Kristen Ashley's Blog - Posts Tagged "1"

This is a short story I wrote and posted in my newsletter last week. But I love it so much, gotta share the goodness. And Goodreads Romance Week is the perfect time to do it!

“He’s Safe in My Hands”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: There are major spoilers of Motorcycle Man and some of the Chaos series books in this short. If you have not read them all, please read on at your own peril!

IMPORTANT! If you’re not 18 years of age, you should NOT be reading this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You lost?”

Shit.

I didn’t know what to do.

Here I was. In the Chaos Compound.

How did I get here?

I mean, even if, in a way, I was always there, I wasn’t supposed to actually be there.

But I’d just walked through the double doors, rounded the bar and there I was.

Smack in the common room of the Compound of the Chaos Motorcycle Club.

And there were the boys.

My boys.

Yowza.

I took them in.

And yep…

I did some serious good with this group.

Serious.

Tack was behind the bar, staring at me and not looking welcoming.

“This is members only, babe. You lost?” Tack semi-repeated, looking less welcoming now that he was also looking impatient.

God, he was hot. Hotter than I could have imagined and he came from my imagination.

“Uh, hey,” I greeted.

Tack sent an irritated look across the bar to the men standing there and so did I (though mine wasn’t irritated seeing as Hop, Shy, Joker, High, Snapper and Hound were standing there—jeez, serious as shit, I was good at making up hot guys).

“You know her?” Tack asked the boys at large.

“Nope,” Hop answered, turning to give me his own irritable look and I gave myself another pat on the back for that mustache. He rocked it.

And the flame tats on his forearms.

Fabulous.

“No,” Joke said.

Holy crap, he had a great beard.

“Negative,” Shy stated.

Okay, those green eyes. Inspired.

“No,” High growled.

Mm. A Chaos boy growling.

Niiiiiice.

Hound just glared at me (also hot) and Snap tipped his head to the side, his brows drawing together like he knew me, he just couldn’t place me (and again, hot).

Those last two probably hadn’t quite forgotten me. We’d spent a lot of time together just recently.

Tack looked back at me. “No offense, it’s important to be politically correct and shit, but are you deaf? Like I said, it’s members only in here.”

“I’m Kristen. Or, uh…Kit,” I introduced myself.

“She’s got a great ass and good hair but I’m not feelin’ some bitch wandering in just ’cause,” Hound grunted toward me but not to me.

“You got no problem with biker groupies wandering in here just because,” High pointed out.

Hound jerked a thumb my way. “She ain’t no biker groupie.”

Now hang on a second.

“I’m totally a biker groupie,” I retorted tartly. “I just rock a different style wardrobe seeing as my skin might catch fire if I wore stone wash.”

Hound narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not my kind of biker groupie.”

“Of course not,” I snapped. “You’re taken.”

His brows came up, then shot down then he scowled at me before turning his scowl toward Tack.

Okay, yeah, uuummmm, if I did say so myself…

I did good with these boys.

“He is?” Joker asked.

“By who?” Hop put in.

I took a step closer to them and when I got all their attention again, I stopped.

Best not to be in close proximity to all that hotness seeing as they were all taken (even though two of them didn’t know it…yet).

“That story’s not been told,” I shared. “Widely,” I added.

“Say what?” Shy demanded.

“I’m Kristen. Kit. Kristen. As in Kristen Ashley. You’re mine.” I did a whirl to indicate them all with my hand. “All mine. I made you.”

They all looked at me before they looked among each other.

I was not surprised when Tack’s back straightened first, his sapphire gaze honed in on me laser sharp then his goatee-surrounded lips murmured, “Well, fuck me.”

I wish.

But first, he was taken. I gave him Tyra.

And second, he was fictional.

Ish.

I mean, he was very, very alive in my mind.

“I thought that Jane chick from Fortnum’s told our stories,” Joker muttered to Hop.

“She’s real, as in worked-in-that-bookstore-down-the-road-but-now-writes-books-full-time real,” Hop muttered back to Joker then tipped his head my way. “This bitch is real.”

Joker looked like he understood.

I’d made the whole thing up and I was kind of confused.

