Brewer: Untamed Sons MC Manchester Chapter, #4

By Jessica Ames

Enjoy this dark motorcycle club romance from USA Today Bestselling romance author Jessica Ames...

 

Brewer

 

As the money man of the Manchester chapter of the Untamed Sons Motorcycle Club, my job is simple: make the illegal income legal and don't get caught. I have a good life in the Sons, an easy one. I don't have time for women or drama. But when my former cellmate calls and tells me his daughter is in trouble, I have no choice but to respond.

 

Ophelia

 

My father is a pathological liar, so when he tells me I'm in danger, I don't believe him. Until a burly biker turns up on my doorstep. It's been years since I last saw Brewer, but those feelings I had for him are still there. That doesn't mean I have to do what he says.

But Brewer isn't the same man I knew and no isn't a word he's used to hearing. When my father's enemies come for me, he is the only one who can protect me, but who is going to save me from him?

 

All books in the Untamed Sons universe can be read as standalones, but are better enjoyed read in order. This is a dark romantic story with a guaranteed happily ever after. It does have some strong language, graphic violence and content that might be triggering.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Ames
• Release date: Apr 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224496167

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

BREWER

PAST…

At the sound of my name being squealed, I glance up from under the bonnet of the car I’m working on. Jamie rushes towards me, his sandy blond hair sticking up, his dungarees undone on one side and flapping loose as he runs. 

Uncle Madden! 

My nephew is the image of his father. Aside from the hair colouring, they both have the same nose and chin, as well as the same dark blue eyes. I don’t hold that against the boy, though, even if his father is a colossal prick. 

I hold my hands up before he can touch me, stopping him in his tracks. Distance, kiddo. I’m full of grease.

Jamie isn’t the type of child to care about getting dirty—he’s spent hours in this garage with me over the summer holidays—but his clothes look new, and the last thing I need is my sister giving me shit.

Standing in front of me, he twists the strap of his dungarees between his fingers, his expression hesitant and a little scared. I frown at him. Hey, you’re not in trouble, I tell him. I just don’t want to get grease on you.

I reach behind me and grab a cloth off the top of my tool kit to wipe the excess dirt from my hands, but the dark residue clings under my nails and around the beds. 

Can I help you fix it? Jamie asks, his eyes wide and pleading. 

Before I can reply, Wren’s voice cuts over me. 

Not today, Jay. I lift my eyes as my sister steps into the workshop holding my niece, Lillia, in her arms. 

Unlike her brother and father, Lillia has her mother’s dark copper-coloured hair that is scooped up into two pigtails either side of her head. She’s clutching a stuffed bear to her like armour. It’s the one I gave her when she was born and I visited Wren in the hospital. It had only been a fiver from the hospital giftshop, but Lillia loves that bloody bear. She can’t sleep without it, even though it’s getting threadbare in places.

Jamie wanders over to the counter that runs the length of the back wall of the garage and picks up a socket wrench. My nephew has always had an interest in cars, one I’m willing to share with him. Lillia is a little young yet, but I’ll teach her too if she wants to know.

Why can’t I help? he asks, his voice taking on a whiny tone that I know is going to lead to an argument between him and Wren. If I’m being honest, my sister looks exhausted, so I offer a compromise in the hope it’ll calm things before they get started.

If your mum says it’s okay, you can help me in the garage over the weekend, I say, glancing at Wren for approval. 

She smiles faintly and gives me a nod. 

Jamie’s eyes widen. Really?

Yeah, kid. I ruffle his hair as he comes to my side. He’s only six, but at the rate he’s growing, he’s going to be as tall as I am. He definitely got the Kelley genes when it comes to height—at least on the male side. Wren, unlike the rest of us, is fucking tiny, which is why we call her Wren, rather than Serenity. Dad had a thing for watching the birds in the garden before he passed, and he always called her his little wren. Years later, that name still sticks. I’ll show you how to change out a carburettor, I offer. I know he’s wanted to do some bigger jobs with me and I think he’s of an age where he should be able to do them.

Yes! He fist pumps the air, making me laugh. 

Thanks, Madden. Wren’s voice has me turning back to her. He loves it here.

I love having him here. You know that.

Her hair is pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and she’s wearing a loose-fitting sweater.

Everything okay? I ask. 

She shifts Lillia on her hip and the smile she gives me is entirely forced. I hate to even ask, but Jamie needs new football boots for school, and with Lillia, we just don’t have the money.

It’s not the first time my sister has come to me like this. I can see how much it wounds her pride to ask me. 

Derek out of work again? I surmise. 

Fuck, I don’t want to sound judgemental, but that fuck is a waste of space. I don’t know why my sister married him. He hasn’t kept a job for more than a month in the past six months. 

I’m getting a part-time job as soon as Lillia gets a place at playgroup.

And what about that lazy prick? I ask, lowering my voice so Jamie doesn’t hear. He’s too interested in playing with the tool cabinet behind us, though.

