Sparking Ares: RBMC Dallas TX, #3

Sparking Ares, 1st Edition Copyright 2023 by Kristine Allen, Demented Sons Publishing, LLC.

All Rights Reserved.

Published in the United States of America. First published January 3, 2023.

Cover Design: Glenna Maynard, Gchelle Designs

Photographer: Wander Aguiar

Cover Model: Thane; image licensed for use by Wander Aguiar Photography

Editing: Darlene Tallman

Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-953318-10-7

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. For information, contact the author at kristine.allen.author@gmail.com. Thank you for supporting this author and her rights.

Warning: This book may contain offensive language, explicit violence, adult and explicit sexual situations. Mature audiences only, 18+ years of age.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Royal Bastards MC Series

Royal Bastards Code

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Acknowledgements

Other Books by Kristine Allen

About the Author

Featured Characters:

Dragon, Wrecker, and Animal from Liberty Parker’s Cedar Creek, TX Chapter

PROTECT: The club and your brothers come before anything else, and must be protected at all costs. CLUB is FAMILY.

RESPECT: Earn it & Give it. Respect club law. Respect the patch. Respect your brothers. Disrespect a member and there will be hell to pay.

HONOR: Being patched in is an honor, not a right. Your colors are sacred, not to be left alone, and NEVER let them touch the ground.

OL’ LADIES: Never disrespect a member’s or brother’s Ol’Lady. PERIOD.

CHURCH is MANDATORY.

LOYALTY: Takes precedence over all, including well-being.

HONESTY: Never LIE, CHEAT, or STEAL from another member or the club.

TERRITORY: You are to respect your brother’s property and follow their Chapter’s club rules.

TRUST: Years to earn it . . .seconds to lose it.

NEVER RIDE OFF: Brothers do not abandon their family.

To Kristin… for being an awesome friend and keeping me from going under more times than you know.

Once upon a time, I was Soap, happy-go-lucky member of the Demented Sons MC in Iowa. Beneath that façade, I had a secret I couldn’t afford to get out. All of that ended when the woman I loved died in my arms.

Driven by revenge, I searched for the party responsible for her death. When all I found were dead ends, I went to the Royal Bastards MC—known for uncovering the evil of the world and exterminating it. My stipulation—I wanted to be the one to kill whoever had stolen from me.

They refused. So, I did what I had to do.

I joined them.

Slaughtering a human trafficker should be easy. What I wanted was within my grasp. Except, when I needed to pull the trigger, I hesitated. Because revenge is a dish best served cold, but a fiery blonde sparked an unexpected flame within me. Plans changed, I took her prisoner, and sh*t hit the fan.

If I wanted to keep her safe, I needed to embrace my secret and pray I could control the savage beast it unleashed.

For those of you who have been waiting for Soap’s story after the ending of Snow’s book, here he is! Soap will be moving up to a position in the newly re-established Dallas, TX chapter of the RBMC. Full of anger and vengeance with a burning need for revenge, Soap is coming soon!

Age eighteen

I’ll see you tomorrow night, Renee said before she kissed me, then climbed off the back of my bike. As she walked up to her front door, she shot a coy smirk over her shoulder. I couldn’t have kept the grin off my face if I tried.

I’ll pick you up at eight, I called after her. She gave me a wave and went inside.

My old ‘78 XLH-1000 Sportster rumbled through the dark streets as I headed home. The muggy Minnesota night had ended with a hot and heavy make out session with Renee and her agreeing to go out with me. Not that I ever had trouble getting laid, they usually only wanted me for that. So, yeah, it made me feel good that a white-trash guy like myself had bagged the prettiest cheerleader on the squad. She’d be leaving in the fall, but it would be fun while it lasted.

Fuck all those pricks I graduated with that looked down their nose at me. No, I wasn’t loaded like they were, and I wouldn’t be going to some Ivy League college, but I didn’t care. My uncle Dice hooked me up with a job at his bike repair shop and I was in love. Dice wasn’t my blood uncle, but he was good friends with my mom’s oldest brother and had been like family for as long as I could remember. The smell of grease and oil with the weight of a wrench in my hand was all I needed. Tearing down a motor and putting it back together was enough to give me a goddamn woody.

Okay, maybe that was a stretch, but I really did fucking love it.

The Sportster had been rotting in an old lady’s barn when Dice found it and brought it back to the shop. He and I had rebuilt the 75th anniversary edition bike and he’d given it to me for my eighteenth birthday. It wasn’t the biggest or baddest bike out there, but it kept girls like Renee wanting a chance to fuck me and be seen on the back. Okay, my looks didn’t hurt either. Between the two, I shamelessly used them to my advantage.

