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  Gage

  Forsaken Sons MC

  Book Two

  Jessica Joy

  Gage

  Copyright 2020

  Jessica Joy

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, please delete it and purchase your own copy from an authorized retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Adult Content Warning: For ages 18 years old and older due to graphic sexual content, explicit language, and violence.

  BLURB

  LEXI-

  My whole life has been filled with pain.

  Dead parents, dead fiancé, and to top it all off my sister's ex kidnaps me for his own twisted gains.

  No matter what I do, the pain doesn't seem to stop.

  But then Gage came along and saved me.

  Life with the Forsaken Sons MC takes a drastic turn though, and once again my world is ripped away.

  I don't want Gage to be just another pain on the list of my life… but I'm not sure I’m strong enough for the fight ahead.

  GAGE-

  Falling for Lexi wasn't part of the deal for saving her.

  It didn't take much for her to go from damsel in distress, to friend, to… more.

  The Forsaken Sons MC has its fair share of enemies though, and any happiness our men find can be stripped from us in a heartbeat.

  Our rivals don't just take my happiness… they erase it…

  Now, as I fight against the newest threat, and the past I have tried to leave in the dust, I need to find what I lost before they finally take everything from us.

  Acknowledgments

  Cover Design: GreenLizard Designs

  Cover Model: Basti

  Cover Photographer: Katrin Lorenz

  Content/Developmental Editing: Rogue Readers

  Line Editing: CynicalRazor @ CDG Editing

  Proofreading: Alyssa Rivera @ Rogue Readers, LLC

  Alpha Reader: Jennifer Ritch,

  Beta Readers: Jenna Sage

  Special thanks to Chris Geisler, Melissa Rivera, Jenna Sage, Jennifer Ritch, Alyssa Rivera.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Special Thanks

  Other books by Jessica Joy

  About the Author

  To my husband

  For being my rock and always helping me come back to myself when I get lost

  Prologue

  Three Months After the Ending Events from Spartan

  Everything hurts, every single part of my ass hurts. There isn’t a goddamn chair on this stupid catwalk and the metal has been biting into my ass for the last 45 minutes. I didn’t sign up for this shit.

  Why the fuck did we end up in this godforsaken warehouse in a fucking firefight? Couldn’t we have just picked some place out of the way, quick and easy? Maybe a place with air conditioning to cut this fuckin stifling summer heat? At least give me something to do. Instead, we’re shooting up some dumb fuck gangbangers, and I’m over here playing babysitter to this shit-for-brains asshat, making sure he doesn’t fuck up the plan.

  Join the MC, they said.

  It’ll be awesome, they said.

  Just wait ‘til you get your patch, they said.

  I haven’t killed a single person since I’ve been ‘Backed by the Reaper’ and it’s starting to fuckin’ irritate me.

  Fuck it. Reaper said if we pull this off, if I can keep Gage away from the fight and up here on the catwalk, I get his job once all the dust settles. I think ‘Road Captain’ will look damn nice on my Cut.

  I hear boots stomping on the metal stairs and can get off my aching ass. Looks like Gage is finally showing up. The thunder of a .357 Magnum echoes through the space. Reaper must be getting to work.

  This better be worth the wait.

  The boot-falls pick up speed and I see a shadow crest the stairs. Thank god we killed the power in here; lots of shadows to hide in if you can keep still. His steps echo through the mostly empty space as he runs past my hiding place in the rundown office.

  Shit. Fuck. Gotta slow him down.

  Reaper said to keep him busy and away from the fight at the other end of the building no matter what.

  I let Gage run past and get a few feet ahead of me before I move and match my stride to his, boots clanking in time as I keep pace with him. As he makes his way down the catwalk, a series of 9mm pops echo around the half empty space and he takes off sprinting, any thoughts of stealth flying out the window. I pick up the pace, keeping him in view in the dim light.

  Gage rounds the turn up ahead and starts down the stairs, halting halfway and looking around; I pull up short to keep him in sight while still in the shadows. Muffled yells come from below, and I can see a crouched figure hiding behind a large crate on the main floor.

  The King has arrived.

  The crack of another shot rings out, followed by a sharp cry of pain and a growl of frustration.

  “The fuck?! What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you dumb fuck?” King bites out from his hiding spot while holding his leg, a dark patch blooming on his jeans.

  A figure steps out of the shadows behind King, gun drawn and pointed at the back of his head.

  Reaper.

  “What I should have done a long time ago you pansy ass,” Reaper growls, and King turns at the voice.

