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Authors: Shannon Flagg

All That Matters

BOOK: All That Matters
12.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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All That Matters

Nightshade MC: THREE

 

By:

Shannon Flagg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Freak Circle Press

All That Matters @ Shannon Flagg

2015

All rights reserved

 

Shannon Flagg has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this book under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

Cover design by:

 

Lina Andersson

 

 

 

Other Works:

 

Center City Series:

The Only Witness

The Way Home

 

Nightshade MC Series:

Make It Right

Through The Weeds

 

 

 

Dedication

 

I couldn't do what I do without the wonderful people around me.

This is for those who've always believed in me.

Love you.

 

 

Chapter One

 

Train could see his breath in the air even before he exhaled a stream of smoke from his cigar. He took a healthy swig from the bottle of whiskey he'd brought out onto the porch with him. Why bother with a glass that he'd just have to wash? Fuck that. He shut his eyes and savored the quiet of the night. Quiet nights were good. He loved his Brothers with all that he was, but there were times when he just needed to not have to talk to anyone, to be free to read, play a video game or just sit and think, the way that he was now. Soon it would be too bitterly cold to sit outside and time to put up his bike for the winter. No matter how nice his pickup was, it made him feel like he was trapped inside, even if he drove with the windows down.

 

The wind blew, and he took another gulp from the bottle to fight off the chill. The bottle was getting pretty light. He'd been drinking for the better part of the day. There was another empty bottle inside. He might as well finish this one off. Train debated lighting the joint he'd brought out with him but realized he'd rather get high where it was warm. He got to his feet, stretched his arms out, and dropped the bottle when someone screamed. It took him only a split second to recognize the voice. It was one of those out-of-control kids from down the street. “Joshua, get your ass in this house. Now!” The barked order carried as well. Must have been his mother. It was about time she got off of her ass and shut them up.

 

Train ignored the broken bottle on the porch, it would still be there in the morning, and went inside the house. There were times when he missed his attic apartment at the bar. Hell, he hadn't needed to lift a finger to keep it clean. Pass-arounds had done that, but he had no intention of inviting a pass-around to his home. They'd read something into that. Since he didn't want to stop getting laid, he was shelling out a fuck ton of cash for hotels when he wanted to get off, because going to one of their places would also send the wrong message. He couldn't have that.

 

He took his phone out, contemplated calling Claire, one of his favorite pass-arounds, and having her meet him at a motel, but the thought of having to ride, or drive, to get there wasn't a smart idea. Train knew that he was pretty wasted. Tonight, he'd handle shit himself. He chuckled at his own wit, shut off the kitchen lights and headed upstairs, where his computer, and extensive porn collection, resided in his spare room. It tickled him that he even had a spare room.

 

The space of the house made him like it more than the attic apartment. And it was nice to walk downstairs to get a drink in the middle of the night naked and not have someone get surprised by it. It was nice to walk around and know that there was no one around but him. The upkeep was a lot more work than the attic apartment, but he figured it to be a fair trade. He'd never lived truly on his own before. He liked it.

 

His phone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans. It was nearly midnight; most likely a call at this time indicated there was a problem. “Yeah.”

 

“Open your door. I'm coming up the walkway.” Caroline's voice was a surprise.

 

“What happened?” Train stalked to the door and pulled it open. He hung up the phone at the sight of her with a covered tray of brownies. “Why are you bringing me brownies?”

 

“You're welcome,” Caroline replied with a wink. “And they aren't just any brownies, for your information, they're special brownies.”

“Thank you.” Train took the tray. Caroline had started baking pot brownies for Jillian, and they'd all gotten sort of hooked on them. “Why are you bringing them to me this late?”

 

“My husband is taking me to a midnight movie.”

 

“What movie?” Train asked as he tried to think of what was being released. “Wait, that car thing? With the explosions, tanks and a million other things that would never happen?” He'd rather shoot himself than sit through it and was sure that Buster felt the same. “Poor bastard.”

“Hey! Don't make me take my brownies back.” She did her best to look imposing, which really didn't work very well. He wasn't intimated by her in any way. “We've got room in the truck if you want to come with us.”

 

“Fuck no. And it's too late on the brownies. I've already got 'em and I've got no intention of giving them back. Now get out of here before you miss your movie.” Train felt a little awkward as she stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. “Have fun. Give Buster a hand job or something, he's gonna deserve it watching that shit.” Train laughed when she just shook her head and walked away. He waited until she was back in the truck before he shut the door and attacked the brownies.