Wren blows out a breath. Don’t. If you don’t want to give me the money, that’s fine, but stop shitting on Derek.

That’s never going to happen. I hate that fuck, but I don’t want my niece and nephew to suffer. How much do you need? 

Thirty should cover it. 

Wait here, I tell her. 

I make my way into the building and to the reception area. Mary, my receptionist, glances up as I step through the door. She’s a friend of my parents and has worked here since I bought the garage. Her dark hair is streaked with white and her makeup is pristine, despite the fact she works for a greaser. 

I need a hundred quid out of the till, I tell her.

She opens the register and hands me the notes. Wren? she asks, her tone knowing.

Yeah.

She needs to leave that good-for-nothing husband of hers.

I snort. Tell her that. I fold the money in half. Thanks, Mary.

It’s your money, Madden.

I make my way back into the workshop and head straight for Wren, who is standing where I left her. I hand her the money.

I only need thirty, she protests.

Take the hundred. 

Tears brim in her eyes and fall, and she swipes at her cheeks. Thank you. 

Always, I tell her, meaning it. I won’t see those kids go hungry or without just because their father is a fucking dickhead.

As she continues to rub at her cheek, it lifts some of the makeup off her skin. It’s then I notice the faint mottling on her cheek.

I reach out instinctively, touching my fingers to the spot. What happened?

Her eyes flare, panic settling in them for the briefest of moments before she manages to reclaim her indifference. I fell. 

You fell? 

Yeah. I know it’s stupid. I didn’t see one of Lillia’s toys. I tripped and hit the corner of the coffee table.

She says it so lightly, so easily, that for a moment, I almost buy the lie. Until I notice other marks on her wrist where her sweater has pulled up. 

I grab her wrist, making her gasp. I ignore her protestation as I shove up her sleeve. There are more bruises, purple and black marks embedded in the skin. Marks that were clearly not made by hitting a coffee table.

I stare at them a beat, my teeth clenching together. 

Motherfucker.

Hey, Jamie? I keep my voice level and calm. It’s a fucking mission, but I manage it. Why don’t you take Lillia into the office and see if Mary’s got any sweets? 

I don’t want the kids around for this.

Wren doesn’t let Lillia down immediately, as if she doesn’t want to have the inevitable conversation that is coming, but she does eventually lower the toddler to the ground. Like the good big brother he is, Jamie takes his little sister’s hand and leads her to the back of the workshop and through the door that leads to the customer area. 

I wait until that door closes before I step up to my sister. My fingers trail over the bruise on her face, every inch of my body radiating anger. She lets me for a moment before she pulls away. 

We’re going to try this again, and this time, I want the truth, Wren. What happened? 

Her nose wrinkles as she looks away, unable to meet my eyes. It’s okay, she tries to assure me, but I’m not in the mood for assurances. 

How did you get these bruises?

I… I fell. She repeats the lie. 

I narrow my eyes. That fuck do this to you? 

She glances away, her eyes filled with emotion. You see Derek as a monster and he’s not.

You’re covered in bruises, so yeah, I think he’s a fucking monster! He do that to you in front of the kids?

Wren’s eyes blaze. She keeps her voice low as she snarls at me, but I can hear the anger in her words anyway. Don’t you dare imply that I let them see something horrific. It was a one-time thing. It’s not like he’s beating me, Madden.

Fuck. 

My stomach twists. He hit her? I grit my teeth together. I’m going to kill him.

You’re not going to do anything, she hisses. He lost control for a moment. You didn’t see how upset he was afterwards, how much he cried over what he did.

My thoughts are messy as I take in her words. Don’t you see this is a slippery slope, Wren? This is how abuse starts. Is this the first time? 

Yes, I told you that. The way she can’t meet my eyes makes me hear the lie in her words. He’s done this before. 

I rake my fingers through my hair, my heart starting to pound. How many times? 

I just said⁠— 

How many times? How fucking long has this been going on? 

Not everyone is perfect, she says in a small voice. We’re under tremendous stress. Two young kids are challenging, and the job market is terrible. We’re drowning.

I don’t fucking buy that. Plenty of stressed parents don’t hit their spouse.

She glares at me as if I’m the one in the wrong here. What would you know? Terminally single, never having to navigate a partner and children. It’s not always sunshine and rainbows.

I don’t understand why she’s being so defensive. I want to help you. I don’t want you suffering or getting hurt.

Her eyes soften a little. I know you feel that way, but I don’t need your help. What I need is for you to stay out of my business.

I reach out to touch her cheek, trailing my fingers over the bruise beneath the makeup. She doesn’t move away. 

"Those kids deserve a safe home. You deserve a safe home. I can help you."

She blows out a breath. "And how will you help me? Beat him back? Hurt him? Things are fine. I’m fine. It’s no secret you’ve never liked him, Madden, but Derek is my husband. He’s the father of my kids. You need to respect that. You need to step off and let me manage my own marriage." 

