Broken Road

  Broken Road

  Breaking Black #2

  Broken Road, Book 2- Breaking Black Series

  ISBN-13: 978-1500194611 (CreateSpace-Assigned)

  ISBN-10: 1500194611

  Copyright 2014 – Addison Kline

  All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Any resemblance to persons dead or alive are sheer coincidence. This is a work of fiction and is the product of the author’s imagination.

  Cover Art- © Andrei vishnyakov, © Netfalls - Fotolia.com

  “It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

  -Rose Kennedy

  Prologue

  It is often said that time heals all wounds. The words are spoken like a promise... A vow. These words are said to people who have been beaten down to their lowest state. To the poor souls who have nothing left to lose. Whispered into the ear of a grieving daughter, told with a shrug to a man who has nothing left to live for.

  These are dangerous people.

  The down-trodden. The grieving. The ones who love more people dead than alive.

  The words should never be uttered. Not to the ones who have no solid ground on which to stand upon, no rail in which to clasp. The white-knuckled moments of life have come to be expected rather than feared.

  "Time heals all wounds."

  The words are an insult. A slap in the face... and around here, they'll get you hurt. For Averi McClain and her husband Colt, there were few deeper insults.

  If time could heal all wounds, Jessa McClain would be proud to know that she was going to be a grandmother. Nathan Ford would have proudly walked his little girl down the aisle with Corinne beaming from her seat. Sitting by her friend’s side, Anna McClain would wipe a tear from her eye. Standing proudly by Colt and Randy at the arbor, Seth would have stood as a groomsman for his childhood friend. That is, if time truly healed all wounds.

  But what about the hurts you cannot see? The deep gashes and the mangled hearts that remain after the brutality of a war. Their childhood was a battlefield. Colt and Averi didn't want that for their own sons and daughters.

  What does time to do wounds? Time is nothing but a reminder of how much time has passed since you last saw the ones you love most. The line is bullshit. A scape goat. A cheap cop-out. It is something that people say when they don't know what to say. It's not deep or sympathetic. It doesn't stop the heart from bleeding. Colt would not have a granite wall built around his heart like a fortress - a barrier which only Averi could crack. Randy's soul would not quake with anger every time he heard mention of Black Horse, his roving band of lunatics known as the Seventy Devils, or Jimmy Hearns. You can’t even say the name Trent Myers to Randy without his sanity flickering out of sight. Tim wouldn't have to fight his anger out at the gym for several hours, five days a week. Shelly's sense of security would be intact and undisturbed. Averi's legs would not be permanently scarred with evidence of Black Horse's fiery insanity.

  Time doesn't heal all wounds. Wounds fester. Sometimes the strain and exertion of trying to heal puts so much stress on the wound that the scab rips open, stitches and scar tissue be damned.

  Some wounds cannot be mended.

  Some lines are just begging to be crossed.

  Some roads are meant to be broken.

  As one of Averi's favorite bands, Rascal Flatts, so poignantly croons, "God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you." In the case of Colt and Averi, no song lyrics could more perfectly describe the road that they have traveled. They have a love like no other, acting as a guiding light, a beacon in a world turned dark by Black Horse. What would you do if the one man you couldn’t live without, was the son of the bastard that murdered your parents and your eldest brother? In the case of Averi Ford, she knew Colt was nothing like his father. He had spent his entire life running from his shadow. He had always been the one to protect Averi, even more so than her ever watchful brothers. You can’t turn away from a love like that. So Averi fought, tooth and nail. She was determined to get down in the dirt, bare knuckled and brazen, ready to take on anything that stood in their way. Just as Colt had refused to give up on her, she refused to let anyone or anything stand in their way of a happy life. She was even willing to take on the head Devil, himself. Colt is not Black Horse, and he loves Averi to the ends of the earth. Theirs is a love that is intensified by pain and longing, desperation and heartache. They faced seemingly unsurmountable odds, and continue to do so, side by side. She needs him, not to be her hero, but as her equal and her friend until the end of their days. He needs her, not only physically, but spiritually, emotionally; he had wrapped all his hope in her. His humanity relied on her happiness. If her heart ceased to beat, he would let the darkness overcome him. He wouldn't stop until every single member of the Seventy Devils were dead.

