Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(3)

And their personalities were even less alike; Kim was mayor of Kingdom,  and she had a good deal of tact, a rational mind, and a careful, quiet  way about her. Ricky was a journalist who didn't shy away from speaking  her mind, regardless of the circumstances; her vernacular was far more  colorful than Kim's, too. She could be scatter-brained, was prone to  losing things, listened to music at volumes that would lead to tinnitus,  and was far more interested in poetry than politics. Damon liked them  both equally, thought they were perfect matches for his brothers.

Kennick, the rom baro, benefitted from Kim's own leadership skills and  business-oriented attitude, and vice-versa. He might not look like he  was groomed to lead, with his long brown hair constantly looking tousled  and his reddish beard often grown out past the time it needed trimming,  but he was an excellent adjudicator, and he always put the kumpania  before himself - except, perhaps, when it involved his wife.

The people trusted him, and for good reason. His presence invited  openness, honesty, and instilled confidence. It was all a result of  being trained for the position from the moment he was born: as the  eldest son of Pieter Volanis, the former rom baro, Kennick had always  known his fate, and never tried to fight it.         

     



 

By contrast, Cristov was the youngest brother, and though he was bigger  in stature than Kennick, he was far less restrained and way more  volatile. His light blonde hair and clean-shaven face made him the most  traditionally attractive of the brothers, but he'd always been the  loneliest, too. Until Ricky. Damon had worried that the girl, who seemed  to have even more screws loose than Cristov, would bring his brother  down. Instead, they seemed to balance each other out, both of them able  to save the other before things ever got too far.

Theirs was a tumultuous relationship, for sure, but they thrived on  that. And it was good for Cristov to have a woman to spend his time  with; he'd been in charge of the marijuana growing and sales until they  decided to shut the business down for good. Now, Cristov spent more time  at his tattoo parlor, which was gaining more popularity by the week,  and at Ricky's apartment.

As for Damon? He didn't envy his brothers their happy relationships. He  had his own feelings about women and love. Women who attracted him  –   really, truly attracted him  –  were few and far between. He had always  been the stoic brother, the careful one, the controlled one. He was the  one who Kennick went to for guidance when things were particularly  bleak. Before Ricky, he was the one everyone trusted to pull Cristov  back from the brink.

The strong silent type  –  though he wasn't really that silent, just  careful with his words. He was strong, though, there was no mistaking  that. He'd been fighting since he was old enough to be taken seriously  in the underground betting circles; his name was fairly respected among  the lawless, violent, bloodthirsty crowds of basement brawling. Scars  decorated him like badges of honor, his knuckles forever swathed in red.  He was big, and he was brawny, an intimidating sight to anyone unlucky  enough to end up on the opposite side of a ring from him.

But unlike many of his opponents and cohorts, he didn't live his whole  life like it was one big fight, or one big after party. He wasn't much  of a drinker, didn't care for drugs, and didn't blow his money on women.  He went to the movies. He played guitar. He spent a lot of time alone.

He didn't let his desires get the better of him, and he didn't waste  time on women that he wasn't sure about. Years of cultivating this had  left him an exceptional judge of character. The last woman who'd shook  him, made him look twice, had been Tricia Garland. And she'd left town,  for obvious reasons.

But he could remember every inch of her, from the few times he'd seen  her. Her tanned skin, her tall, bountiful body, her hair like honey and  her eyes warm and golden. Her hair had been so straight, her body that  perfect ratio; she looked like she walked off the set of Easy Rider, or  some other 70's classic. He could see her in hip-huggers and a  tight-fitting striped, collared shirt, sunglasses like Twiggy and her  sandy skin glowing. Her face was clearly made for smiling, and he could  spend hours remembering how her button nose scrunched when she laughed.

He'd dreamed about her plenty. Thought about her plenty. She wouldn't leave him alone, even when she was miles and miles away.

