Jagged Pill (Broken Lives Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  1 Tane

  2 Clara

  3 Dante

  4 Tane

  5 Clara

  6 Dante

  7 Tane

  8 Dante

  9 Tane

  10 Dante

  11 Clara

  12 Tane

  13 Dante

  14 Clara

  15 Tane

  16 Clara

  17 Tane

  18 Tane

  19 Dante

  20 Tane

  21 Clara

  22 Clara

  23 Dante

  24 Clara

  Author Note

  About the Author

  More Books by the Author

  JAGGED PILL

  By Marita A. Hansen

  Copyright

  Jagged Pill

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2017 © Marita A. Hansen

  Editor: John Hudspith

  Cover design © Marita A. Hansen

  Cover Photography by

  CoffeeAndMilk, Art-Of-Photo, and MRBIG_PHOTOGRAPHY,

  and sourced from www.istockphoto.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means whatsoever without the written permission of the author, nor circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For subsidiary rights inquiries email: [email protected]

  All characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  1 Tane

  2 Clara

  3 Dante

  4 Tane

  5 Clara

  6 Dante

  7 Tane

  8 Dante

  9 Tane

  10 Dante

  11 Clara

  12 Tane

  13 Dante

  14 Clara

  15 Tane

  16 Clara

  17 Tane

  18 Tane

  19 Dante

  20 Tane

  21 Clara

  22 Clara

  23 Dante

  24 Clara

  Author Note

  About the Author

  More Books by the Author

  UK English is used due to the New Zealand setting.

  All other variations are also due to where the book is set, as well as the characters’ cultural and socio-economic backgrounds. This is why some characters use different speech patterns from others.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to everyone who has helped me with getting this book published, especially my long suffering family for having to put up with all the time I spend on trying to make my writing career a success.

  In addition, I would like to say a special thanks to:

  John Hudspith – He’s edited many of my books, and is absolutely great to work with. I always feel that I’m putting my best work forward after he’s been through the manuscript.

  1

  Tane

  2002

  I stared down at my mobile, willing my son to call me. I’d left messages on Dante’s voicemail, checking to see if he was all right, but the brat hadn’t replied. It was worrying the shit out of me, though it shouldn’t, since he was good at taking care of himself. Yeah, he was only fifteen, but he knew how to get from A to Z without batting an eye, could even live off the streets. I’d been the same at his age ... no, I’d had more responsibility, and from a much younger age. I’d had to fend for myself and my sisters from the age of eight, stealing food so they wouldn’t go hungry, because our useless as fuck mother preferred to buy booze instead of food.

  Losing patience, I texted Dante to call me, then slipped the phone into my leather jacket. I really needed to chill the fuck out before I flew off the handle and snapped at the wrong person, especially since I was sitting in a police station, surrounded by coppers, who were dying to arrest me. Like the pig sitting behind the reception desk. Officer Wanker always egged me on, trying to make me snap. He probably made bets with the other pigs to see how fast he could arrest me.

  I flicked him the finger, getting a smile in return, the prick knowing his smirking face irritated the shit out of me. I forced myself to look away, my fingers twitchy from the need to light up—or punch him in the fucking face, anything to take the edge off my agitation. But I’d smoked my last ciggie an hour ago, and my pockets were empty, no cash to buy diddly-squat.

  I gripped onto the knees of my leather pants, muttering that it wasn’t worth punching him, and that Dante was safe, that I didn’t need to worry. The brat was probably winging his way up north, heading for his grandparents’ or uncle’s place, even my sisters’ crib. He was on the run from the coppers for ‘sexually assaulting’ a teacher, something he was innocent of. Because there was no way in hell he would assault a chick. He might be a thieving, pot smoking li’l ratbag, who constantly got hauled in by the coppers for all kinds of mischief, but when it came to women, he was soft as shit, often letting the bitches walk all over him. Which meant, I needed to find out who this teacher was and make her retract her pathetic lies, with a little comeuppance tacked on. Maybe a bit more than a little. Because no one, and I mean no one, gets away with accusing my boy of abuse.

  Movement caught my eye. The door that led to the interrogation rooms and holding cells opened. I focused on it, hoping to see my best mate’s younger brother. I’d paid Killer’s bail with money from our gang’s coffers. Normally, the gang’s lawyer dealt with this shit, but he was busy dealing with legal matters concerning the Devil’s Crew’s attack on my gang’s compound. So, it was left up to me to bail Killer out of jail. I also kind of owed him. The only reason he’d been arrested was because he’d kissed a male cop, distracting the man so my son could escape arrest, saving Dante from juvie.

  And there he was.

  Killer stepped through the doorway. He was an impressive-looking bastard, about six-four with a body sculpted out of muscle. Not bulky muscle like mine. His physique was much leaner, not one ounce of fat on him. He looked like the type of guy that graced the covers of fitness mags, perfectly proportioned and ripped to the max. Though, by the looks he was getting from the chicks in the precinct, a female cop included, he’d be better suited to porn.

