Breaker: Indignant Few MC Book 2

  Breaker

  Indignant Few MC Book 2

  Deja Voss

  Copyright © 2019 by Deja Voss

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  I sincerely appreciate all my readers. I dedicate these stories to you. That being said, out of respect for you, I’d like to offer a brief trigger warning.

  Breaker wasn’t an easy book to write. It explores themes of drug use and addiction, suicide and suicidal ideation, domestic abuse, cults, and violence.

  Of course good always wins. Of course you’ll get your HEA. The ride there just might be a little bumpy. Thanks for understanding.

  XO

  Deja

  Contents

  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

  Want more Indignant Few?

  COMING NOVEMBER 2019

  Chapter One

  Hannah:

  Being back in the bakery again for the first time in months was like going back in time. Everything was the same here - every smell, the sound of cash registers dinging and timers ringing, but I knew something had changed. Maybe not on the outside, but inside of me, nothing was anything like it was before.

  I threw my whole body weight into the dough, kneading and pulling it, punching it as flour dusted the surrounding air. My sister Racheal side eyed me, her disgust obvious by the way she stood with her hands on her hips, her head cocked to the side, her eyes squinted up so tight, you’d think she was trying to burn me with them. The head of the church assigned her as my ‘Integrative Helper,’ which basically meant she had to babysit me and report back to the counsel about the progress of my rehabilitation.

  I kept a smile on my face as I worked the dough, even though I was bitter inside. Nine long months of being locked away from the world, today was my first taste of freedom outside the damp, dark basement. I was being punished for a crime I didn’t commit, and I was doing the same to this poor piece of bread, beating the crap out of it for no reason. It was the closest thing to justice I had going for me. I’d much rather be doing this to Racheal’s smug face.

  “Quit messing around,” she said, pulling a little compact out of the pocket of her dress. She flipped open the mirror and dabbed powder on her nose and under her eyes. “I really don’t have the energy for you today.”

  I held back my laughter at the hypocrisy of it all. Here I was being shoved in a basement and dubbed an outcast for trying to do better by the church, and I was being watched over by my idiot sister who probably got so drunk she passed out in a cornfield last night and woke up in a puddle of her own puke. We weren’t allowed mirrors. We weren’t allowed make-up. God tasked the women of the Faithful Chosen to be plain, modest, not to be looked upon by men as anything but property of the community. Yet here she was swiping on glittery lip-gloss.

  And here I was, sweating through my church issued undergarments as I pulverized the dough. Nothing really had changed up here in the last nine months. The only change was going on in my mind. I had a nice long solitary time to think about ‘what I had done.’ I came out realizing the only thing I was guilty of was not running away when I had the chance. Now I had to bite my tongue, play their games, and plot. Plan, plot, and execute. I threw the dough from across the slab into the pan. It landed with a loud thump and I pumped my fist in the air in celebration. This was all I had going for me right now. This was all I had to celebrate. Anywhere else my mind could go was a complete mess.

  Racheal rolled her eyes at me and began wiping down the glass display case. I dusted the counter down with flour, getting to work on the next loaf. Racheal’s cellphone started vibrating from the countertop. She had it plugged into the charger in the wall. The bakery was one of the few places on the compound with electricity, as the doctrine only permitted it in places of work. Definitely cellphones were not allowed anywhere, but she knew I would not tell.

  “I gotta take this,” she said, slipping it into her pocket and scurrying to the broom closet.

  “Whatever,” I muttered. Racheal had always been the popular sister, if you could call that a thing in a community of less than a hundred people. She was certainly the prettier sister, her hair naturally white as a lamb’s, her frame thin with curves in all the right places. She made our dumpy frocks look scandalous, even though they covered every inch of our skin besides our faces.

  I, on the other hand, had been graced with the more traditional Faithful Chosen aesthetic. Pale, squat, short, my hair dishwater blonde and chronically frizzy. Even tucked up in tight braids, it worked its way out into a mess of flyaway sprigs. My dress looked exactly how it was intended to look, like a gray potato sack swallowing my body whole. I’d never messed with sneaking make-up or hair products like Racheal did. I also wasn’t trying to get the attention of any of the Chosen suitors, as she was so desperate to do. lying low and blending in had always benefited me.

  “Until it didn’t,” I muttered, dusting the tops of the loafs of bread with flour and covering them with thin towels, woven by my mother, lining them up to rest.

  Motors rumbled up the road a ways, a familiar sound I’d nearly forgotten in all my time in solitary. I hadn’t much kept track of the days, but my heart pattered with excitement, realizing it must be Tuesday. Tuesday was the day that Alexander and his crew always came for doughnuts. It had been this way for as long as I remembered. I knew it was silly, but they brought some entertainment to my otherwise boring life, and not just because they were nice to look at, although that was an added bonus.

