Lion Read online

  Jessie Cooke

  Redline Publishing

  About this Book

  Edition #2: November 2019

  The Skulls Books are about the Skulls clubs, its members, and non-members who influence Skulls life.

  Sometimes a story will be about a specific member of the club and other times about a person who is not a patched member, but is connected in some way to the Skulls club life, and who may or may not become patched in a later story.

  It’s all about giving you the Stories of the Skulls which is much more than just its patched members.

  This gives me a lot more scope to write the stories that I want to share with you.

  Ensuring you have the Latest Edition.

  At the top of this page is the edition number for this book. You can check on my website www.jessiecooke.com to see whether you have the latest edition, and if you have an earlier edition of any book or collection, you can contact Amazon support and ask them to send you the latest version.

  Why do I do this?

  So you always have the opportunity to have the best version of any story, whether it has been updated for some late editing changes, or because the story details have changed slightly to clarify content that might be confusing readers.

  I’m always trying to present the best reading experience and if that means updating a book, that’s what I will do.

  I hope you enjoy this book,

  Jessie.

  Contents

  Don’t Miss Out

  Description

  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

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

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  Description

  The man all of Boston loves to hate, his beautiful daughter and a sad, lonely biker come together in this explosive tale of secrets and lies, respect, betrayal, and complicated adult relationships. They all have a lot to learn about love, but first they’ll have to learn a lot about each other, and forgiveness.

  When Madison first met Lion, the incredibly hot muscular biker, she couldn’t deny how badly she wanted him or how strangely connected she felt toward him. But most of all, Madison was unable to deny that he was the most rude, insufferable introvert that she’d ever met, and that he was not at all interested in anything she had to offer.

  When Lion met Madison he tried to deny his desire for the doe-eyed beauty, and the strange connection he felt toward her. Lion had spent so much of his life alone. He had lost all the people he’d loved the most and he had no reason to believe that Madison would be any different…especially since she was the daughter of the man who had hurt him most in life, a man he was sure he could never forgive.

  Grant “Hawk” Benning gave up one of his kidneys for his daughter when she was two years old. He was at Lion’s mother’s side the day the boy was born. Hawk loved them both but he lived his life in a way that most people didn’t understand, and he found out the hard way that sticking around for either one of them was going to be easier said than done. When Hawk gets a second chance to bond with his daughter, he grasps it with both hands. But secrets from his past and even those in his present just won’t stay buried…no matter how hard he tries.

  While Lion and Madison grapple with their feelings for each other and Hawk struggles to keep the past at bay, an old enemy returns to stalk Lion and one fateful night will bring twenty-two years of pain, suffering and anger to a head. The fallout will reach far and wide, and it will be one that none of them may survive.

  Prologue

  Boston, 1997

  The shadows of the two teenagers danced off the walls of the rotting wooden planks as shafts of the last light of day streamed through the jagged gaps in the wood. The place was crudely built with what looked like recycled materials that had not been “gently” used. The floor was dirt, and tufts of dust swirled around their feet and up onto the crudely built desk, sitting at an angle, held up by the wall. The top of the desk was covered with a dusty old sheet, and Linc, the ringleader of the trespassing duo, lifted it up and snorted out a laugh.

  “Told you this fucker was as messed up as the old lady.”

  Walt looked over his friend’s shoulder. Walt was much bigger than Linc…but that hadn’t kept Linc from being the dominant personality since the day they met in the fourth grade. Walt’s mother spent years kindly telling her son he was just a “big boy.” But the kids at school had been calling him things like “Whale” and “Pig” since he was five years old. Walt also knew he wasn’t smart. He barely held onto passing grades at school, and sometimes suspected the teachers just passed him because they were tired of having to look at him. He was fat, stupid, and ugly, and Linc was the only person who was willing to be friends with him. Of course, Linc told him daily that he was fat, stupid, and ugly, and Walt wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t know their “friendship” was about Linc’s dominance and control…but somehow that was better than absolute loneliness and despair.

  “They’re not bad,” Walt said, without thinking. Linc turned quickly and slapped his big friend on the side of the head. He had to reach up to do it. Walt towered over him and outweighed him by at least forty pounds, but Lincoln O’Leary was not the least bit afraid that Walt would be stupid enough to hit him back.

