OWNED & UNTAMED (A Back Down Devil MC Romance Novel) (2 page)

They were a ruthless gang made up of bangers, MC guys, and had ties that went deep into underground business. There were several levels of the Hell Five and these guys that had attacked us were part of the street crew. Mainly they were the ones we dealt with when they decided to start trouble. Chances were they wanted to make a statement to Back Down Devil MC and the cash was just something like a bonus.

“Fuck,” I said. “I thought Ivan had this all protected.”

“So did I,” Trev said. “Let’s move.”

“What about this guy?” Trent asked.

Trev took out his gun and unloaded an entire clip into him. He then looked at both of us. Goddamn, Prez could be wild when he wanted to be.

“Put him back on his ride,” Trev said. “Prop him up the best you can. Let that be a message to anyone who wants to ride through this goddamn town. I’m sure sirens will be out here soon enough with that goddamn grenade blast.”

I looked at Trent and he nodded to me.

This was supposed to be a simple run. Drop off some packages in Tijuana. Drink tequila - on Ivan’s tab. Have fun with some wild ladies - again, on Ivan’s tab. Then come back and deliver the cash.

Nothing was ever easy.

Trev stood in the middle of the road and stared back down into the heart of Daurian.

I grabbed the asshole’s legs from the Hell Five.

The shit part of it all?

The night was just beginning.

two.

(belle)

Maggie convinced me to go out and have a glass of wine. I had called to try and check in with Jim but he didn’t answer. I shot him a quick text and he replied with his standard
K
and that was it. The entire time I was at the restaurant I felt guilty for leaving him home like that. I knew it was no longer my job to try and protect my big brother. I knew he hated it because he had grown up defending my honor time and time again. But for me, I had given up everything in my life for him and my father. Now it was just me and Jim in the house and the place was nothing but haunted.

We didn’t need some ghost crew showing up to find out what was wrong in the house though. Being haunted came from memories. Memories from when Jim had two legs, a crew cut, and was clean shaven and ready to fight the world. Standing at the airport, watching him walk away, dressed in camo, that was hard. Seeing him with his best friend Duke made it a little bit easier, but that was only an excuse I used to convince myself and my father with. Because when Duke looked back that last time, it was a double shot to my heart.

Duke came back in one piece. Jim came back missing a leg.

At least they were both alive.

Even if I never really got to see them whole again.

That was a long time ago though when Jim came back injured. The years flew by, like they always seemed to do, and things never got any easier for him or me. I could never complain though because… well… how could I? I didn’t go overseas to fight a war that was beat up in the news almost on a daily basis. I didn’t have strangers who spoke a different language shooting at me. And I didn’t throw two men out of a truck, saving their lives, while I took the brunt of a roadside bomb that should have killed me but only took my leg. And I didn’t carry the guilt of not being able to throw out the third man in the truck, who tragically paid the ultimate price by giving his life in a foreign country.

I buried my complaints, doubts, and anger and pain deep inside myself. I promised myself that things would get better, but after Dad passed away, I knew that being okay was merely a dream that I would forever chase and never obtain.

After I finished a glass of wine, I called it a night with Maggie. I had to drive home and she the same. She ordered a second glass and I made it a point to sit there, talking, until I felt she was okay to head home. She’d been coming off a breakup that had been lingering for six months. The every other weekend drunk calls from her ex to hook up again were dumped on my lap to decipher and translate.

We left with a hug and I drove home, alone, cruising slowly through the country roads that I had always called home. Dad had been smart and wicked savvy with his finances. Mom died when I was ten and Jim was twelve. Dad never remarried and never really dated. He took everything he had and dumped it into the house and to buy all the land around the house. He told us that he and my mother dreamed of owning all the land and having me and Jim build houses on it. They had planned on having more kids but life took a bad left turn, something I guess everyone experiences once or twice in their lives.

Again, another reason I couldn’t complain. My bad left turn didn’
t include surviving a war or surviving cancer. My brother survived the war, my mother did not survive the cancer.

Rocks popped under the tires of the car as I drove up the driveway.

I smiled for a second, remembering the time I tried to be sneaky and use the yard instead of the driveway to sneak out one night. I met up with Duke. He took me to the quarry on his motorcycle and we made out -
and plenty more
- for hours. The moon high in the sky, a billion stars our audience, a night where I felt youth could be shedding and my future looking a little clearer.

The next morning Dad called me out on it within a minute of me waking up.

I was shocked.

How did he know?

I skipped the driveway because of the noise but I failed to realize my tires would leave tracks in the grass.

Those were the easy days of life though. They seemed so hard then but they weren’t.

I got out of my car and walked to the house. It was a big house, one half of it all mine and the other half Jim’s. Dad purposely had the house remodeled to accommodate Jim. I knew Dad carried a lot of guilt, always being rough and tough with Jim, the macho ultra-testosterone thing that men did. So when Jim wanted to go into the military, Dad cheered him on. When he got the notice he was going overseas to fight, Dad was a little worried but proud of his son.

Then Jim got hurt…

I opened the door and called out, “Honey, I’m home!”

That always pissed Jim off.

There was no response though.

I walked down the entrance hall - the one with the same pictures of me and Jim hanging on the wall.

Cut to the left and I was in Jim’s part of the house. Jim had a master bedroom suite right off the living room. Basically Dad took a two story home and built a ranch style off the side of it. That was Jim’s part of the house.