And, according to Mina, the youngest Volanis sibling and the only girl,  she was coming back to Kingdom. Mina had told him this after hearing the  news from Ricky, with whom Mina had struck an unlikely but fast  friendship. Mina was only 18, but she was wise beyond her years, and  though she and Ricky had clashed in the past, they wound up bonding over  their shared inability to cook and love for bad mystery novels.

The fact that this news had trickled down to Damon through Mina, instead  of his brothers, was a matter that bore some rumination. Damon knew  that he'd lost a lot of his brother's trust and respect in the past  year. He'd been doping the whole time the kumpania was under siege by  the biker gang, using steroids to try and halt the aging process in his  well-used fighter's body. He'd been erratic, angry, acting  spontaneously, without thought; none of his trademark characteristics.

He'd stopped using, but it was too late. He'd lost something precious and fragile between himself and his family.

And he was on track to lose even more. Things had been strained for a  while. He was still keeping secrets. They were beginning to wear him  down. And everyone knew it. The family was suffering for it.

So no wonder Cristov and Kennick hadn't told him about Tricia. They  probably didn't want him to have anything to do with her. They probably  thought he didn't deserve her. That she wouldn't be safe with him … or he  wouldn't be safe with her. Even though he'd already killed for her.

In fact, he realized with sad surprise, this was the first time in a  long time that all four Volanis siblings were in the same place at the  same time. Damon didn't want to believe that it was all his fault, the  way things had begun to split and separate. Kennick was married now,  Cristov practically engaged, Mina had her own girlfriends and life. It  wasn't Damon's job to organize monthly family reunion    s.         

     



 

Then again, Damon was supposed to be the rock. The strongest link in the chain. The stable one.

He hadn't been fulfilling that role.

But the fight in Miami would change all that.

One thing at a time, he thought, trying not to let his mind get ahead of  him. Focus on Miami. Focus on finishing what needs to be finished,  before you think about starting anything new.

He thought he'd be fine, as long as he didn't see her before he left.  But he wanted to see her. He wanted to see her so badly it hurt …

Damon pushed these thoughts to the side as his aunt Ana approached,  having said goodbye to Baba Surry, with whom she was close. Ana pecked  his cheek and wrapped her arm in his.

"She was a strong woman, my mother will be happy to see her again," Ana said solemnly.

Damon's own grandmother had died a year ago, just after his father had passed.

"Sar'shan, Ana," Damon said, using a traditional family greeting. Her  eyes, the trademark Volanis green, flashed up at him, her long, drawn  face illuminated by the candles.

"We've had too many funerals recently," she said. She'd buried her own  husband eight months ago. Something about the way she said it had Damon  stiffening in her loose hold.

"One funeral is too many," he said, slightly guarded. She studied him, patted his arm, sighed.

"That is true, palesko. I've been watching you, Damon. You're troubled.  Don't be afraid to put your troubles down before they put you down," she  said. Though she called him palesko, nephew, Ana had stepped in to act  as mother to the Volanis brood when their mother left. She knew Damon as  intimately as anyone could.

"Yes, Ana," Damon said, nodding obediently. She sighed again, reached up to pat him on his cheek.

"Jekh dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata," she said,  shaking her head. "One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make  madness": she meant that his worries weren't his alone, that his  suffering was an infection.

She gave him one last look before moving on to embrace the rest of her  brood. Damon watched her lean up to kiss Cristov's cheek. Ana babied  Cristov, was deferential to Kennick, and treated Damon as an equal. Her  son, Pieter, was proving to be a little hellion, though, admittedly, a  frustratingly forgivable one. Still, Damon knew that the kumpania was  anxiously awaiting one of the brothers to produce a son; no one could  see little Pieter taking Kennick's place as rom baro when the time came.

Outside, a bonfire crackled, though the sun was high and the day was  warm. Another tradition. Damon reflected on why they kept doing the same  things, over and over again, when so many other things had changed over  the years. The highly-assimilated gypsies scoffed at the idea of not  telling a gaje your forename, an old Romani superstition, yet they still  gave coins to the deceased for use in some nebulous afterlife.