  Either way, Killer had no interest in the bitches eye-fucking him, since the shithead was too busy eye-fucking me. I clenched my hands, white-knuckling it, annoyed with my thoughts more than him. Because I wanted to fuck the shit out of the hot sonofabitch. I didn’t understand why, since I was completely straight. Up until meeting Killer, I’d never been attracted to a bloke before. He was the first and only dude to ever make my prick stand to attention. I just wasn’t willing to do anything about it. I’d sooner punch my stupid dick than dip it in Killer.

  And there was also no way I was going to fuck my best mate’s younger brother.

  The thought of Hemi made my insides clench with sorrow. He’d been shot in the heart by a Devil’s Crew member, dead before hitting the ground. Ignoring Killer, who was now standing in front of me, I brought my hands to my face and gave it a good hard rub, wishing I could bleach my mind, my soul of yesterday. Hemi had been like a big brother to me, one who loved me unconditionally, which was a tough ask since I was always a right cunt. I’d done jack all for him, yet he’d done everything for me. He’d constantly cleaned up my messes, made sure I didn’t end up back in jail or the psych unit, and most of all, he’d made sure I’d stayed clean of
meth. But now...

  He wasn’t here to do that.

  Wasn’t here to stop me from shooting up, injecting both heaven and hell into my bloodstream, the Māori tattoos covering my arms hiding my needle scars.

  I licked my lips, imagining the liquid racing through me. Maybe if I could get a shot, just one shot...

  NO! I couldn’t. Not even fucking once.

  Because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to fucking stop. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t touched meth in over three years, I was an addict for life. And I couldn’t walk down that path ever again. I’d lost so much from my meth addiction: the love of my eldest son, my marriage... I breathed out at the memory of my ex-wife. She would still be alive and married to me if I hadn’t gotten addicted to meth. I wouldn’t have gone to jail either. Meth had turned me into a violent monster, one that had hit my wife and eldest son. She’d reported me to the police after the monster inside of me had gone too far. While in prison, she’d divorced me and remarried, allowing a much worse monster into her home.

  Our sons’ home.

  The sick fuck had murdered her, raped my eldest, and bashed my youngest.

  Which wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gotten addicted to meth.

  “You all right?” Killer asked.

  I looked up at him. His expression was concerned, probably because I hadn’t acknowledged him, just sitting here, willing myself under control. It didn’t help that seeing him was making shit harder, especially with the blood on his shirt. It was just another reminder of yesterday, the battle between the Skins and the Devil’s Crew having caused so much destruction.

  So much loss.

  So much pain.

  “I’m fine,” I lied, incapable of admitting to shit. If I was tearing up inside, I made sure I looked fine as fuck on the outside.

  No matter how bad things got.

  I pushed to my feet, shifting my attention to the bandage around Killer’s arm, more blood discolouring it. He’d been shot in the bicep, the bullet now gone.

  “You ready to go?” I asked, raising my gaze to his.

  Killer nodded. “Thanks for bailing me out,” he said, brushing his hair off his face. Normally his brown hair was slicked back, but right now it was hanging around his face, softening it, making him look even more fuckable. It was the type of hair that I would love to grip onto as I rode his arse.

  Fuck!

  The cunt was making me feel like a dirty old perv. He was only three years older than my eldest kid. I was thirty-six, while he was twenty-one, far too young for me, not to mention I wasn’t into porking dudes.

  “You don’t needa thank me,” I said. “It’s the least I can do after you helped my boy escape.”

  “Heard from him?”

  I shook my head, again wishing the brat would call me back. “Li’l bastard ain’t answering his phone.”

  “His battery might’ve gone dead.”

  “Huh! Didn’t think of that.”

  “Where do ya think he went?”

  “Pro’bly up north to relatives,” I whispered, not wanting the cops to overhear. Because they’d be up there faster than flies on shit ... or me on meth.

  Fuck, I could almost feel it running through my veins, the memory so strong. It didn’t matter that I’d been clean for years, I was an addict until the day I fucking died.

  “I’m happy he got away,” Killer said, his stare still penetrating. He was barely blinking, purely focused on my face as if he was memorising every inch of my tattooed flesh. I had a full-faced moko—a Māori tribal tattoo that represented my ancestry. Killer licked his lips, probably wanting to use his tongue to trace the lines and curves of the dark green, almost black tattoo. It was just one of many reasons why I didn’t like hanging around him. He had no shame. Just said what he wanted, did what he wanted, and stared at me until I lost my temper and yelled at him.

  “Can you gimme a lift to the hospital later?” he asked. “I wanna visit my nephew.”

  “Sure,” I said, again feeling like I owed him. I also wanted to see Jasper too. Unlike Hemi, the boy had survived his gunshot wound, just wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  A second later, I realised I’d brought my Harley and not the truck, which meant Killer would have to sit behind me. But I didn’t want the fucker touching me...

  Christ! I needed to suck it up, because I owed him big-time for helping Dante, and it wasn’t that far to his house. Still, if I felt even the hint of a hard-on rubbing against me, I’d boot him off the bike and kick him the rest of the way home.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nuthin’.”