My mom always said I looked like my dad’s mini me. When I was little, I thought it was cool. When I got older, I hated it. Over the years, my face was a constant reminder to my mom of the man she loved and lost. It also pissed my stepdad off because I was a little kick in the balls when he looked at me—the living reminder that my mom would never love him as much as me or my father.

But when I discovered girls, I realized my looks had been a blessing in disguise.

Joel, my stepdad, was a narcissistic asshole. Two things he couldn’t stand—the fact that he wasn’t the most important person in her life, and that I looked like the man that still held her heart from the grave.

Initially, his petty jealousy was tolerable—until he lost his job and started drinking heavily. Then he started being verbally and mentally abusive to my mom. They argued all the time.

Eventually, it turned physical—of course only when I wasn’t around. The first time I went after him I was about thirteen. He whooped my ass, and my mom begged me to never do that again. Then I got older and bigger. Each time I caught my mom putting makeup on her bruised cheek, I told her I was going to give him a taste of his own medicine.

She adamantly refused, and told me she was afraid he would kill me. I wanted to say not before I killed him first, but I kept my mouth shut. If I ever caught him in the act, there would be no stopping me.

When I rolled up and cut my engine, I could hear them screaming through the thin walls of the trailer. The one we moved into after Joel couldn’t get another job because he was always drunk. At the time, I was young and didn’t care that we had to move. We were in the back of the trailer park that butted up to the woods. I spent countless hours exploring and simply enjoying the sun dappled area. Something about the quiet calmness called to me—stilled the chaos in my head and eventually our home.

Jesus, I muttered, glancing next door at the open windows. I knew damn well the neighbors wouldn’t call the cops because half of them were cooking meth, but still. I was so tired of the fighting.

Except, when I opened the door, that was the last straw. The door slamming behind me didn’t so much as registered in Joel’s pickled brain. Nor did he notice me vault over the back of the couch because I wasn’t going around.

Who the fuck was he? I heard him yell as he landed a punch.

Joel, I told you he works with me! my mom cried as she tried to protect her already battered face from his heavy fists.

A roar erupted from deep in my soul as I threw him back. He landed on the floor, and I closed in on him. You wanna hit someone, Joel? You hit me! Come on, I taunted.

You little fucking punk, he rasped and launched back to his feet. In my anger, I missed the switchblade until it was too late. Thankfully, my reflexes kicked in and I was able to bring an arm up to block him. It didn’t stop him from slicing my shoulder open instead.

Joel! Stop! Mom shrieked as she jumped on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her tiny frame was no match for him, and he ripped her off and threw her to the ground. She moaned, and he advanced on her, blade dripping with my blood.

Something inside me ripped apart and I saw red—literally.

Then I blacked out, my actions no longer my own. Yet they were.

Memphis! You need to go to the woods. Hide until I come for you, my mom whispered with panic flashing in her pretty blue eyes. Blood was smeared on her face, and I had no idea if it was hers, mine, or his.

Feeling disoriented, I blinked as my chest heaved and I looked around at the blood that splattered across the TV and the walls. The crumpled form on the living room floor was near unrecognizable. Except the vicious slashes that shredded his flesh brought flashbacks of power, claws, and sharp teeth.

Confused, I glanced at my mother. What did I do?

With a shaking hand, she reached for me. The feel of her stroking my head brought a rumbling purr from deep within my chest. She stood and, using the walls, stumbled through the kitchen and down the short hall to the laundry room. I heard the back door open, and I followed.

Memphis, you need to go! Get out of here! she insisted, and I was hurt at her seemingly angry words.

It wasn’t until I jumped down the stairs landing on all fours that I realized—I landed on all fours. Blood covered the golden fur where I should’ve had hands. I jumped sideways and caught a glimpse of a long dark-tipped tail that I spun trying to see.

Go! my mom angrily repeated and threw a shoe out the door at me. Unable to process, I took off at a lope into the dark trees. I didn’t go far, because I was scared and worried. Using the blood-soaked claws on my four feet, I climbed a tree that gave me a view of the trailer but hid me in the branches.

Lean muscles trembled as I laid on the thick branch and rested my head on my paws. My mind was spinning, and nothing made sense, but fuck if I wasn’t a giant cat.

It wasn’t long before I heard the rumble of a motorcycle. From my perch, I saw the back patch that I immediately recognized.

The Royal