  The .357 goes off like a cannon three feet from King; you can’t miss at that range with a pinned target. King’s skull disintegrates at the impact of the hollow point round, the back of his skull blowing out and spraying the crate.

  “NO!” Gage shouts, starting down the stairs and pulling up his gun.

  Shit! Gotta do my job.

  Can’t kill him so… the leg.

  I pop off two shots in quick succession. One of my shots hits him in the calf, causing the limb to crumple under him and he takes a header down the metal stairs, rolling twice and landing at the bottom.

  Ah shit, he should be ok right?

  Reaper was very specific about not killing the fuckin Road Captain tonight. Maybe he thinks we can turn him? I know there ain’t no turnin’ Gage, but as Reaper says, ‘I don’t pay you to think.’

  I watch him for a bit, waiting to see if he’ll get up… Nothing.

  Did that pussy seriously die from a fuckin’ somersault?

  What a dumb fuck.

  No. I can see his chest rising and falling, so n
ot dead; but there is a rapidly expanding pool of blood under his head. I can’t tell where the blood is coming from, but his face is a mess so it could be from any of the multiple injuries the fucker got during his fall.

  “I told you not to kill him!” Reaper barks, rounding on me as I climb the last step, clearly pissed.

  “He’s fucking breathing, it’ll be fine,” I retort.

  One of the gang bangers comes running around the corner and I snap my gun up and take aim, but he pulls up short once he sees Reaper.

  “The FUCK is goin’ on!? You said it was just gonna be a couple guys, pop off a few shots, maybe one of my dumb fucks would take a bullet. There is a goddamn ARMY out there. They’ve killed ten of my guys!” he says, clearly shaken and pissed.

  “Plans changed,” says Reaper, pulling his regular Glock from his leg holster and shooting the asshole between the eyes, snapping his head back as he falls to the ground. Reaper leans down and drops the .357 by the bangers’ now limp hand and picks up the man’s 9mm.

  The fight is getting closer, but is sounding decidedly one sided at this point, with the AR-15’s the Son’s brought making most of the noise with their telltale triple rattle. A lull in the fight seems to signal the end of the apparent sacrificial lambs.

  “That was convenient,” says Reaper, pulling a wad of cash out of the dead gang bangers pocket and tucking it back into his own.

  “Sure was,” I gesture to King’s crumpled form, just a few feet away. “The King is dead.”

  “Long live the King,” replies Reaper with a gloating smirk. “Ready?”

  “Yeah. MEDIC!” I shout, trying to sound pained. “Do it,” I nod, bracing. Reaper takes aim and puts three shots into my Kevlar with the banger’s 9mm, knocking the wind out of me as I fall to the ground.

  “See you back at the Compound,” says Reaper as he runs off toward the back door.

  There’s a brief pause, and then a rush of boots fills the surrounding area. I cough, attempting to catch my breath as I lay on the ground at the foot of the stairs, uncomfortably close to Gage’s ever-growing pool of blood.

  “What’s happening?” Bowie asks, rounding the corner at a run, Spartan and Tully hot on his heels. “WHAT THE FUCK!” he shouts, pulling up short when he sees the mess that was once King’s head.

  I roll over, attempting to get my wind back. “The asshole jumped us. We were trying to make sure they didn’t get away,” I say gesturing to Gage and King. “He got King, and another clipped Gage on the stairs…” I say, genuine and false, pain filling my voice, “I got the one who hit King, but the other got lucky with some rounds and ran off.”

  “We’ll get you back, get you patched up,” Spartan says, his voice cold and detached as he looks around our little corner of chaos. “Bowie, grab King. Tully, help me grab Gage and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Well, that went better than expected.

  Chapter 1

  Gage

  The scent of freshly mown grass and dew fill my nose.

  The crunch of carefully maintained pebble walkways sound under my boots.

  Home.

  I’m walking through the gardens of the family estate outside Dublin. Evergreens and junipers fill the air with their heady, rich scent. The smell of rain on the horizon pulls my eyes up, looking to see which direction the wind is blowing and how long it will be until the rain arrives. There, off to the west, maybe an hour away. Getting my bearings, I see a flutter of clothing move past one hedgerow. I find my feet moving to follow without thinking.

  Rounding another corner, I see Mam and my sister Genie sitting under the shade of the gazebo, vines clinging to the trellis in the breeze. The two of them are drinking tea from that silly white porcelain set that has been in the family for generations. They both look up at my approach, smiling at me.

  Something isn’t right.

  They both seem off. Their faces not quite in focus, the surrounding colors seem dull with the soft pastel hues of their clothes almost glaring like neon. Choosing to ignore the unease I feel itching at the edges of my mind, I continue toward them. As I take my third step a sound in the distance draws my attention back the way I came.

