Read If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel for Free Online Page A

to have, the one Ma had envisioned for us, was nothing like the actual life we had after she died. After her motherly, or womanly, little touches faded around the club—which didn’t take long with the copious number of people my dad liked to keep around. Trash, and I mean trashy women. It only took two weeks and almost every member had moved into the compound that used to function as a shelter for abused women on the back of the property behind the club’s Church. The same Church we hold meetings at every Tuesday and Friday night, even now.
    The compound quickly turned into more of a fraternity house than the club house Jacqueline Cain used to use it for barbecues and cookouts during the summer, and football get togethers for the MC in the fall.
    And now?
    Now, quite frankly, it reminds me of some of the most run down bars I’ve ever been in. And I’ve been in some hole in the walls, believe me.
    I pull my bike up along the side of an eighteen-wheeler, and switch down a gear to speed up and get over in front of him. I usually prefer to ride long rides in a group. Not only because it’s safer, but also because it’s makes the ride livelier. I hate that all this shit’s caused so much turmoil in our club—I hate it. I can’t even tell you the last time we rode as a pack together. And I don’t know if it’s because Ilsa looks so much like Ma that this has happened. Or if it’s just history fucking repeating itself again with these two.
     

In the last foster home Eden and I stayed in, we had another kid living with us named Tracy. Tracy’s story, although much sadder than ours, wouldn’t be as sad had the young girl made a few different decisions. Like her proclivity to pickpocket every chance she got. But the girl kept money—which was something I’d been running short on. What with the price of the bus ticket, food and break stops, and any extra supplies I’ve needed? I’m lucky to have the one hundred and seven dollars I had. Well, at least before I picked up Tracy’s little proclivity on the bus ride over to the Big Apple.
    I’m sitting in a bathroom stall when I count my last recovered , okay borrowed, dollar. Over two freaking grand! I somehow accumulated two thousand sixteen dollars between the cat ladies and the freaky looking pervs. I swindled my way into being a thousand-aire. Yeah, I like the sound of that.
    Thousand-aire ain’t bad for a thirteen-year-old kid. Surely I’ll be a millionaire by my twenties , I think as I step from the dirty bus station bathroom, still packed to the gills with my luggage. After glancing at the main signs and deciding which gate to exit out of, I head to my left.
        And I’m not sure if it’s because I’m in shock at the sheer magnitude of my surroundings or what, but I feel like I can barely breathe, much less catch my breath as I take the place in. The size of it alone is baffling. And I’m not sure if it’s because I’m distracted, or maybe they were a whole hell of a lot stealthier than I originally gave them credit for. I usually watch out for things like this to happen, though—that’s all I’m saying.
    Freaking cops.
    I’m in mid-motion, reaching out my hands to push open the double doors exiting the bus station, when suddenly…and I mean suddenly, out of nowhere, I’m being spun around and cuffed by two cops. As big as you please. And I never saw the first one. Not once.
    “Ma’am, we have reports of a girl being seen coming off the bus from Chicago, and she matches your description. She’s being accused of pickpocketing some of the patrons on the bus. Do you know what Miranda rights are, sweetheart?”
    The cold cuffs dig into the skin around my wrists to the point of bruising as soon as he slides them on. Then half a second later, I’m being wrenched off the ground, and my entire body's weight supported by the cop’s hold on the cuffs between my wrists. And then I swear, he yanks as hard as he freaking can.
    I briefly remember