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Read Online Books/Novels:

After Glow (Lost Kings MC #11)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Autumn Jones Lake

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B07J6P8P3D
Book Information:

One uncovered truth shines a light on the throne of lies I’ve been sitting on for years. A revelation with the power to test the bonds of brotherhood like never before. My ruthless obsession to protect what’s mine burns hotter than ever. Promises I’ve made to my brothers I burn to keep. Vows made to my wife I swear to honor. Through the web of tangled loyalties, one thing remains clear. Hope is embedded in my soul. A love so rare I’ve spilled blood to protect it. Together, we’ve built something beautiful, significant, and ours. With her by my side, my reign is complete.

Books in Series:

Lost Kings MC Series by Autumn Jones Lake

Books by Author:

Autumn Jones Lake Books

Remorse is the poison of life.

-Charlotte Brontë

Chapter One

Rock

Few things in life can be hidden for long. The sky. The sun. The moon.

The truth.

When I was younger, I thought the biggest regrets in my life would come from choices I knowingly made or the wrong roads I’d traveled. The reality is more complicated.

The biggest regrets come from the places we never expect. From the decisions that we don’t realize until much later are mistakes. Mistakes that, if I allow it, seem hell-bent on devouring everything I’ve tried to build for myself and for my club.

Adrenaline rushes through my veins. Blood pounds in my ears.

The freedom of jumping on my bike and riding until things made sense usually did the trick.

The stretch of road in front of me is clear. No surprise—it’s ass-crack early. An hour ago the pavement was plenty grippy. Now it’s slick and shiny from a light mist of rain. I’m close to home but resist the urge to open up the throttle. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten a wet ass.

Soon we’ll have an answer. Find out which one of us fathered Inga’s child.

The kid isn’t mine, no use worrying about that.

What’s bothering me right now is that, until the truth comes out, my wife has to deal with the chaos.

Almost home.

I can’t see the turn for our property yet, but I know it’s there. I brake earlier than usual, not liking what the front tire’s telling me about its grip on the road. As I make the turn onto our property, the sky opens up with enough rain to choke a full-grown mallard.

Motherfucker.

I’m soaked and no less agitated by the time I pull into the garage. No one’s around this early to give me shit for taking a ride without rain gear. Although the foul mood I’m in would probably deter anyone from questioning me.

It’s doubtful Hope’s up yet, and I’m still too restless to be in our quiet home. Instead, I step into the clubhouse. Sparky’s passed out on the couch. Hoot’s on the other couch. Somehow Birch and Stash ended up on the floor.

The sight pulls a chuckle from me. I don’t even want to know. I’m sure it has something to do with drinking or smoking their troubles away last night.

Maybe I can work off my frustration in the gym.

Fifty-five minutes of pushing the elliptical to its limits later and the clutter in my head still hasn’t sorted itself out. My legs burn as I tap the incline up another notch.

Physical pain I can tolerate.

The pain being inflicted on my wife over this ordeal, that’s harder to cope with.

Not that she’s said much about it since the day she spoke to Inga’s lawyer.

Maybe it’s in my head, but the tension in her face wasn’t there before we received the petition. She says she’s not stressed. That the case is nothing more than a trivial annoyance. But the lines around her mouth and the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes is new too.

All I’ve wanted to do since we found out about baby Grace is pamper my wife. Make life as easy as possible for her so she can concentrate on all the changes taking place in her body and in our world.

Bitterness burns my throat. Dealing with my “ex” was never part of my spoil-the-shit-out-of-Hope plan.

“Fuck!” A loud crack echoes in the room as my fist connects with the plastic monitor in front of me.

“You know the club just replaced those machines, right?”

My fury recedes, or maybe it’s found a new target. I glance up and find Z leaning against the door frame with his arms folded over his chest.

“You tryin’ to break it, or punish yourself for some imaginary crime?” he asks.

“Both.” I grunt and slow my frenetic pace, taking in his lack of a smirk. Concern shoves my anger aside. “You okay?”

He shrugs and strolls into the room, stopping to grab a towel. “This whole thing is pissing me off.”

“Take a number.” I finally stop, and Z tosses the towel my way.

“How’s Hope handling it?” he asks.

“You really come down here to discuss my marriage?”

“Uh, yeah. I actually care about both of you.”

Shaking my head, I run the towel over my face and neck. “Sorry.”

“She mad at you?”

“Doesn’t seem to be.”

“You want her to be. Think she should be pissed at you, right?”

“I’m really not in the mood, Dr. Frazier. Go play relationship counselor somewhere else.”

He snorts. “That’s the last thing I’m trying to do.”

I chuck the towel in the laundry basket and glare at him. “You worried I’m gonna fuck something up?”

“No. You’ve dealt with worse shit and handled it fine.” He gives me a more pointed look. “We have some important things coming up. The security gig for Sway. Another meet with—”

“Jesus Christ, are you my activities director now? I’m aware of what’s coming up. Sway can fuck right off. Babysitting his porn star is at the bottom of my give-a-fuck list.”


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