Axel

AXEL— By V. THEIA COPYRIGHT This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Names and characters are the property of the author and may not be duplicated. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners. Axel Cover photo: Depositphotos.com Cover Design: V. Theia. ©2023 Published by V. Theia 2023 All Rights Reserved DEDICATION To my gals who have found their tribe. This one is for you! CONTENTS COPYRIGHT DEDICATION CONTENTS ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE THIRTY-TWO EPILOGUE Also by V. THEIA CONNECT WITH ME ONE Axel BEFORE Brutality came with the job description of being an MC president. Mark ‘Axel’ Tucker wasn’t a violent man by nature. He didn’t get off on bones breaking, and blood splattered over his clothes. But he knew how to handle himself and his business when people stepped out of line or tried to get one over him. He had zero tolerance for bullshit and backstabbers. “Clean this garbage up,” he spat, looking down at the wasted pile of shit that was once one of his dealers who’d thought it was clever to skim off the top and no one would notice. He’d worked the piece of shit over with his fists, preferring teaching a lesson the old-fashioned way. Until he’d turned twenty, Axel had been dirt poor. A kid who didn’t know where his next meal was coming from. His teen years were spent permanently hungry, never having good sneakers or new clothes. So for some piece of shit to assume Axel didn’t know, down to the last cent, how much money his club was bringing in was a bad mistake. The guy was bleeding and bruised, hanging onto life by the plaque of his teeth. He’d begged for his life like the rat he was. Axel didn’t feel gleeful for putting the hurt on someone; he didn’t have Ruin’s constitution for torture. But examples had to be made of traitors, and he was bitterly disgusted that he had discovered someone untrustworthy in his employ. Little maggot got off lightly because he was still being sent home to his family alive and not dumped in the river. Moreover, he had enough on his plate already dealing with a serial maniac who’d been dropping dead bodies on their doorsteps for weeks to frame the Diablos. One day, Axel would catch a break. But today wasn’t that day. Two of his prospects rushed forward and dragged the guy to his feet. Blood dripped out of him like a faucet. “Get your family packed up and fuck off out of my town, Will. If we see your face, it won’t go as nicely as now. You understand?” “Yeah, yeah, Axel, I’m sorry, man.” He dripped blood from his lips. Excuses and apologies were ignored. “Get him out of my sight.” He issued with authority, and the prospects dragged the guy over to the rig to drop him off. “What happened to honor among criminals?” asked Chains. Axel’s VP was just as disgusted. “Fucking Gen Z.” Behind them, Reno chuffed a laugh. “Thank fuck I scraped in as a millennial. What are you, Chains, a boomer?” “Fuck you, kid.” Laughed Chains. “Now, we heading back to the clubhouse? Because I have business with my future Mrs.” Axel smirked, leaving the scene behind Chains’ strip club, The Den, and got into step with his friend and VP as they headed toward their bikes. “Is Monroe giving you trouble?” “She’s as ornery as that cat that wandered into the club last winter and scratched everyone up when we tried to feed it.” Axel smirked. He wished his friend luck with his future wife. He still didn’t know why Chains had put his neck into the noose and volunteered for a marriage of convenience with a business associate’s daughter. It sure as hell was not something Axel would sign up for. His one turn at domestic bliss was more like a Freddie nightmare. His daughter, Roux, was the only good thing from his short-lived relationship with Selena. No seventeen-year-old kid wanted to be a father, but Roux was the best accident of his life. And now he had two hellions to call him Grampy. A grandfather at forty-two. No wonder his bones creaked when he got out of bed each morning. Those kids were aging him before his time, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Family and love were Axel’s driving forces. Everything he’s ever done was for the good of those he cared for. Roux might now be under the care of her husband, The Butcher, a member of the Renegade Souls MC, and Axel knew that the man had already been through hell for Roux and would go through more. But that didn’t mean Axel took his foot off the father pedal. He’d untangled himself from a disastrous deal with the Mexicans when they firebombed his house a few years back. And now he was about to cut free from Donahue’s agreement just as soon as the ink dried on Chains’ marriage license and the Irish got their criminal asses across the ocean to set a new, more lucrative deal in stone. Axel was sick to death of trading with boys pretending to be entrepreneurs. But, at least, he knew the Irish had their code of honor, much like himself. He wasn’t looking for a quiet life, that was for the average Joe. He enjoyed gaining money by any means necessary. Besides, he’d be bored in a day if his job comprised of clocking in and out. His outfit might not be as big as some MCs around the country,