  I hummed to myself as I heard the gravel crunch in the parking lot out front. I knew the strict rules I had been given in tribunal last night. I wasn’t to talk to any customers, only my sister, but seeing as she was hiding in the closet, I probably had to make an exception. Brother Jacob made certain we were always focused on the bottom line, and to turn customers away because I was mute would surely be a sin against the church, right? I toyed with the thought of pushing a chair up against the closet door so Racheal couldn’t get out.

  Maybe then I could make my escape. Obviously I was being ridiculous, but it was a fun fantasy to entertain for a minute as I heard the roar of their engines quiet. These biker men had no interest in a girl like me. I was barely literate. I had nothing to my name, not even the dress on my back. In the outside world, I would be nothing but a burden to everyone.

  The door swung open, and I tried to gather my composure, smoothing my dress and dusting the flour off my apron. I pretended like I wasn’t staring, organizing the pans of bread while Alexander and his friend Rosey tapped the dust off their black leather boots on the welcome mat in the doorway. It was so strange to me that these big scary looking biker men took the time to show their respect like that.

  “Hannah!” Alexande
r shouted, storming towards the counter. His long hair was pulled back in a bun, and his friendly smile hadn’t changed since the day I first saw him here with his mother, nearly sixteen years ago, when I was just a little one, hiding behind my aunt’s apron. That smile shined brighter than all the tattoos on his arms and hands or the scar on his neck. I never once feared him, even when he joined a biker club and changed his name to Breaker, whatever that was supposed to mean. Under the leather, the ink, the loud motors, he was just the handsome man with the friendly smile. “I’m happy to see you again! How was the mission trip?”

  Clever, I thought. That’s how the church justified my disappearance. I was on a mission trip all right. A mission to lose what was left of my sanity all alone in a dark basement.

  Racheal swung the closet door open and leapt out before I could get a word in.

  “Breaker! Rosey!” she cooed. She walked through the kitchen, a shimmy in her step, and stepped out from the counter, wrapping her arms around the tall man with the long black beard who we had come to known as Rosey. He picked her up off the ground, hugging her, and she squealed.

  “When’d you get back?” Breaker asked.

  “Last night,” my sister quipped. “She took a vow of silence, though. Bless her heart, she really needed some spiritual realignment.”

  “You keep rubbing on me like that, girl, and I swear something on me is going to start realigning,” Rosey said as he set her to the ground. She slapped him away teasingly, biting her lip and pacing to the counter. God, she was bold. If the elders had seen her in action, she’d probably get a one-way ticket to the basement alongside of me.

  “Cookies today?” she asked, pulling a brown paper bag from the stack on the counter.

  “I’ll have doughnuts if Hannah made them,” Breaker said. “They haven’t been the same since you’ve been gone.” The way he winked at me turned my cheeks bright red in an instant. I had to look away, or he’d definitely think I was a total nerd.

  “Oh, come on, B, you know you love my doughnuts,” Racheal said, licking his lips. “The recipe has been the same since 1946.”

  “Nothing against your doughnuts, babe. I just like Hannah’s better.”

  “Seems to be the common theme around here,” she said, shooting me a dirty glare. I knew exactly what she was implying, and she knew I couldn’t say anything about it. “She just made the bread today. You don’t want bread.”

  “I’ll take bread,” he said with a shrug.

  “Whatever, you weirdo. Rosey still wants my cookies.” Rosey nodded as he leaned over the counter to watch her bag them up, his eyes never leaving her body.

  I pulled a loaf of baked bread out of the warmer, grabbing a strip of white paper to wrap it in. Why I couldn’t just dredge up the courage to scream, to beg him to take me with him, no matter where that place was, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I was afraid of what would happen if my plan didn’t work and the church leaders found out. Maybe I was afraid of what would happen if I actually got away? I’d have to be more subtle than to make a scene right here. My heart raced as I finished preparing the bread for him.

  “How long you on that vow of silence for?” he asked as I slipped the bread over the counter to him.

  Possibly shorter than anyone here realizes, I wanted to say.

  “Might be indefinite,” Racheal said. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” She squinted her eyes at me, the glare on her face chilling.

  “Whatever,” Breaker said. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

  I’m definitely not alright, I wanted to shout. Instead, I nodded and walked back into the kitchen, feeling my sister’s gaze burning a hole through me the entire time. Their boots sounded heavy on the floor as they left, the roars of their engine soon filling the air.

  “That was super cute,” Racheal snarked. “You better watch it with that or Jacob will probably kill you. Although that wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. Maybe then he’ll finally realize which Schmucker sister was the better choice after all.”

  “I didn’t ask to be chosen by Jacob,” I said. I slapped my hand over my mouth, wishing I’d have just kept my vow of silence after all.

