Sons of War MC Read online

  Grace had never experienced an orgasm so intense. She began to sob, overcome by emotion. Landon held her against his chest and stroked her hair.

  Neither one of them spoke.

  When Grace awoke, Landon was gone.

  The couch was cold as the early morning rays casted a yellow tinge on the walls of his trailer. Never had a place seemed so abandoned. So barren. The sound of bubbling coffee from the kitchen offered her a bit of comfort, but not much.

  Landon was nowhere to be found. Grace looked out the window and didn’t spot his bike. She got dressed and tidied herself, entering his kitchen to look for a note, but there wasn’t one. She grabbed a mug from a cabinet but it slipped from her grasp and shattered into innumerable pieces into the sink.

  “Dammit,” she cursed, looking down at the alarm clock on her phone.

  7:00 A.M.

  Shit.

  Her kids would be up soon. She would have to pay her babysitter for an entire night’s stay.

  Never mind how she would explain to Miller where she had been all night. He usually slept at the SOW clubhouse after a long night of partying.

  All Grace could hope was that she made it home before he did.

  She reached down to pick up the pieces of broken ceramic and sliced her finger on a jagged edge.

  “Dammit!” she yelled, reaching for a rag.

  Nothing was going right. Maybe, she figured, this was just her karma. She watched in shock as a trickle of red oozed from her ring finger, taunting her. She searched the trailer for a first aid kit but couldn’t find one.

  Grace sucked in a deep breath and willed herself not to panic. A makeshift bandage was made out of paper towel and tape. It wasn’t much, but she figured it would hold her over until she made it home.

  With a sigh, she grabbed another mug and poured herself some coffee, drinking it black. She stared at a plate of untouched food on the table in front of her. Wherever Landon had went, he had left in a hurry.

  Or maybe he just simply couldn’t bring himself to face her.

  Chapter Eight

  Grace tip-toed into the house as quietly as she could manage and shut the door lightly behind herself. Miller’s Bonneville wasn’t in the driveway. She had made it home in the knick of time.

  “Mom?”

  Dammit.

  Grace turned around and came face to face with Lily. She was still wearing her pajamas and stared at her mother, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

  “What’s going on?” she questioned with a frown.

  Grace swallowed hard and pulled herself together. She embraced her daughter, running a hand over her curly brown hair.

  It would need to be cut soon.

  “Everything is just fine,” Grace assured her. “It’s nothing you need to be worried about sweetheart.”

  Grace stepped into the kitchen and smiled at her babysitter, a teenage girl from the neighborhood named Angela. She sat at Grace’s kitchen table reading a magazine and looked up when she entered.

  Grace handed her two wrinkled twenty dollar bills and thanked her for staying longer than usual. She left through the backdoor, crossing over the unmowed lawn to her own house.

  Lily took a seat at the kitchen table and knit her eyebrows together in thought.

  “Why are you bleeding?” she questioned.

  Grace looked down, remembering the cut on her hand. She stood up and grabbed the first aid kit from above the fridge and took off her makeshift Band-Aid, replacing it with a real one. Then, she slumped into a chair beside her daughter.

  “I just cut myself gardening honey, that’s all.”

  Lily didn’t seem entirely convinced but she finished her cereal and ran into the other room, sliding down in front of the television next to her siblings just as her Saturday morning cartoons came back from commercial.

  Grace collected herself and stood up. She ran the tap over the pile of dirty dishes left behind from the previous night’s supper. She had left to Landon’s in a hurry before she could clean them; a spur of the moment decision she was starting to regret.

  Midway through drying the dishes, Grace was interrupted by Henry. He was her middle child and the most rambunctious and imaginative of all three.

  “Ma! I need help!”

  Grace turned around and dried her hands with a rag that hung from the sink.

  “Henry? What are you yelling about this time?”

  “I got shot!” he exclaimed, panting.

  “They shot me right through the back!”

  Grace sighed and bent down to look her son in the eye. She was used to this charade but it still worried her.

  “Who is they, Henry?” she asked, taking his hands in hers.

  Henry paced, throwing his arms in the air. He adjusted the oversized helmet Miller had given him to play with on his head. He looked like a much smaller version of his father.

  “The Taliban! They came right up and shot me!” Henry gasped.

  Grace had heard enough. She gripped him by the arms in an attempt to slow him down.

  “Henry,” she said evenly. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re safe. You’re not in any danger of being attacked by the Taliban.”

  “None of us are,” she said loud enough for Lily to hear her. “Now I want this type of talk to stop, do you hear me?”

  “Yes ma,” Lily called over the sound of the TV.

  Henry nodded and bowed his head, sliding off his helmet. Grace kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his hair, turning her attention back to the dishes.

  She was sick of thinking about the war. Sick of hearing about it every time she turned on the news. It already engulfed every aspect of her life and now, Miller was going in for seconds. She sighed and shook her head, taking a brief moment to calm her nerves.

  “Where did daddy go?” Henry questioned, taking a seat beside his sister in front of the TV.

  Grace swallowed hard.

  She wasn’t ready to tell them just yet.

