my brothers dump their loads. One-night stands are a far better risk than a club whore or a cut bunny trying to become the president’s new old lady. I had one of those before, and she turned out to be a traitor to the club. I’m not exactly in the market for another crazy bitch that wants to own my balls anytime soon. I have enough problems trying to raise my teenage daughter and son on my own.

Making my way to the stairs,
Fuck Me Barbie
grabs a towel from one of the stage hands and wipes away the sweat from her body. I notice she takes just a little too long brushing the sweat away with a towel against her tight dancer’s body. I can tell from the evil smirk that forms on her face that she’s far from innocent and a hell of a lot older than the eighteen the tabloids say she is. If I were a betting man, I’d peg her for at least twenty-three, but even knowing she’s legal doesn’t mean I’m interested. I don’t sleep with the clients for the very same reason as the club whores. Communal playthings and little girls with Daddy issues need to stick to the men who will mistreat them the way they expect and leave me the fuck alone.

Fuck Me Barbie
rubs her fingers around her nipples that have budded with the cold air flowing backstage. She throws the towel back at the stage hand before hopping off the last set of stairs and sliding up next to me. Her hand brushes my groin before she spins for the stage crew to remove her wireless microphone. “Wanna come back to my hotel tonight?” she whispers to me over her shoulder, eyeing her hand that covers my still soft dick. “I’d like to see what you could do to earn a big tip for protecting my body.”

Shaking my head as I laugh, I remove her hand from my fly. “Sorry, little girl, but the only job that I get paid to do is protect your ass. I’m not exactly interested in deflowering America’s little wet dream of the month because she thinks she has a thing for older bad boys. Why don’t you go play with someone your own age?”

Her sly grin falls from her face as her tour manager, Michelle, ushers her back to her dressing room to change. I follow quickly behind them and can’t help but to admire the plump ass on Michelle. Now
that’s
the kind of woman I’d sink my dick into. She has womanly curves in just the right places, perfect tits that spill ever-so-slightly out of the shirt she is wearing, and one hell of a long set of legs. My mind wanders to how those legs would feel wrapped around my waist while my hard cock drives deep into her.

Fuck Me Barbie
walks into her dressing room and slams the door in what I can only assume is anger at my denial of her special request. Some guys might be into barely-legal jail bait, but I prefer a woman who knows what to do with a dick. I lean next to the dressing room door and mutter a silent prayer that Barbie doesn’t take nearly as long to get cleaned up than she does for getting ready for a show. Her four hours of prep and war painting was a little much to sit and watch. I hear a sigh before Michelle leans against the dressing room wall next to me.

“Long night, Michelle?” I inquire. Her chest heaves a deep breath making those perfect tits of hers nearly pop from her tight shirt.

“You have no idea. Cassidy is one of the toughest clients I’ve ever worked with.”

“I don’t know how you deal with little shits like her.”

Michelle quietly laughs while shaking her head at my response. “Trust me, if the money wasn’t this good, I’d be back in Tennessee babysitting geriatric country music stars, but that doesn’t pay my kid’s college tuition.”

“Damn, I wouldn’t have pegged you for having a kid in college.”

Michelle’s tits jiggle as she laughs. “A one-night stand my freshman year of college turned me into a single mom. Been working since the day my son was born to make sure his life was a hell of a lot better than mine. Billy’s a smart kid, and I don’t want him to waste those brains of his. He’s pre-med at the University of Tennessee.”

“Sounds like a smart kid with a hard working mom. I bet you don’t get a lot of downtime.”

“You can say that again. The only downtime I get is when Cassidy holes herself up in a hotel room with the latest fuck of the week. You’d think she had a golden pussy with all the guys that hang around her hoping for a taste. It’s a pain in the ass when she gets caught by the paparazzi. I don’t know how many more times I can use the excuse of a late night rehearsal to the press anymore. I wish she’d just let the cat of the bag so I could get some sleep sometime.”

“Ha,” I exclaim. “I could see that she’s not this little innocent thing from a mile away. I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling with the act.”

Banging and yelling comes from Barbie’s dressing room, drawing our attention back to the door. Michelle leans over and cracks the door just when Barbie’s naked ass flashes through the open space. Barbie needs to eat a fucking burger or something because that boney ass of hers would torture anyone who fucks her. I don’t get this skinny as a rail shit that I keep seeing on the women we protect. It’s not sexy at all to plow a twig that could snap if a big gust of wind blew.

Michelle quickly slams the door just before Barbie throws something and screams obscenities at her. That bitch needs a fucking time out. I start toward the door, but Michelle’s small hands land on my forearm, stopping me from reaching the door knob.

“Raze, it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Just let it go.”

Michelle’s eyes fall to the ground as the rampage continues inside the room. “What the fuck set her off?” I ask Michelle, watching as her entire demure changes with Fuck Me Barbie’s tantrum. Even if I had wanted to fuck her when she offered, my dick would have retreated back inside with her childish behavior. I’d have taken a belt to her ass if I had to deal with her mouth on a regular basis. Turning away from the door, I walk in front of Michelle and lean over her luscious body with my arm resting on the wall beside her head.

“She came on to you, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, I shut that shit down quick. I wouldn’t fuck her with someone else’s dick even if she wasn’t a client. She’s not my type.”

Michelle’s eyes travel back to mine with a smirk on her face. “That’s why she’s acting like a spoiled five-year-old in there. No one tells her no, and when she gets ignored for any other woman, she destroys everything around her.”