  Lord knows Randy and Tim would fight right alongside him. Averi was as essential to Colt as oxygen. Without her, the Colt that she knew and loved would cease to exist. They loved each other despite the odds they faced; in spite of those who said they shouldn't. Averi loved him regardless of his family history, of the stares and gossip, the upturned noses and blatant hostility. When Colt McClain walks into a room, the citizens of Oakeley don't see him. They don't see his face or his kind soul. They don't see him at all. They see Black Horse - the man he so closely resembles, but whose hearts are night and day. There is a key difference. There is a gentle warmth to Colt's gaze. A calm depth that if you look deep enough, you can see all the good in him. Look into Black Horse's eyes and you'll see your own demise. When people look Colt's way, they see a murderer, a thief, a snake. They see a man with no soul. But Colt never killed a man that didn't have it coming, and let me tell you, Jimmy Hearns has it coming.

  Colt is not the only one who is familiar with fighting against the black souls of the Seventy Devils in the name of the ones that he loves. Randy knows all too well, and it’s not just Averi he goes to war for. The sum of his heart’s aching can be blamed on one woman: Cheyenne West. The daughter of a Devil, she was the girl he wasn’t supposed to get mixed up with, and she has tortured his soul every single minute of every day. The problem is, he loves her. More than he thinks he should. And despite their past, she still loves him, too. But when Cheyenne falls prey to the Devils, can Randy put all his animosity aside to save the woman he loves.

  Most motorcycle clubs are not street gangs, but in the case of the Seventy Devils, there was no point in denying it. The Seventy Devils ran the streets of Oakeley. The Seventy Devils, the band of lawless savages that did Black Horse's bidding, lives on, leaderless and hell-bent on anarchy. When the strange circumstances surrounding Black Horse's death went public, Jimmy monopolized. Playing the role of a mourning son, Jimmy earned the respect and the power of Texas' most violent motorcycle club. To say the Devils are out for blood is an understatement of epic proportions. The band of sociopathic heathens were rallied by Black Horse's death. It was a call to action, a call to arms, each one of them thirsty to drain the blood from Black Horse's murderer. Each one yearning to display his killer's head on a pike for the whole community to see. If the Seventy Devils were hostile during Black Horse's reign, it was nothing compared to their mental state after Black Horse was found burned, shot and murdered.

  A war has erupted. The Seventy Devils are scattered and on alert, gnawing at the bit for the go-ahead to strike. They would not hesitate to spill the blood of anyone who stood in their way of recompense. They
knew they would need to act fast if they wanted to come out on top. Colt was not the kind of guy that you slept on. He'd stop at nothing to protect his family and he was lethal whether he was heavily armed or going toe to toe, bare knuckled beat-down style. Colt did have Black Horse's blood coursing through his veins, after all. But then, so did Jimmy, and he is ready to show everyone that the apple didn't fall far from the tree... in fact, they appear to have formed on the same poisoned branch.

  As leader of the Devils, Jimmy had seventy miscreants to do his bidding - and three goals in which he needed to achieve:

  Avenge Black Horse

  Kill Colt McClain and Randy Ford

  Take Averi for his own

  Jimmy has another thing coming if he thinks victory is easily won. Will Colt and Averi's broken road end in tragedy? Or will they be the ones to banish the devils straight to hell? When the demons of the past rise up, can Colt and Randy face them fearless and determined? Whatever happens, don't expect Colt and Randy to stand alone. Buckle up. The broken road makes for one hell of a ride.