  “Gage, come back,” Mam calls after me.

  Mam has never known me as Gage, I don’t think I’ve seen her since I left for University. Why does her voice sound so… different? Lighter. And where’s her accent?

  Time seems to stretch as the world around me slows, fading away to darkness again.

  * * *

  Light teases at my eyelids. Blinking against the stinging brightness, I find myself in the garden again, but now on the patio. There’s singing coming from the house, a woman’s voice. I can’t make out the words, but her song is sweet and sad, filling my heart to the brim with both.

  I didn’t know Genie, and it must be Genie because Mam never sings, or could sing like that. Maybe I should have been home more to see her grow.

  Making my way into the house, I follow the singing toward the kitchen. The smells of fresh oranges and cooking spices float down the hall toward me, getting stronger with each step. I try to call out, but my mouth only lets out a weak groan. The hall seems to stretch and expand, continuing much longer than I ever remember it being.

  I arrive in the kitchen, the singing now sounding like it’s coming from right next to me, but there is no one here; that beautiful song seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. A pool of light pours out from the bottom of the closed pantry door, drawing my attention. I walk up to the door and touch the handle, the singing getting louder and clearer as I near. I open the door, and light fills my vision, a bright painful white.

  * * *

  The incessant, steady beeping of machines keep time to the song being sung by a woman reclining in a chair next to my bed. I squint, trying to get things to come into focus and clear away what feels like a hundred years of crust from my eyes.

  The woman is slouched down in the chair, her head resting back, face tilted up, and eyes closed. A mass of fiery red curls tumbles down the back of the chair, swaying gently back and forth as she sings to herself and bounces her feet where they’re propped on the bed along with the song. Even though her voice is barely above a whisper, I can still hear the unfamiliar melody. Her pale skin almost glows in the gentle light streaming through the window. She looks like one of the Fae from the stories I read to Genie when she was little. Her song ends and the sounds of the machinery fills the room again.

  “Mmm… don’t stop,” I croak out, voice rougher than sandpaper. My throat feels like I swallowed a handful of glass.

  The woman’s head snaps up, her startling green eyes wide when they find mine. I watch as her face morphs from confusion, to shock, before settling on something between a smile and, is that, terror? She lets out a strangled cry and I startle at the sound, leads and tubes jumping in my arms. Attempting to mumble some comfort, I try to sit up but the world swims and spots flash across my vision. I lay back on the pillow, and the Fae is at my side, caressing my face. Looking up at her, I see tears streaming down her cheeks, dripping onto my arm.

  “Don’t cry, gorgeous one,” I try to say, but I’m not sure the words come out right, feeling foreign on my tongue. Watching as the ethereal creature reaches for my hand, wrapping her delicate fingers around mine. Her touch sends a wave of peace through me I can’t explain, sensing that as long as I can have her skin against mine, everything else will be fine. I don’t understand it, but the comfort that simple touch brings is overwhelming against the aches and pains screaming across my body.

  Something about this woman steals what little breath I have and makes every muscle in my body go tense and relax all at once. I can’t make sense of it, but I know I’d rather succumb to that blackness again than ever lose her warmth. All I can do is stare at her and watch the shimmering trails her tears make across the dusting of freckles on her pale cheeks.

  After what could have been an eternity, or a heartbeat, the woman with the fiery h
air reaches up and strokes my face again, lightning shooting through me at the feeling of her delicate fingers against my skin. Resting her fingertips at my temples, she studies me intently for a moment before she traces them down my cheek. I can’t place the look in her eyes. She’s studying me like she’s trying to figure something out. There’s a tentative warmth behind her eyes as she lifts her fingers from my jaw and brings them up to brush some hair from my forehead, the action tender and familiar.

  Still unsure of what to say, all I do is offer her a soft smile. My heart is racing in my too tight chest and my fingers itch for her, to reach out and feel her warmth; anything to keep her touch and eyes on me. I don’t know why, but I’m convinced if I so much as breathe wrong, I’ll scare her off.

  The Fae woman’s eyes soften further, and the corner of her mouth turns up on one side in a tentative smile. She’s still nervous, still unsure, but with each heartbeat that passes her smile grows by ever increasing increments. Her fingers flex gently against my skin as she traces them down from my brow to the line of my jaw, scratching lightly in my beard in yet another strangely familiar action. As if on its own accord, my head tilts toward her hand, resting my cheek into her palm on instinct. There is something so comforting about her touch, it feels so familiar.