Up in Smoke (King #8)

Smoke nods again. “He did,” he admits, holding my face in his large rough hands. “He hurt a lot of people. People died because of him. Women. Men.” The sinking feeling returns. “But you can’t blame him. He was willing to turn Heaven and Hell over searching for your mom. He was willing to kill everyone standing between him and her.” He leaned in close and brushed his lips lightly over mine. “I know the feeling, hellion.”

My chilled blood warms. Smoke had just given me the greatest gift I’d ever received. He’d given me my family back. My father.

Who didn’t die of a heart attack, but of a broken heart.

The door creaks open. “Got a minute?” Nine asks.

I look up from Smoke to Nine who gives me a thumbs up.

“I…I have something for you, too,” I say with a sniffle.

Smoke’s eyes grow wide. He turns around slowly as the most beautiful sound in the world floats through the open door from the courtyard.

Toddler giggles.





Epilogue





THREE MONTHS LATER





We’ve taken up permanent residence in The Warden’s cottage. After working day and night for months, I finally have a set-up with an internet speed measured in a unit faster than the time it takes an ox to plow a field, and the room with all the storage is now a princess room for Smoke’s daughter who Nine found using the files from Griff’s server I’d sent him before Griff put a bullet in my gut.

Her name is Morgan, and she is Smoke. Dark hair. Dark eyes and a total brute. I’m completely in love with the both of them.

We’re a team now. The three of us.

I continue saving lives, but with Nine’s help, I’ve become completely untraceable. Smoke’s been spending more time with King, Bear, and Preppy, but he’s bonded with Nine most of all.

Smoke has yet to put on the cut, officially that is. Even though I know he wants to. Bear said it’s his decision, and he can take his time. I’ll know when he’s ready because the cut will no longer be hanging off the chair in the corner of the living room.

He won’t let me hang it up. I think he likes to know it’s there. Not just the cut. The option. The club. The people. Bear, King, Preppy, Rage, Nine. They all stuck their necks out for him.

For me.

I don’t think he can put on the cut until he gets used to the idea that once he does, people are going to be sticking their necks out for him all the time. No questions asked.

“That should do it,” I say to myself, climbing down from the ladder.

“Wow,” Smoke says behind me. I join him in the center of the room. Together, we admire the place above the mantel where I’ve chosen to display my most favorite painting. My very FIRST painting.

“I’m not sure that’s the place for it,” Smoke says. His forehead is wrinkled in thought.

“Why? I thought it was perfect. Don’t you like it?” I ask.

“It’s fucking beautiful, but it’s too... I don’t know. I’m not really sure what to think of it,” Smoke says.

“It’s from a dream I had,” I tell him.

“You don’t think it’s too morbid for above the mantle?” Smoke asks, wrapping his arms around me from behind.

“YOU of all people think it might be too morbid?” I tease.

“I don’t know. Maybe, it hits too close to home is all.”

“Art is all about perception. What it makes you feel. Everyone sees art differently,” I say, and that’s when I smell it.

Leather. New leather.

I glance out of the corner of my eye to the chair.

The empty chair.

I can’t help the smile spreading across my face.

“What I see is me carrying you into Hell,” Smoke says. There’s a sadness in his voice that makes my heart hurt.

I turn and stand on my tip-toes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “No, you’re not carrying me through Hell.” I press a soft kiss to his lips and look deeply into his dark eyes. “You’re carrying me out of it.”

THE END





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Bonus Scene





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All The Rage from Rage’s perspective





I’m in the middle of the fucking woods, and I don’t want to be here. All I want to do is kill the piece of shit I came out here to kill and fucking leave. I’m tired. More tired than I’ve ever been, and I feel it weaving its way through my muscle and bones.

I’m standing across from Mugs, a member of the Beach Bastards MC, and I wish to fuck I wasn’t. I work alone. Always have. But there’s a reason why Mugs is there, and I aim to get the fucking job done and get the fuck out of there.

Mugs is a fucking mess. Greasy blond hair flat on his head and a crooked smile on his face as he chews on yet another fucking toothpick, which is about as thick as his twig legs. He’s holding a shovel casually across his shoulders, having just finished digging the hole I ordered him to dig.

One of the reasons why we are even in the woods to begin with is because of the other man in front of me. Jerry. The one with his mouth duct taped shut and his wrists tied behind his back. He pissed himself. I smell the urine before I see it. The motherfucker lived like a coward, and now he’s gonna die like one.

I aim my gun at his head. “You thought you could fuck with us and get away with it, Jerry?” Jerry can’t answer, but I don’t fucking care. I cock the gun. Jerry was a job assigned to me by Bear, the VP of the Beach Bastards MC, after Jerry raped and practically disfigured the daughter of one of his brothers.

“No…no, Smoke. Don’t do this. I promise, I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Jerry whines. There’s nothin’ I hate more than a fucking whiner. Especially someone who whines while begging for his life.

I chuckle. “You didn’t mean to hurt her? She was a kid, motherfucker. You raped her, sliced up her virgin cunt, and gave her a fucking concussion. So, don’t fucking tell me you didn’t mean to fucking hurt her just so you can spare your own life, you weak piece of shit! It’s too late for that now.”

Tired of Jerry’s bullshit, I raise my gun and bring it down against the side of his head. He falls sideways into the dirt. “Mugs, pick this shit-bag off the fucking floor. I want him upright when I blow his fucking brains out,” I order.

Together, we drag Jerry over to the fresh hole and kick him inside.

Jerry’s eyes are on something over my head. Mugs and I turn at the same time. Mugs drops his shovel, grabbing his gun instead. I raise mine, too, but only because I’m in shock at what’s in front of me.

A girl. And a young one at that. My guess is barely a teenager.

Blonde hair pulled in a tight ponytail. A curious look on her eyes as she looks past me and the guns being aimed at her to the hole where Jerry is about to be reunited with the dirt.

“Who the fuck are you?” I demand, closing the gap between us in two strides. She’s got big blue eyes and she’s wearing cut off shorts and a tight pink t-shirt with the words Princesses Suck scrolled across her chest. Most girls would take a step back. Most girls would shake with fear. Most grown men too.

Not this girl. Not a tremor or quivering lip to be seen. Just pupils the size of Frisbees and a look of vacant wonderment in her eyes.

Her gaze flits quickly from Jerry, to Mugs, then to the gun in my hand…which I redirect to her head in warning.