Fire Inside (Chaos, #2)(112)
“Oh dear,” Lanie repeated, but this time those two words shook with amusement.
“Three?” Hop asked, his eyebrows shooting up.
Cody lifted up the lid on the waffle maker to check progress all the while talking, “Seein’ as I already decided to hook up early, I figure I gotta get my experience in now.”
This time, Hop bit back a curse.
Molly cried, “Gross!”
Lanie kept laughing.
“Son, look at me,” Hop called and Cody decided the waffle wasn’t done yet so he dropped the top back on and looked at his Dad. “You are way too young for me to be sharin’ this but seein’ as you’re jumpin’ the gun, I gotta lay it out. You want a Lanie, one at a time. You never, and hear me, boy, never jack a girl around. You jack her around, you live with doin’ that to a girl who doesn’t deserve it but you also answer to me. Are you hearin’ me?”
Cody nodded solemnly. “I hear you, Dad.”
Hop felt something in the room. He looked to his wife and he saw she wasn’t laughing anymore. Her face was soft, her eyes were warm and he felt that warmth deep down, straight into his bones.
He returned the look then aimed his gaze back at his son.
“More advice,” he started. “You can get your experience in about seven years. Now, concentrate on kickball or something.”
“I already kill at kickball,” Cody bragged. “Don’t need no practice at that.”
“Right, whatever,” Hop replied, “I think you get me.”
Cody studied him before giving in by mumbling, “I get you.”
“Good,” Hop stated. “Now, feed me. I’m starved.”
Cody grinned.
Lanie got him a cup of coffee and gave it to him with a kiss on his jaw before she turned her attention back to supervising waffles.
Then they all sat at the kitchen table, Hopper Kincaid at the head with his family around, talking, laughing, giggling, shooting the shit over waffles.
It wasn’t a birthday. It wasn’t a holiday.
It still felt like a celebration.
And, even though it started shit, it was the best day of his life.
Just like every day after he won the love of Elaine Heron Kincaid.
But especially the day, seven months later, when his wife gave him his second son.
Nash Kane Kincaid.
About the Author
Kristen Ashley grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana, and has lived in Denver, Colorado, and the West Country of England. Thus she has been blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her posse is loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write.
Kristen was raised in a house with a large and multigenerational family. They lived on a very small farm in a small town in the heartland, and Kristen grew up listening to the strains of Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon, and Whitesnake.
Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music and love was a good way to grow up.
And as she keeps growing up, it keeps getting better.
You can learn more at: KristenAshley.net Twitter @KristenAshley68
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Tabitha Allen grew up in the thick of Chaos—
the Chaos Motorcycle Club, that is.
Her father is Chaos’s leader, and the club has always had her back.
But one rider was different from the start…
See the next page for a preview of Own the Wind.
Chapter One
“I Dreamed a Dream”
Three and a half months later…
His cell rang and Parker “Shy” Cage opened his eyes.
He was on his back in his bed in his room at the Chaos Motorcycle Club’s Compound. The lights were still on and he was buried under a small pile of women. One was tucked up against his side, her leg thrown over his thighs, her arm over his middle. The other was upside down, tucked to his other side, her knee in his stomach, her arm over his calves.
Both were naked.
“Shit,” he muttered, twisting with difficulty under his fence of limbs. He reached out to his phone.
He checked the display, his brows drew together at the “unknown caller” he saw on the screen as he touched his thumb to it to take the call.
“Yo,” he said into the phone.
“Shy?” a woman asked, she sounded weird, far away, quiet.
“You got me,” he answered.
“It’s Tabby.”
He shot to sitting in bed, limbs flying and they weren’t his.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” her voice caught like she was trying to stop crying or, maybe, hyperventilating, then she whispered, “So, so sorry but I’m in a jam. I think I might even be kinda… um, in trouble.”
“Where are you?” he barked into the phone, rolling over the woman at his side and finding his feet.
“I… I… well, I was with this old friend and we were. Damn, um…” she stammered as Shy balanced the phone between ear and shoulder and tugged on his jeans.
“Babe, where are you?” he repeated.
“In a bathroom,” she told him, as he tagged a tee off the floor and straightened, waiting for her to say more.
When she didn’t, gently, he prompted, “I kinda need to know where that bathroom is, sugar.”