"I’m not respecting a man who hits his wife." I snarl these words at her, unable to understand why the fuck she’s defending him. 

I’ve never liked Derek. I’ve made no secret of the fact. There’s something about that fuck. The way Wren shrinks inside herself when she’s with him. The way Jamie flinches when he raises his voice. The way Lillia clings to that teddy bear like it’s protecting her. 

I never thought much about it, but seeing those bruises, yeah, I’m starting to put things together. 

She rolls her eyes. Stay out of my shit, Madden, she says and goes to the door that leads into reception. The kids come out, sweets in their hands. Wren scoops up Lillia into her arms. Say goodbye to your uncle, she says. 

Wren… come on. Just let me help you.

I don’t need help. 

Please—

Thank you for the money.

Jamie comes to me and wraps his arms around my waist as he hugs me tight. 

See you Saturday, he says, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Is that fucker hitting Jamie? 

Lillia?

The thought makes my stomach twist itself into knots.

I ruffle Jamie’s hair, trying to take a steadying breath. Stay with me, Wren, I say. 

I don’t want to let them fucking leave. I don’t want to put them back in that house. I’m going to kill Derek for touching my sister. 

Wren shakes her head. I don’t need you to protect me. 

I watch her walk out to the car with the kids, my body feeling heavy, my steps hard. It takes everything I have not to drag her out of that fucking car and bring her back here.  

I watch her get Lillia into her car seat, and I don’t move from my position even when the car has disappeared around the corner of the road. I feel sick. The thought of that prick putting his hands on her makes me want to commit murder. 

Madden? 

I glance around as Mary steps into the workshop. She’s clutching Lillia’s teddy in her hand. Have they gone?

About five minutes ago. I’m debating going after them. 

I just found it on one of the chairs. Sorry. Lillia must have put it down while I was giving them sweets. She places the teddy on the counter. Is everything okay? she asks when I don’t move.

I don’t know how to answer that, so I just nod. 

Mary retreats back to her desk, and I know I’m not going to get shit done here. I need to talk to Wren. I need to convince her to leave that prick husband of hers.

I wash my hands until the grease and dirt is mostly removed from my skin and nails. Then I change out of my overalls and into a pair of jeans and a clean hoodie. I pull on my boots, swapping them for my work ones, and grab the teddy off the counter before heading out to my car. 

She’s going to talk to me, even if I have to make her.

The drive over to her place feels like it takes forever, and I’m on edge by the time I pull up outside the house. I grab the teddy and climb out of the car.

Wren’s home is small but well kept. The front garden is immaculate, unlike next door, where there’re toys in the front and weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement. 

As I approach the house, I can hear shouting and crying—Lillia. I move quicker, rushing up the path to the door on the side of the property that goes into the kitchen. As soon as I step through the back door, I hear a cry of pain. 

It’s Wren’s voice. I’m certain of it. 

Lillia’s cries are louder. 

I find her in her high-chair in the kitchen diner, her face flushed from crying. How fucking long has she been like this? 

Uncle Madden? 

I peer down under the table, following the voice.

Jamie is sitting underneath, his eyes red-rimmed. He looks fucking terrified. Stay here, I tell him. 

But Mum⁠— 

Stay here, I repeat, my voice cold and hard.

I push up from my crouch, placing the teddy in front of Lillia. It kills me to ignore her crying, but those shouts are getting louder. Derek sounds possessed. 

I shove the door open to the living room. 

Derek has my sister on the carpet, kicking her over and over. There’s blood dripping down her chin and her eye is swelling. 

My blood heats. 

My stomach contracts violently.

I’m moving before I consider the repercussions. I grab the fucker by his shoulders and drag him back. He seems alarmed that I’m here as I grab him by the front of his shirt and shove him so hard that he falls over the coffee table.

I’m not thinking straight. All I’m focused on is causing him as much pain as possible. I want to make him suffer.

I kick him in the side, my boot digging in with enough force to make him wheeze. You bastard, I hiss as I grab him and pull him to his feet.

Derek is a big man, but I’m bigger. Considerably so. 

He’s got about a hundred pounds on my sister, though. She wouldn’t stand a chance in this kind of fight, and that enrages me. Taking your anger out on someone smaller, someone weaker, is fucking cowardly. 

You like hitting girls? I demand as I smash my fist into his face.

I’m fuelled by pure rage. I hit him over and over until my knuckles are bleeding.

Madden! Stop! Wren’s scream penetrates through my brain, but I’m too far gone to stop. I drag his boneless body up, holding him by the front of his shirt. 

You touch my sister or one of those kids and I’ll kill you, do you understand? 

Derek slides his heavy eyes in my direction. He can barely see through the swollen lids, but I can tell my words get through to him. 

I let him go with a shove, watching as he falls back onto the floor, his legs folding beneath him.

Police! The new voice has me turning its direction as the living room is suddenly filled with officers. 

I’m wrestled onto the floor, my