Tack interrupted my confusion.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I just, well…” I took another step forward, stopped, noticed it was coming to them all and being the acute focus of seven members of the Chaos Motorcycle Club was quite an experience, both in good ways and in scary ways. I took another step forward and lifted my arms out to the sides. “I just want to say, you know, sorry. For, uh…all the stuff that’s going to go down soon.”

“Oh shit,” Hop muttered.

“Fuck,” Shy bit out.

Joker looked to the ceiling, High glowered at me but it was Snap who spoke.

“I’m next, yeah?”

I bit my lip.

“Great,” Snapper mumbled, staring at my lip.

“No, no…it’s good,” I assured quickly. “I mean, well, you know…after you get through the bad.”

Snapper started glowering at me.

“You know,” Tack ground out and I turned my attention to him, “Since I got you, just to say, I could have done without you letting Tyra get stabbed a million fucking times. And she really could have done without it.”

“It wasn’t a million times,” I pointed out.

“You ever been stabbed?” he asked.

“Does a slipup with cuticle clippers count?” I asked back, then, at his expression, I admitted, “No. I’ve never been stabbed.”

“One time feels like a million times,” he educated me.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “It just…happened. If it makes you feel any better, you were really awesome in those scenes. Sweet and badass. It was cool.”

He didn’t take compliments well and proved that by his stormy expression and his gravely query of, “Are you shitting me?”

“No,” I answered. “A lot of women fell in love with you.”

“Well, my woman nearly bled out all over the floor,” he returned.

“You had your happily ever after,” I reminded him. “And you’re still having it. Two beautiful boys and you continue to go at each other like teenagers. I mean, right now, I’m imagining the blowjob she gave you last night and…” I lifted both hands, wiggled my fingers at him like I had magic and shouted, “BAM!”

I grinned.

His eyes darkened.

Sweet.

I just gave Tack the memory of a blowjob.

A really good one.

Seems I did have a sort of magic.

Sadly, the memory of the blowjob wore off swiftly, such was the memory of what happened to his woman, which I knew would never wear off.

“She died while I was holding her hand,” Tack reminded me.

“Fortunately, there are really good doctors at Swedish Medical Center and I’m a benevolent creator so she came back to life,” I retorted, not about to correct him that she didn’t actually die. She more like passed out from loss of blood, shock and serious bodily trauma. Tack was already having issues. I didn’t need to remind him of the fullness of those issues.

He didn’t need to be reminded of the fullness.

He appeared to be debating the merits of strangling his creator.

“Yo.”

At the call, I looked to High and when I did, I braced.

His handsome face was soft, his eyes searching.

Oh shit.

“Sorry to hear about Axl,” he said quietly.

My throat closed up.

“Millie was really torn up about it,” he kept at me quietly. “She still is.”

“Me too,” I forced out.

“It was tough, feelin’ you go through that, knowin’ he was sick all those months, you havin’ to wait it out, never knowing when it’d finally be done,” High carried on.

I looked to my feet.

“You took real good care of him, Kit,” he said gently and my gaze lifted again to him. “He knew you loved him. You proved it every minute you had him, babe.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he said low, eyes trained on me.

I pulled it together, but it still came out husky when I asked, “Is Chief good?”

“He’ll be good forever, baby,” High answered. “Forever. Happy and lovin’ on Millie and my girls, bossin’ us all around, rulin’ that roost forever and ever, honey. He’s the baddest ass cat in history and always will be. You know it, yeah?”

Oh, I knew it.

Crap. No way I could talk without losing it.

Time didn’t heal all wounds. There were some losses that, for whatever reason, just persisted in hurting.

And I was finding that losing my baby boy was one of them.

So I just nodded.

“Thanks for givin’ him to us,” he said softly.

“Thank you for taking such good care of him,” I pushed out.

“Forever, Kit,” he whispered. “He’ll be happy and healthy and loved forever, babe.”

My chin was quivering but I managed another nod.

“You give Starla some scratches for us all, yeah?” High ordered.

“Yes, definitely,” I promised, and unh-hunh…more husk in my voice. “And you give Poem and Chief cuddles from me.”

He jerked up his chin. “Definitely.”