  “They’re pictures of men. I told you he was a pussy.” Walt glanced down at the drawings on the table again. They were drawings of men and motorcycles. Some of the men looked familiar and Walt recognized the Skulls emblem. He’d lived in South Boston his entire sixteen years of life, so he knew full well who the Skulls were. He wondered if the artist knew them. He was still admiring how detailed the sketches were when Linc used his arm and wiped the drawings off the desk and down onto the dirt floor. Papers and charcoal pencils flew around the tiny room and Walt swallowed hard when Linc chuckled and said, “Lots of kindling.”

  Walt knew before they’d walked the six miles from Walt’s house out to the isolated property that evening what his friend had in mind. He knew Linc…knew him well, but he’d still been hoping that his friend wouldn’t be able to go through with it, or that something else would come up to stop him. But Walt knew now that wasn’t going to happen. Linc had pulled a glass bottle out of the backpack he was wearing, and he popped open the latched, ceramic top. It was the kind of bottle that Walt’s uncles sometimes used to store their moonshine in. Walt had been the one to steal it out of their garage at home and bring it to Linc…who filled it up with kerosene.

  Linc smiled while he generously poured the kerosene all over the papers on the floor, splashed some against the dilapidated walls, and sprinkled what was left across the crooked little desk and stool. With eyes watering from the fumes, Linc turned to Walt and said, “Out the door.” Walt backed outside, looking around to make sure they were
still alone. As much as he was terrified of getting caught…he almost wished they would be, so this would end.

  Linc followed him out, grasping a handful of the kerosene-drenched drawings off the floor on his way. He shoved them in Walt’s direction and said, “Light her up.”

  Linc had been intent from the beginning that Walt be the one to light the fire. Linc told him to bring a lighter, and he also told him, “Just you wait, lighting that fire is going to make you feel like a powerful son of a bitch.” So far, Walt just felt sick.

  “Linc, are you sure about this?”

  “Are you wimping out on me? It’s not like anyone’s in there, you stupid fuck. This motherfucker and that old lady both need to be taken down a peg or two. They need to remember they’re nothing but white trash and they can’t go around breaking up families. Now fucking do it!”

  Walt looked over toward the house. There was a garden between the little shed and the back porch of the little white house. Small windows dotted both sides of the red door in the center, and light wafted out from them both. Walt didn’t mind so much burning down the shed…he supposed he could see why Linc hated them so much. But he did worry about the fire spreading to the house. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt…not like that.

  “Fucking do it!” Linc said, through his teeth. Walt knew if he didn’t do it, Linc would. Either way the shed would burn and if Walt didn’t take part, Linc would whoop his ass later. He slid his shaking hand in his pocket and pulled out the lighter he’d stolen from his mother earlier that day, and then took the papers from Linc. Grateful for his long arms, he held the papers out in front of him as far as he could, and he lit one corner. For a second the dancing and twirling of the blue and orange flames mesmerized him. It was only when he realized that the tips of his fingers were burning and his face felt like it was melting that he knew he was on fire. “Throw it, fucktard!” Linc yelled. He was already running away, toward the dense line of trees that surrounded the property. With a yelp of pain, Walt tossed the papers through the doorway of the little shed…and the drawings on the floor were instantly engulfed in flames that licked at and tried to climb up the walls. A wild surge of heat that burned through Walt’s body caused him to take off running. Linc was so far ahead of him that he’d never catch up, but Walt continued to run, faster than his pudgy legs had ever taken him before.

  1

  Boston, April 1987

  The little boy sat in the big chair, his feet not even touching the floor. His hair hung down over his eyes and there was blood dried on his chin. His little fists were clenched against his thighs and his six-year-old knuckles already scarred from all the times he’d used them. To Mr. English, the principal of his school, he looked like a wild animal…pushed into a corner and about to pounce.

  “Ridge, this is the fifth time this year you’ve been in this office…for the same thing.” Ridge didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink. He kept his eyes, at least the one English could see, trained on his principal’s face. The older man pushed on. “I told you the last time that we can’t keep tolerating this. Something has to change. I’ve tried everything I can think of and obviously, nothing is working. Maybe if you’d talk to me, and tell me why you find it necessary to fight?” Ridge still didn’t speak. English knew he wouldn’t. He also knew exactly why Ridge was always fighting and it was why the principal hadn’t expelled the child yet. Ridge was being bullied, but no matter how many times the teacher and the principal had told him to report it to them rather than use his fists, he wouldn’t do it. If not for the other children, the grown-ups wouldn’t have any idea it was happening. The six-year-old first-grader refused to tattle, or snitch on anyone. He preferred to handle it himself, too much like a grown man in Principal English’s opinion. “Since you won’t talk to me, Ridge, or your teacher, I’ve called someone else in. I’m hoping you’ll talk to her and let her help you.”