  No.

  This was Miller’s doing.

  She’d leave the burden on him.

  “He just went to the clubhouse for a meeting sweetheart,” Grace lied. “He’ll be back soon.”

  When Miller arrived home that afternoon, he smelled heavily of whiskey and was angry as a hornet. Grace could see it on his face before he climbed off his bike. She escorted the children into their rooms despite their protests and told them to keep quiet no matter what.

  She had seen what Miller could do when he was in a state like this and it wasn’t pretty. She couldn’t risk their children being in his line of fire when he exploded.

  Grace cowered near the stairs as he entered the house and shrugged off his jacket. He hung it up beside the door and loosened his tie.

  “Hi honey,” Grace said nervously. “How did it go?”

  Miller turned to look at his wife, his dark eyes bloodshot and mean as he folded his sleeves up his arms.

  Grace swallowed hard.

  That was never a good sign.

  “What did you tell them?” he snapped, taking a few careful steps towards her.

  Grace could spell the whiskey and perfume on Miller’s clothing. Neither scent surprised her.

  In a flash Miller was in front of her. He wrapped his large hands around Grace’s throat. She choked and sputtered, balling her hands into fists. He loosened his grip and pushed her backwards. She collapsed against the stairs, busting open her lip on the railing.

  “Miller, please calm down,” Grace begged, keeping her voice low as she licked blood. “The children can hear you.”

  Tears surfaced in her blue eyes but that only made Miller angrier. He kicked Grace in the stomach, once, then twice. A low groan escaped her throat. She tried to climb up the stairs but he pulled her back by her ponytail.

  He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, digging his nails into her flesh as he tossed her against the wall. She whimpered, cringing at the searing pain that shot through her arm. He shook her without any mercy, reaching b
ack up to cup her throat with one sweaty hand. He rubbed his thumbs along her chin and chuckled at her frightened demeanor.

  Disgusted, Grace closed her eyes and held her breath, hoping that the storm would soon pass.

  This was hardly the first time Miller had laid his hands on her since he had arrived back from duty, but it was definitely the worst. Grace struggled to remain conscious as he beat her. Both of her eyes were bruised and swollen. Blood ran from her nostrils, mixing with the blood on her lip.

  All the while, she begged Miller to stop and tried to claw her way up the stairs. He crowed over her, gripping her even tighter. His metal belt buckle pressed uncomfortably against her skin.

  “Where do you think you’re going bitch?” he yelled, his loving demeanor nowhere to be found.

  He delivered a stiff uppercut to his wife’s face, demanding answers to questions Grace didn’t understand. When he had finally had enough he tossed her to the ground like a rag doll.

  “I know you told them about my so called PTSD,” he growled.

  Grace shook her head. She hadn’t told anyone anything. The recruiting agents must have figured it out themselves.

  It wasn’t like Miller was good at masking it.

  “I didn’t,” Grace choked out in desperation. Her throat began to close off her air supply as she panicked. “I promise. I didn’t.”

  Miller hesitated. He pressed a bloody hand against the wall and patted the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his pack of smokes and lighting one.

  “Well,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “I’m sure you’re happy. They aren’t letting me come back.”

  Grace spit blood and contemplated what he was saying. The last thing she was right now was happy.

  “Get yourself cleaned up,” Miller said, stepping over her.

  He retired to the kitchen and unwrapped the breakfast Grace had left for him atop the stove, sticking it in the microwave with a loud beep.

  Grace staggered to her feet and gripped her ribcage, pulling herself up the stairs and into the bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. She shut the door and locked it, taking a somber look at herself in the mirror.

  She looked brutal.

  There was no way a little extra foundation would cover up the number Miller had done on her this time.

  A soft patter on the door tore her from her thoughts.

  Grace hesitated.

  She didn’t want her children to see her. Not like this. She reached out to stop the door from opening as the knob wiggled.

  “Mom?”

  “Lily, momma is fine,” Grace called through the door, her voice shaking. “Daddy and I just had a little disagreement that’s all, go back into your room. It’s nap time. I’ll be in soon. And tell your brother and sister that everything is alright.”

  Lily obeyed.

  Grace turned on the tap, splashing water on her face. She had to get away for a few days. At least until her face healed. She tip-toed into her bedroom and pulled her cellphone from her purse, dialing her sisters number. Angie picked up on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” Grace whispered, keeping her voice low. “Look, I need a favor. I can’t explain now. Can I come over?”

  “Is everything alright?” Angie questioned.

  Her voice was laced heavily with worry.

  Grace reached inside her dresser for a change of clothing and stuffed it inside her purse.

  “Please just say yes,” she continued. “I’ll explain everything when I get there. I promise.”

  “Of course,” Angie relented. “Come on over. Steven is out of town on business.”

  Grace let out a sigh of relief.

  She didn’t want to have to explain her battered appearance to her sister’s husband of twelve years. It would bring out the knight in shining armor in him. He would want to kill Miller, and Grace didn’t feel strong enough to deal with that. Not now. She thanked her Angie and hung up the phone, entering her children’s bedrooms and kissed each one of them goodnight. She made sure their rooms were dark so that they couldn’t see her face and she didn’t tell them that she was leaving.