  Chapter One

  “Damn it, Randy! Pick up the phone!” Cheyenne West yelled into the receiver of the pay phone. Her voice shook as she spoke and her typically tan skin had taken on a blanched appearance. Something had her spooked.

  Cheyenne listened to the phone ring as she eyed the graffiti that covered the pay phone in the Gas & Go on Route 1, just minutes outside of Oakeley. Her red hoodie covered her wavy ombre hair and her beautiful face was hidden under heavy eye make-up and the unmistakable remnants of a black eye. Her right eyelid had turned a deep shade of blue while a nasty bruise across her left cheek was fading to a sickly shade of green. Whoever got her had a mean left hook. The sleeves of Cheyenne’s hoodie fell over her hands, covering up bloody knuckles. The fingers of her left hand tapped nervously on the side of the pay phone.

  Ten rings.

  Twenty rings.

  One hundred and fifty-two taps of her nail on the dirty surface of the phone.

  Finally, Randy’s voice came over the line. Cheyenne closed her eyes as she listened to Randy’s husky voice, the voice she wished would talk to her. Whisper sweet nothings. Say he forgave her. Shit, curse her out for being an idiot. But as it was, Randy hadn’t returned any of Cheyenne’s calls. All sixty-seven of them.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Randy… Leave me a message… or don’t. I don’t give a shit. If I like ya, I just might call ya back.”

  Beep!

  Cheyenne sighed heavily. She knew she was over the top. Possessive. Out of control. But she loved Randy, and now, she needed him more than ever. But before Cheyenne had the chance to plead with him for the third time today, something had rendered her speechless.

  Cheyenne glanced behind her as she heard a pair of footsteps beating hard against the cracking linoleum floors of the Gas & Go mini-mart. As she glanced behind her, she recognized them immediately. Their sadistic smiles, black leather jackets with the Seventy Devils MC patch and the pungent smell of sweat and alcohol permeating into the air. Trent Myers and Gunnar Rhoades were beating a path straight towards her. Before she could run, before she could even scream, Gunnar Rhoades had stalked her straight into a corner. Grabbing a handful of her black and blonde hair, Gunnar drug Cheyenne behind him as she kicked, screamed and tried to break free. This could only end one way. Everyone around here knows the stories. The ones who go missing, were taken by the Devils. Cheyenne kicked free and crawled on her hands and knees trying to stand up and break into a run. She barreled down the aisle knocking over a kiosk of gift cards that could be purchased at the front register, sending the cards flying across the floor. Trent skidded as he chased behind her, but Cheyenne went down, sliding on the merchandise. As she hit the floor, Cheyenne heard the sharp crack of the butt of Trent’s rifle crashing into her skull. Cheyenne’s head fell limp as Gunnar and Trent pulled her from the shop and tossed her in the back of Gunnar’s black Hummer. She was unconscious but alive, just as she was requested by the new President of the Seventy Devils Motorcycle Club.

  As the busy signal echoed from the pay phone in the back of the shop, the shop clerk counted the greenbacks that were planted on the counter upon Trent and Gunnar’s arrival. It seemed you could pay off anyone in this town. But while most people’s loyalty could be bought, there were some who didn’t barter with the Devils. Those were the ones that usually ended up dead.

  Chapter Two

  Stephanie Rogers rolled over in Randy’s bed, hung over and disoriented. Her long blonde hair fell over her face, and her heavy eye makeup from last night was smeared across her skin. She had an ordinary face – not the kind of beauty you write home about, but she was willing and able, and that’s exactly the kind of girl Randy was looking for last night. Someone who could fill a void, and then forget about in the morning. They had a history, sure… but to Randy, this was nothing more than a one-night stand. His heart belonged to someone else. Someone he couldn’t trust enough to be with.

  Stephanie’s hand smoothed across the sheet that covered Randy’s futon mattress. The early morning light shone in through his window, glaring in Stephanie’s eyes, causing her to squint. She shot up in bed, hardly remembering how she got in Randy’s apartment. Her head pounded and her vision was cloudy, the after effects of one too many Cement Mixers – Randy’s go-to shot for when he wanted to get obliterated… and last night was one of those nights.