  A chick walked past, catching my eye. She sat down across the room, her gaze fixated on me.

  “Tane?” Killer said.

  “What?” I grunted, still watching the chick. She looked like a biker skank, with manky tattoos covering her arms and a miniskirt that gave me a glimpse of black knickers. She smiled at me and opened her legs wider, laying out the welcome mat for my dick. I smiled back, grateful for the distraction, needing it, anything to take my mind off the shit filling my bloody head. Things I couldn’t deal with. Things that could easily make me flip out.

  The chick winked at me, definitely up for some of my D. I wondered whether she’d pay for it. Probably. Especially with the way she was mentally stripping me. Most chicks acted indignant when I asked for cash in exchange for sex, but they always caved when I went to walk away. And I was definitely worth the money. I knew how to fuck a woman until they screamed to God, begging for more. After that, they whipped their purses out without a second thought, shoving the cash in my face.

  Killer stepped in front of me, blocking my view, the guy a thousand times hotter than the biker skank. The problem was, he didn’t have what was between her legs.

  Wet heaven.

  Fury flashed across his face. “It’s not even one day since Hemi died and you’re lookin’ for a root?!”

  I tensed, his words like a fist to the face. “You have a fuckin’ nerve,” I spat back, furious he was questioning my grief. “If I offered to screw your skank arse, you’d drop your dacks right here and now, regardless of the coppers.”

  Killer moved his face closer to mine, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull. “Not everyone has sex on their mind twenty-four seven, like you do, you prick.”

  “What a crock of shit. Every time you clap eyes on me, you eye-fuck me. Bet you’d pay me for a fuck like that chick across the room.”

  “I would never pay and stop fuckin’ talkin’ ’bout sex. My brother, your best mate, wuz murdered yesterday. You should be looking for his killer, not for your next fuck, you disrespectful bastard.”

  “I’m not disrespecting Hemi!” I snapped. No one fucking understood that sex to me wasn’t the same as it was for everyone else. It was a bandage. Something that could stop me from gassing myself, breathing in the fumes like Old Spice. Or taking a Speedball, knowing it could be my last.

  “So, keep your fuckin’ mouth shut,” I growled. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

  He glared at me. “Go on, hit me, and while you’re at it, knock me the fuck out so I don’t hafta think.”

  A tear fell onto his cheek. Another one followed, his tears making me feel like utter shite. Because he was right. I was a selfish bastard. I should be looking after him, not looking for my next root. It would be what Hemi would’ve wanted. He always took care of Killer’s wellbeing. After Killer had been let out of the looney bin, Hemi had bought a house for him, as well as making sure that money went into his bank account every week.

  And now Hemi was gone, along with his massive heart.

  Grief grabbed onto my own heart, gripping it so tight it was hard to breathe. I wanted to cry too, to allow tears to slide down my cheeks, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t cry in front of anyone. I couldn’t let them know what was inside of me; the real me. Because if I did, they’d find out I was nothing but a fraud, a weak bastard not worth their time.

  “I’m sorry,”
I finally said, those two words sounding strange to my ears. I rarely apologised, but right now, Killer deserved it. He was suffering and I was making it worse.

  Killer blinked at me, appearing surprised by my apology.

  “How ’bout I stay with you until you feel up to doin’ shit on your own,” I said. “I can sleep on your couch. You okay with that?”

  He blinked at me again, his expression stunned. Probably because I was usually a right bastard to him, even smashing him in the face once for perving on me. Though, he did deserve that. He’d broken into my house to watch me sleep, something I did butt naked.

  “Really?” he asked, his tone disbelieving.

  I nodded. “I’m bloody useless when it comes to helping, but Hemi would’ve wanted me to be there for you.”

  Killer closed his eyes at the mention of his brother, his grief hard to watch. “Thanks,” he croaked out, reopening his eyes.

  I nodded back, thinking he had the prettiest fucking eyes I’d ever seen, his tears turning them from hazel to green. “Let’s go.”

  He followed me to the door, the both of us stopped at the sound of my name. I turned to find two plain-clothed cops walking towards me. I tensed, hoping like hell the pigs weren’t going to cause me any issues. All I wanted to do was to take Killer home, and crash on his couch with a large bottle of whiskey, so I could get through the night without putting my fist in his face. Unlike meth, booze usually mellowed me out, taking the edge off my temper.

  “What do you want?” I snapped at the pigs.

  They came to a stop in front of me. I didn’t recognise the short, tough-looking male cop, but I did know the female one. The bitch was usually the oinker who dealt with my son when he broke the law. She was a plain, forgettable-looking sow, with features so bland no amount of makeup could help.

  “Be nice, Tane,” she said. “We have news.”

  “Then spit it out,” I snapped, worried she was going to say they’d caught Dante. Because if they had, he was definitely going to juvie if I couldn’t get the teacher to change her story.

  “Your son’s principal has informed us that Dante didn’t assault his teacher.”

  I grunted with relief, happy the truth was finally out. “So, you fuckers ignore my word, but take his?” I said, pissed off with them. “My son ran cos of your prejudices against him.”