  Downstairs, Grace left a quickly scribbled note for Miller on the kitchen counter. She told him that she was going to her sisters for a few days and that she would be back soon.

  He was passed out and snoring on the couch.

  When he awoke, he would almost certainly have no recollection of the physical and verbal abuse he had evoked upon his wife.

  He never did.

  Chapter Nine

  When Grace arrived at Angie’s house, Angie rushed out onto the front porch and escorted her inside. She began to sob the moment she saw her younger sister’s appearance in the light. Grace went limp in her arms, dropping her bag to the floor as her chest heaved and snot ran from her nose. She didn’t have to explain what happened.

  Angie just knew.

  She cleaned Grace up without asking any questions and set down a hot mug of tea in front of her on the table.

  Grace trailed a chipped red fingernail along the edge of the cup.

  “You know, it’s times like this that I wish that damn war had never happened,” she whispered, taking a sip.

  “He’s never sober. When he’s not taking his anger out on me, he’s snapping on the kids. And Henry! He won’t stop talking about the damn Taliban,” Grace shook her head and rested her bruised face in her hands.

  “I’m surprised Miller hasn’t hit him yet,” she added softly.

  Angie furrowed her brows.

  “Do you think he would do that?” she interjected.

  Grace didn’t answer.

  Angie pushed her further and stood to her feet.

  “Grace, if any part of you thinks he would lay a hand on any of those kids we need to go get—”

  “No,” Grace interrupted, shaking her head.

  He had no reason to hurt the children when he had her to use as his own personal punching bag.

  He loved them.

  “It’s just that he’s changed is all. Since he’s come back. He’s just cold...it’s like he’s running on autopilot.”

  Her voice faded into a whisper. She took another long drink of tea, avoiding eye contact with her older sister.

  “He went through a lot out there. He almost died.”

  She was sick of making excuses for him but it was true. The man who had come home to her and the kids wasn’t the same man who left.

  “I can’t explain it,” Grace finished.

  Angie stared at her, unsure of what to say. The phone rang and she stood to her feet to answer it.

  “Hello?” Angie questioned, holding the receiver to her ear. She rolled her eyes and sighed, looking over at Grace. “It’s him,” she mouthed.

  Grace bit down on her bottom lip and stood unsteadily to her feet.

  “What do you want?” Angie sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tone made it evident that she wasn’t happy. Grace pulled herself up on the edge of the counter and pressed her ear against the receiver to listen. She began to count the wrinkles on her knuckles, a nervous habit she had picked up as a child.

  “Is Grace there?” Miller demanded, his voice strained.

  He had sobered up and sounded like a wounded puppy on the other end of the line.

  It was his usual routine.

  Angie and Grace exchanged a look.

  “Yeah she’s here,” Angie answered evenly, standing her ground. Miller begged for her to put Grace on the line, but she stood her ground and refused to budge. She was stubborn to a fault, but more diligent and protective than anything. They were qualities Grace had always admired in her sister.

  It was a shame that she was infertile.

  She would make a great mother.

  “Hell no,” Angie sneered into the phone. “You can’t talk to her. Not after what you did to her.”

  With that, she told Miller to take care of the children for a few days until Grace felt ready and safe enough to come home.
She also threatened to call the cops if he called again.

  “Fine,” Miller said into the receiver before hanging up. Angie smiled at her success and slid the phone back into the docket on the wall.

  Grace’s heart raced.

  Angie led her back to the table and assured her that everything would be alright. Grace almost felt inclined to believe her but the sinking feeling in her stomach told her that it wouldn’t be. As long as she stayed with Miller the cycle would continue.

  Her eyes stung, but she wasn’t sure whether it was from anger or her injuries. She took a moment to think about her children. A cool breeze floated through a crack in the kitchen window.

  Winter was coming and with it, expensive obligations. The kids would be needing new snow gear, the furnace was still in dire need of a repair, and Christmas was another worry entirely. They just didn’t have the money for any of it.

  Hell, they could barely make ends meet.

  Miller had been out of work since he returned from duty, unable to stay sober long enough to hold a job. He spent all of his free time at the SOW clubhouse, getting piss faced with Landon and the rest of the boys. In return, Grace and the kids were left neglected.

  Not only was Miller abusive to his wife but he had become the worst kind of absentee father. The kind who was physically there but mentally and emotionally gone.

  And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, the meager Veteran’s check that came in the mail for him every month like clockwork just wasn’t cutting it anymore. It wasn’t enough to support a family of five. Grace pulled her sweater tighter around herself and winched at the sharp pain that seared through her ribcage.

  “You alright?” Angie questioned.

  Grace nodded.

  “I’m fine, just thinking is all.”

  She took another drink of tea and looked up at her sister. They were so much alike and yet so different. Like alternate versions of the same picture. Angie was professional and distinguished, having kept her dignity despite the fact that she couldn’t have children.

  Meanwhile, Grace had a whole litter of them and could barely keep her life in order long enough to string two thoughts together.