“No offense to Poem but,” I swallowed hard, “give some especially to Chief. Will you do that, Logan?” I requested.

“Of course, babe,” he replied with his lips but I only felt better when I saw the promise come from his eyes.

I drew in a ragged breath.

“Jesus, fuck. There’s no crying in the Compound,” Hound announced irritably.

I lifted my own chin and shot him a glare. “I’m not crying.”

He pointed at my face. “Your chin is all wobbly.”

“Jesus, Hound. Her cat died,” Hop clipped. “You’ve met Chief. Chief’s based on her boy. And that cat is the shit.”

“He is the shit,” Hound shot back. “There’s still no crying in the Compound.”

“I’m not crying!” I cried.

Though I was being loud.

And suddenly in need of tequila.

Hound focused again on me. “What’d you put me through?”

“I’m not saying,” I retorted.

“Do I get laid?” he asked.

Does he get laid?

What kind of question was that?

“Yes,” I answered.

“A lot?” he pushed.

“Yes,” I snapped.

“How much is a lot?” He didn’t let up.

“A lot is a lot.”

“A lot may be a lot for you but a lot is a lot for me.”

“Christ, Hound,” High murmured.

“Brother, you got angry sex,” Hound returned to High. “A lot of angry sex. Angry sex fuckin’ rocks.” His gaze swung to me. “Do I get angry sex?”

“Umm…” I mumbled.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “I don’t get angry sex. What kind of sex do I get?”

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” I promised.

“I’ll like a lot of it?”

“God, Hound!” I exclaimed. “I’m me. You’re you. You’re Chaos. So of course you’ll like it and of course you’ll get a lot of it. Yeesh.”

“Is it hot?” he kept at me.

“No, it’s mediocre,” I returned sarcastically.

That got some grins and a Tack chuckle.

Nice all around.

Hound was not amused.

“I’m not sure she can do mediocre,” Joker mumbled to Shy.

“Thank fuck,” Shy mumbled back.

“They better be right,” Hound warned me.

“I’m feeling some rewrites coming on,” I warned back.

Suddenly, his lips split in a shit-eating grin. “You wouldn’t do that to me. You love me.”

“You’re the best of them all, Hound,” I said in all seriousness, and the room got serious with me. “And everyone here knows it.”

And I could tell by the feel…

They did.

“You gonna pull us through whatever you got in store for us?” Tack’s gravel came at me.

“No,” I told him. “You’re gonna pull me through it.” I lifted my hand and poked a finger toward Snapper. “And just sayin’, may your soul be unconquerable.”

Snap’s head twitched, his lips thinned and his gaze grew acute on me.

“They’re gonna need you,” I whispered.

“Damn,” Joker said low, and did it shifting closer to Snapper.

I dropped my hand and turned my attention to Shy. “Take care of Tabby. She’ll recover, she’s got you,” I threw out my arm, “and her family. But it’s gonna be a blow.”

After giving me a close look, Shy bit out, “Goddammit.”

I finally turned to Tack.

“He’s just like his father.”

Tack held my eyes.

“He is selfless,” I declared.

Tack’s gaze bore into mine but I saw his throat move with his swallow.

“And unrelenting,” I went on.

He got me.

He always did.

“You hurt my son—” he started.

“He’s safe in my hands.”

Tack shut his mouth.

I shot him a grin.

“And you’re gonna love his girl.”

Rough Ride, the next Chaos telling the story of Snapper and Rosalie is out as a 1,001 Dark Nights Novella on February 13, 2018. Happy Valentine’s Day from me!

You can find easy buy links right here: I want Chaos!

SPOILERS…beware!

“And Murtagh is just a cat. God works in mysterious and sometimes hideous ways that are still wondrous. He took away Graham Black. But when He did, He left the world with two of him. Jagger and you.”


I knew.

In my book Wild Like the Wind, I knew precisely at that part, when Dutch goes to the mat for Hound and states, “This is about my father and my mother and my dad. And I am my father and my mother but most of all, I’m my dad.” that I had told myself Chaos was winding down. The war had to be over. These men had to ride into the sunset happy and settled.

Soon.