  The one green eye looking out from behind the strands of soft blond hair narrowed on the older man’s face. Mr. English had dealt with more than his fair share of hard cases. Before becoming the principal of a grade school in one of the toughest areas of Boston, he’d worked as vice principal at the high school in the same area. He thought handling the younger kids would be less stressful, and he’d been right, up to a point. Ridge was a case all his own, however, and one that Paul English had lost more than one night of sleep over.

  The boy made his chest ache. At six and a half years old, he was angrier than any full-grown man that Paul English had ever met. It was written on his little face and in those haunted green eyes. Ridge’s story was heartbreaking, and his anger understandable. Ridge’s mother and his father had died on the same day. His father murdered his mother and was fatally shot at the scene. That would have been bad enough, if Ridge hadn’t been present in the home when it happened. Now Ridge lived in that very home still, with his grandmother…and Kate Lawson was a case in herself.

  Paul English had known Kate Lawson for close to twenty years, and in his opinion the woman was a few bricks short of a load. He didn’t like to judge people, but Kate Lawson saw herself as a clairvoyant or a witch or something, and had no qualms about walking around town, chanting and murmuring crazy things. He had been surprised when he learned she had custody of the boy. She wasn’t a bad person, always sweet and kind when he talked to her. Ridge was always clean and he was well-fed. His clothes weren’t name-brand or even brand new, but they were as sufficient as all of the other students’. His hard work at school also had to speak toward Kate’s at least trying…but there was no denying that his emotional needs simply were not being addressed. Each one of Ridge’s fights had gotten slightly more violent than the last and when English tried talking to Kate about it, he couldn’t be sure how much of what he was saying was even penetrating. Kate always sat there, nodding as he talked, with traces of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. English had tried, but he knew in his heart that he couldn’t fix this, and if someone didn’t, Ridge would probably be in jail…or worse…by the time he reached his teens. Paul English told himself that was his only reason for pursuing this, but deep down he knew that a big part of why Ridge’s situation kept him awake at night was the fact that he felt guilty for not doing enough to save Ridge’s mother Dolly before it was too late.

  This time, Ridge had assaulted a fifth grader on the playground. That kid was more than twice the little boy’s size…but when Principal English saw the other child last, he was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. What kind of six-year-old child does that kind of damage? He thought about Ridge’s poor mother again. He remembered Dolly as a quiet, confused girl. She was teased almost mercilessly…but she didn’t fight back the way that Ridge did…of course Dolly’s situation was different. Ridge’s mother had her own personal bodyguard in those days. When Paul English heard that she’d been murdered, his heart was broken, but he wasn’t surprised. Now each time he saw her son, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d done something more for Dolly, things would have been different for them all.

  When he agonized over it sometimes, he’d talk to his wife, who had been a teacher for thirty years. She always wanted to defend her husband and make him feel better. She would remind him that things had been different back then. In the late sixties and early seventies, Children’s Services was just being established and no one really knew what it was for, or how it worked. He knew she was only being kind. There had to have been more he, or some other adult, could have done. Dolly was lost. She’d slipped through all the cracks…but it wasn’t too late for Ridge, and he was desperate to make amends by helping this lost little boy.

  Mr. English picked up a roll of Tums off his desk and popped two of them in his mouth. He wanted to hope that if Children’s Services took Ridge from his grandmother, that one day the boy would look back and know it had been the right thing. English had spoken to Kate on the phone before he called Children’s Services, out of earshot of the boy. He told her he was calling them and invited her d
own to speak with the social worker. At first, he didn’t think Kate fully understood what he was suggesting…that maybe she couldn’t care for the boy appropriately. But the longer the conversation went on, it seemed to sink in to her that there was a possibility she’d lose Ridge, and by the time she hung up the phone…in the middle of their conversation…she was sobbing. As he remembered the pitiful sounds of her sobs, the principal popped two more Tums in his mouth and looked back over at Ridge.

  The boy still hadn’t uttered a word, but that wasn’t surprising. Ridge rarely spoke and if it wasn’t for his teacher’s assuring him that Ridge’s academic performance wasn’t just good for a first-grade student, it was remarkable, he might believe that the boy was mentally impaired. Of course, from what he remembered of Dolly, she hadn’t been much of a talker either. She’d been teased and bullied, he remembered that, and even though Ridge wouldn’t admit it, he knew the boy was going through the same. Paul ate another Tums. Dolly’s bodyguard had been another hard case that English couldn’t save and after thirty years at his job, the list just kept getting longer.