I walked through the kitchen and saw the pile of dishes in the sink. I usually gave it a day or two before I stepped in. I walked over and saw a cluster of fruit flies scatter from a pan with crusted pasta sauce stuck to it.

I turned and noticed the small cabinet that held the microwave was open.

That’s where Jim kept his booze.

“Shit,” I whispered.

Some days dealing with Jim were hard enough, but when he got to drinking, it was worse. He would just spout off whatever was on his mind, no filter. He could get mean. He could get upset. He could tell stories of what he saw.

I almost wished I stayed for my own second glass of wine with Maggie.

I entered the living room and the TV was on. I saw Jim on the couch, his head propped up beyond the couch.

“Jim?” I called out.

No response.

I took a few steps forward and feared the worst. I feared the demons that had followed him back home were going to get him.

When I saw Jim’s head slump to right, a bottle in his hand, his mouth open, I froze.

I said the first thing that came to mind.

“He’s not breathing.”

**

I dropped down and grabbed the bottle of whiskey out of his hand. It was almost empty. I had no idea if the bottle was full or not when he started drinking. I touched his stomach and swore I felt nothing moving. I jabbed my fingers into his neck for a pulse.

There was a pulse.

His stomach then made a fluttering motion.

Jim let out growl and swatted his shoulder at me.

“Jim!” I yelled and slapped his face. “Open your eyes.”

His eyes tried to open and he looked at me. “What… what are you…”

“It’s Belle,” I said. “Why are you doing drinking so much?”

Jim grinned. “Boom. Boom. All in my head.”

He tried to move his left hand but it was like he was paralyzed.

I inched back and saw that he’d taken off his prosthetic leg. It wasn’t placed beside him but across the room. He probably got mad and threw it.

“Come on, lay down,” I said. “You damn fool.”

I stood up and Jim grabbed my arm. His eyes opened. “It hurt.”

“What hurt?”

“My leg, Belle…”

“Did you bump your leg or something?”

Sometimes Jim would be stubborn and try to do too much with a prosthetic leg and hurt himself.

“Here,” he said and grabbed for the empty leg of his jeans.

“There’s…”

I almost said
there’s nothing there.

But I knew better.

Sometimes Jim would have nightmares and wake up with his missing leg in pain. Doctors called it a phantom limb. There was a psychological connection and his brain would send pain signals to a leg that wasn’t there.

“Does it hurt now?” I asked.

“Nothing hurts now,” he said.

He started to slide down the couch. His firm grip on my arm took me with him. I crashed to the floor, twisting my ankle. I let out a scream of pain as Jim’s face whacked the arm of the couch.

I thought his neck snapped but he quickly moved, telling me he hadn’t done more damage to himself.

But, fine, if he was going to be stupid, at least he was just drunk. I always hated the idea of guns in the house. And pain pills. I had to monitor the pills and make sure he didn’t hurt himself - by accident or on purpose.

I wiggled my way out of his grasp and touched his face. “You’re okay, Jim. Get some sleep. You’re going to feel like shit in the morning.”

“I feel… like shit right now, sis.”

“I know you…”

“Sick,” Jim said.

His eyes popped open.

Fuck.

I jumped back and kicked off my
sort of heeled
shoes I’d been wearing. I darted to the bathroom and grabbed the trash bucket. I snagged a towel and a washcloth on the way out. I jumped to the floor, put the towel down, and held the bucket out.

Jim rolled to his back and started to cough. His mouth then looked like a bubbling volcano as he started to get sick.

“You’ll choke!” I screamed.

I grabbed his hair and twisted his head to right.

He let loose into the trash bucket. It sounded like someone was dumping a bucket of wet mud out a two story window. I turned my head and held my breath, knowing I’d end up getting sick too.

The last few heaves sounded like a bear growling, threatening to rattle the windows.

Jim then rolled to his back and groaned.

I slapped the washcloth across his face - harder than was necessary, but I was pissed off. I emptied the bucket and returned. I forced Jim to turn to his side and stuck a few pillows behind him to keep him there. It was going to be a long night making sure my brother didn’t choke on his own vomit.

What a great way to spend a Saturday night.

I sat against the couch and reached for the bottle of whiskey. I took the remote and found some house renovation show to watch. In another life, I was going to be a nurse. In this life, I was a real estate developer, which sounded fancier than what it was. I managed all of Dad’s land, except the pieces Jim owned personally. I helped to find plots that could be rezoned and built up. It was flexible and paid well.

As I sank into a one hour show about a newlywed couple arguing over the quality of the bushes in their new backyard, I couldn't help but sip some whiskey. Yeah, it was probably the wrong thing to do. But I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. Jim was snoring behind me. That was good.

I finished off what was left in the bottle.

By the time the show came to an end, the couple was happy, kissing, then on a swing in their new backyard.

“Losers,” I whispered.

That’s when I realized I was a little drunk.

I looked to my right and Jim twitched in his sleep. I heard his stomach gurgle and managed to get out of the way as he got sick again. The sound made my stomach curdle and then Jim rolled right off the couch. He hit the basket and tipped it over. I got the bucket before it spilled and I was back to cleaning up again. This time, I swayed back and forth, hitting the walls left to right.

I left Jim on the floor and grabbed a blanket.

On the love seat, I was wide awake, replaying too much in my mind.

There was a pact made a long time ago. A brotherhood kind of thing. Yet I was the woman dragged into it all.