Renner

Copyright © 2023 S. Nelson Editor- Hot Tree Editing Cover Design – CT Cover Creations Photographer – Michelle Lancaster Cover Model – Chris Jensen Proofreader – Judy’s Proofreading All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Renner/ S. Nelson – 1st edition 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 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Epilogue The Original KCMC Stay Informed Also Available About the Author Note to Reader Acknowledgments Books by S. Nelson 1 As my eyelids fluttered open, and the remnants of a restless night’s sleep started to fade, a dull achiness invaded my right leg. I used to think people were crazy when they could predict rain because of a soreness in their limbs. But now I was one of those people, my injury caused from a car accident years ago. Thankfully, my discomfort was more of an annoyance from time to time and nothing more serious. “Dad!” Colton’s voice traveled down the hallway moments before he appeared in the doorway to my bedroom. “Are you getting up?” He approached the bed. “You said you were gonna make me pancakes.” “I will.” I failed to muster the energy necessary to elaborate. “When?” “Soon.” “I’m hungry,” he complained, scratching the side of his head, his ash-blond hair sticking out on the side. He took after me in the looks department, more so as he got older, but he got his mom’s hair color, before she dyed it dark. And although he shared traits with both of us, I had no idea where he got his brown eyes from. Maxine’s were hazel and mine were blue. “I got that from you comin’ in here and tellin’ me.” I cracked a smile, an expression reserved solely for my son, especially these days. I didn’t have much else to grin about. Didn’t have a woman, nor did I want one. Shit with the club was getting intense, a word which didn’t properly describe the impending danger that would come our way if we didn’t get a handle on the situation, if it was at all possible. And I had to deal with my ex. Like I said, all things that didn’t warrant me to be happy. Thank God for my son or I’d be swallowed up in darkness. “I can make them.” “No. You’re not old enough to use the stove yet.” “I use it at Nana’s,” he countered, snapping his mouth shut when I scowled. “You do?” His teeth harassed his bottom lip, his hesitation to answer written all over his handsome little face. “Answer me.” “Yeah. Mom told me I could do it myself when I asked her to make them for me.” “Of course she did.” I didn’t make it a habit of bashing my ex in front of my son, but that didn’t mean it was easy to hold my tongue. “I’m not a little kid, Dad.” “That’s exactly what you are. And you’re gonna stay one for as long as possible. Trust me, Colt, you don’t wanna grow up too fast. This adult stuff isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes.” On a grunt, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, delaying a moment before standing, the coolness of the hardwood floor meeting the soles of my feet. “Do you want me to get them started?” “No,” I replied, the curtness in my tone making him groan in disappointment. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Damn, he was impatient. Then again, so was I. He said something I couldn’t make out before disappearing, his grumbling reminding me too much of myself at times. I was in for it when he became a teenager, because if he was anything like I was at his age, I’d perfected being an ornery little shit by the time I was thirteen. Although I supposed hormones could’ve been to blame. God love my mom because she’d been patient with me back then. She disciplined me, as she should’ve, but afterward, she’d hug me and tell me she loved me before informing me my punishment was for my own good. My dad, on the other hand, wasn’t as affectionate. He loved me, was a great father, but he was stricter than my mom. I swore he grounded me for an entire summer when I was twelve. As I washed my hands in the bathroom sink, I glanced into the mirror, flinching at my reflection. Several more grays had popped out overnight, it seemed, around my temples and in my beard, and the dark circles under my eyes screamed of the stress I’d been dealing with lately. My gaze traveled south to the jagged scar on my abdomen, near my left hip bone. The skin had healed over the past four years, but the reminder of that night remained as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. My life had been different then. Peaceful, even. But everything changed the moment a drunk driver crossed the median and hit us head-on. I’d taken a shard