  Stephanie wrapped her naked body with the wrinkled sheet and looked around, but it appeared Randy was not at home. Stephanie walked around the side of the bed, trying to maneuver her way to the bathroom. She stumbled, tripping over her pair of black stilettos that were left in the middle of the floor. She bumped her knee into the corner of Randy’s metal futon frame, and crashed into his nightstand, sending a lamp falling to the floor. Groaning to herself, she bent down, picked up the lamp and noticed that in the semi ajar drawer of his nightstand there was a photograph sticking out. Pulling it out, she found a picture of Randy with a woman she immediately recognized. Cheyenne West. Randy’s ex-girlfriend. It was a photo of them from their senior prom. Cheyenne was the woman he nearly married. Rage boiled within Stephanie’s body. Flipping the photograph over, she screamed when she read Cheyenne’s feminine scrawl on the back.

  To Randy,

  I’ll always love you, whether you love me or not.

  Love,

  Chey

  Stephanie’s face scrunched up in anger. Slamming the photo face-up on the nightstand, she stormed from the bed. Finally, Stephanie arrived at the bathroom door. She turned the handle and cast a nasty look at the post-it note and twenty dollar bill that was taped the the surface. Randy had left Stephanie a note, only it wasn’t addressed to her at all, but a Cindy.

  “Cindy, Here’s twenty. Call yourself a cab. Later, Randy.”

  “Who the fuck is Cindy?!” Stephanie screamed ripping the note and the twenty off the door. She was livid. Stephanie could hear the rushing water of the shower from inside the bathroom.

  “Randy!” Stephanie yelled, trying to get Randy to unlock the bathroom door, but as her voice became louder, the radio that sat on the bathroom counter intensified in volume. A sound blared out the radio… A song that she knew all too well. N’SYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye” blared out the speakers and she could faintly hear Randy’s out of tune song voice sing along to the pop track.

  “Randy!”

  The singing became louder and Stephanie was furious. She ran to the kitchen and splashed water on her face, hurriedly got dressed and slammed Randy’s apartment door so hard, his neighbor, Mrs. Drummer, peeked out into the hallway.

  “It’s nothing Harold… Just one of Randy’s floozies!”

  “I am not a floozie!” Stephanie yelled at the old woman.

  Stephanie stood there, her cleavage popping out of her low cut blouse, her skirt riding high on her thighs.

  “Could’ve fooled me…”

  Stephanie would be one of many who tried to bed Randy in an attempt to build
something more. He just wasn’t having it. His heart belonged to someone else. Someone who had trampled upon it. Someone who needed it now more than ever. Cheyenne. Randy probably should have thought twice before sleeping with yet another Devil’s daughter.

  Chapter Three

  Later That Day….

  Averi McClain lie asleep on the white wooden porch swing that creaked gently as the autumn breeze swept across the plain. Averi's hand rested over her swollen belly, her wedding band catching the light of the late afternoon sun. She rested peacefully, a welcomed side-effect from the news of Black Horse's death. Her eyelids fluttered gently as a dream flashed across her mind.

  The sound of Colt's truck rolling over the gravel driveway caused Averi to stir, but not wake. Stepping out of his car, Colt's work boot hit the earth with a crunch. His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat, but there was no denying the happiness that was written across his face. He was carrying something in his arms. Cradling a tiny bundle wrapped in a blue blanket, Colt held it, whatever it was, tight to his chest, supporting the bundle with a firm but careful grasp. Dressed in blue jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, Colt was the perfect balance of smoldering and sensible, ruggedly strong and carefully protective. His heavy work boot echoed against the wood plank of the porch. He grinned slyly at his wife who was clearly exhausted from the effects of the pregnancy. Colt brought the bundle close to his face as a smile grew from his lips.