  “I should tell,” she said, her smile thin. She wouldn’t, though. Just as I would keep her secret life from our parents, she would never let anyone think Jacob and I weren’t to be wed. It meant too much for our family. If I married the head of the internal counsel, they would be made for life.

  Never mind the fact Jacob was the one who assaulted me. Or impregnated me. Or beat me until my body couldn’t handle it anymore and I lost our child. Never mind that the whole reason I’d spent the last nine months in the basement was because he was punishing me for his own sins, trying to make me into his ideal wife. My family didn’t care about any of that.

  I might have had them convinced that I was ready to do as he asked, but I would never bring my mind to that place. Maybe Breaker would get the message. Maybe he wouldn’t.

  Chapter Two

  Breaker:

  “Are you seriously going to munch on a loaf of bread like that’s a normal thing and you’re just not trying to get some Amish pussy?” Rosey punched my shoulder as we walked out into the parking lot, dumbass grin on his face as usual.

  “It’s probably delicious,” I said with a shrug, unzipping my side bag and tucking the bread inside.

  “Yeah right.” He chuckled, shoving a whole cookie in his mouth before rolling the back up and shoving it into his backpack. “Those bitches don’t even have running water. Can’t imagine what they got going on down there.”

  “Don’t even pretend like you wouldn’t find out if you had a chance,” I teased. “That skinny bitch got you wrapped around her finger.”

  He laughed as he straddled his bike. “You’re the one who likes this place so much.”

  I took a lot of shit from the rest of the Indignants over my weekly trip to the Faithful Bakery. They didn’t understand why I was all about giving my money to some cult. My mom had been bringing me here since I was just a kid. Guess I was just sentimental in that way. They seemed like good people to me, just kinda marched to the beat of their own drum. Kind of like us only on the complete opposite end of the spectrum.

  “What’s up with the silent bitch?” he asked. “That really a thing?”

  “I don’t know.” It seemed off to me. Hannah had been working at the bakery since as long as I could remember, and she was years younger than me. Those people didn’t fuck with child labor laws, that’s for sure. I can remember one day she was all smiles and small talk, and the next day, she’d just disappeared. Folks at the bakery said she was on a mission trip, and I didn’t pry. I figured they had married her off and that was that, life goes on.

  I was actually glad to see her today. Something about Hannah brought me back to a time in my life where things were simple. She was one of those constants you don’t really think about. Background noise. You don’t miss it til it’s gone.

  Today, something didn’t seem right. Not just the silence thing. She was standing a little smaller than before. Her normal glow wasn’t there. Most guys didn’t notice shit like this, but I did.

  “You think I should go back in there?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not like they keep those bitches locked up in the basement. They could walk out that bakery anytime they wanted. They stay there cuz they want to. Cuz they’re fucking whack-o. More whack-o than the kind of chicks even you pick up.”

  He had a point. There was no use sweating over something that wasn’t even a thing. That’s the kind of shit that got the club in trouble, put the guys in danger. It was none of my damn business. Rosey wasn’t just my best friend in the MC, he was my voice of reason. Dude was dumb as a potato, but he’d always been good about keeping me out of sketchy shit.

  “You’re right,” I said, fixing my bandana and sliding down my sunglasses. “I’ll meet you at the house later. Got some shit to do.” I revved the engine on my
bike, throwing him a peace sign as I turned down the road.

  The cemetery my mother was buried in wasn’t too far from the bakery. The place was kind of a dump, but it was the only thing I could afford back then. I drove down the long dirt road. The parking lot was empty, and the gate was overgrown with ivy. I knew if I didn’t stop by at least once a month, her simple gravestone would disappear into the knee high grass like the rest of them.

  I couldn’t take care of her when she was alive. Tough pill to swallow knowing the only place I could keep her safe was here, buried in the dirt. I stomped through the path directly to her grave, trampling it down, thankful for my boots and jeans, not sure what kind of bugs or snakes I was stepping in in the mess of grass and weeds.

  I missed my mom, but talking to a rock was just fucking dumb to me. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t anywhere. She was long gone before she even took that last pill. She did her time as a ghost while she was alive, and now, I just did this out of ritual. Routine. A constant. This gravestone my stability.

  I cleared the mess of weeds growing on top of it, my fingernails black with dirt. I sat down, fishing a joint out of my pocket and lighting it up. No different from when she was alive. I got high. She got higher. We loved each other, but neither of us had much to say besides the occasional one liner.

  “Wish I had a doughnut right now,” I said with a chuckle, my buzz setting in. Thirteen years today she’d been gone, and that’s all I could come up with. Thirteen years today and the only thing that changed was I traded in my life in the drug game for a patch and a brotherhood. She would’ve never understood.