 

<#<#<#<#<#

 

Train opened one eye and groaned at the stream of bright sunlight intent on blinding him. Maybe he should have stopped at two brownies. From what he could remember, he'd had four, and he'd found another bottle of whiskey. Brownies and whiskey together were an acquired taste; at least he hadn't thrown them up.

 

He forced his other eye open and looked around the living room. At least he'd made it to his favorite chair. He checked the time and saw that it was just before noon. It didn't matter; he had no place to be. He'd taken a couple of days off from Nightshade Construction to work on the last little details of the house, but that wasn't going to happen today, or at least not any time soon.

 

He needed coffee, aspirin and for the world to stop spinning long enough for him to get something in his stomach to settle it down. In the kitchen, he started the coffee, dry swallowed some aspirin and took out two frozen breakfast sandwiches. He threw them in the microwave and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. It took him under five minutes to shower, brush his teeth and feel a little more human.

 

The sandwiches were done and smelled pretty damn good. Plus, he spotted the tray of brownies next to the television, and there were at least four left. It was going to be a good day. Tomorrow he'd buckle down and do the work that needed to be done. For today, he just wanted a nice day. The sound of glass breaking shattered the calm he'd been enjoying.

 

The source of the broken glass was a baseball which had come to a rest just in front of the couch. Train looked out the window and saw no one, but he knew. He knew just how that ball had come to break up a window he'd actually installed himself. It was those two little shits from down the street. He went upstairs and dressed quickly. He left his cut inside and walked the two houses down in just a black tee shirt.

 

The house the boys lived in looked pretty shitty from the outside. It needed to be painted, shutters needed to be replaced and it looked like the porch roof was going to fall down in the next stiff wind. Train walked up on to the porch, hoped it didn't fall on him because then he was going to be really pissed. He banged his knuckles against the door, then his fists. Finally, the door opened to reveal a pissed-off looking brunette.

 

“Is there a reason you're knocking on my door like the place is on fire or you're a cop?” She was just a few inches shorter than he was, with short dark hair cut in what he thought of as a slut style. It was supposed to look messy, easy to fix after sex. “If you're just going to stand there and stare at me, you should get off my porch.”

 

Train realized that his mind had wandered. “Your boys put a baseball through my front window.” He glared down at her until she shifted uncomfortably. “It's gonna cost me at least four hundred dollars to replace it, not to mention the time it's going to take.” She didn't ask if he was sure that it was them. Instead, she sighed.

 

“You might as well come on in. I'm Meg. The tween terrors are Joshua and Leo.” She shut the door behind him. “Joshua and Leo, get down here. Now.” It took a moment, but the boys did come down the stairs. They looked like they wanted to run right back up at the sight of him. Train grinned at their obvious fear. “You been outside?” Meg demanded.

 

“No, ma'am.” The taller of the two spoke up. “We've been upstairs, finishing our homework so that we can go outside and play.”

 

The little shit was obviously lying through his teeth. Before Train could open his mouth to point that out, the woman spoke again. “Really? If you're going to lie at least try and make it reasonable. Who threw the ball?” Neither boy spoke, and part of Train had to admire that. “Well, if that's how you want to play it, you can both go upstairs and get the money you're saving for that new game system. Go. Now!” She turned to Train, sighed again. “I'm sorry about your window. I'm sure that what they have isn't all the money. I can get you the rest at the end of the week when I get paid.”

 

Train had come over spoiling for a fight, expecting for her to defend the kids and say they didn't do it, so he could go off about all they did, all she let them do, but she hadn't. Obviously, even she knew that her kids were badasses. “The end of the week is fine. Just try and keep a leash on them. I'm sick of hearing 'em screeching all hours of the night.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“You deaf? You don't hear them out there?” Train asked. He was ready to give her a whole list of their transgressions but stopped at the look on her face.

 

“At night? No. I don't hear them at night. At night I'm at work and their father is supposed to be...” She stopped, sucked in a deep breath. “And you don't care about any of that. Don't worry. They're not going to be roaming the streets anymore. Boys!”

Train knew anger when he heard it. He could see it on her face, too, with the way her eyes narrowed. She began to tap her foot, and she had her hand on her hip; it was a nice hip. Her curves were obvious under the leggings and tee shirt she was wearing. She was curvier than the women he normally went with, thicker around the thighs and hips, but it was a nice thickness. Her tits were outstanding, he could see that even through the somewhat baggy shirt. He realized his gaze was focused on her ass when he felt his cock stiffen in his pants.

BOOK: All That Matters
12.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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