But when Dutch said that in Hound and Keely’s book, I knew I wasn’t done with Chaos.

In fact, I knew I’d probably never be done with Chaos.

And first, I had to go back to the Black Brothers.

See, from the minute Black is mentioned as the brother who was lost during their war, it was like being hit by lightning.

Not like…Whoa! Who is this guy?

But like…This guy is the most important brother in Chaos.

And…

He’s dead.

You might think Tack’s the most important, and maybe he is.

Tack had the vision. He built the strategy. He persevered and led and kept the brothers together, even when they were not all of like minds. He lost his wife to his mission (she wasn’t much of a loss, but straight up, he sacrificed his marriage for the Club). His children suffered because of it.

And they all lost Black.

You also might think Hound’s the most important brother. That quiet man that isn’t quite in the background. He’s always there and he’s the one the leader calls on to do the work no other brother is asked to do—and shoulder the terrible burdens that come with it.

Or for you too, it might be Black.

I don’t know how it is for a reader. If Black seemed nebulous or if you all felt the power of him like I did.

Felt that he was not the kind of man who, when he spoke, people shut up and listened to what he had to say. He was the kind of man who when you spoke, and he was listening, you knew you were heard. He was not the kind of man where he’d walk into a room and all eyes would go to him. He was the kind of the man who walked into the room, and all mouths would smile.

In Wild Like the Wind, when Keely is raging in her grief and sharing with the brothers what she lost in Black, my heart shredded.

How could this woman ever heal?

But for me, more importantly (considering I was writing the book on how she’d heal, or at least come to terms and move on), the question was, how would those boys ever know what a beautiful man their father was?

And that was it.

A loose end I couldn’t let dangle, my heart couldn’t hack it.

All my characters are mine, obviously, but in that moment, it was like Dutch and Jagger sprung from my loins, not my brain.

And later in that book, when they took Hound’s back, I knew they’d have to find their HEAs…

No.

I knew I had to give them their HEAs.

I honestly could not wait to dive into Dutch’s book. I felt his struggle and Georgie had come to me so strong, she was so perfect, I had to dive in. His story flew from my fingers as freely as the tears flowed from my eyes as I traveled with him through the murky bi ways as he searched for his path.

Then there was the moment in that book where Dutch allows the pain of loss to come to the surface, and among other things, he utters this line:

“I remember how long his legs seemed, like they went on for miles, when he lay in bed beside me, reading me a book before I went to sleep.”

And with that…
I.
Was.
Gone.

This one sentence said everything about what kind of father Dutch remembered Black being. How he looked up to him. How he knew he was loved. How he understood how much he was loved.

And the enormity of what, as a five-year-old boy, he lost.

I was so very lucky Georgie came to me as she did. That I had her hands and her heart to give to Dutch to hold him safe.

Of particular note with Georgie, I gotta mention it, when they’re having lunch with Eddie and Hank, and Dutch learns something terrible that shakes him, and everything fades for her. Everything. But Dutch.

In that moment, I was good to go with Georgie.

I could pass guardianship to her.

She had this.

She had him.

My boy.

But that emotional journey made me hesitant to dive into Jagger.

And when I did, he refused to come to me. So stubborn, that guy. Showing himself only in fits and starts, mostly he held himself distant and sent me around the bend.

I got his woman, Archie. I knew her through and through.

But Dutch, who remembers his father, so he knows what he lost was one thing.

Jagger, who never really had him?

Well, we’ll just say when Jag finally opened up to me, the results were not pretty (like, a scene I wrote, one scene, took six hours, and I cried that entire time, I…am not…lying).

And again, thank God for Archie.

But that’s for another blog.

Needless to say, I love these boys. I love them like they’re my own, really my own.

My boys.

Something else I love. They’ve offered me a gateway to more time with my biker brothers. You’ve met (or will meet) Hugger in Dutch’s book, more mentions are to come.

And more stories too, in the Wild West MC Series that’ll mash up three motorcycle clubs in two states.

Now that is for another time.

I’m just here to say that I hope you feel my boys as much as I do. I hope you feel they’re yours just as I feel they’re mine.

And I hope your heart settles as they find their HEAs.

Just as mine has done.

Rock On!