Khan Part I (Midnight Syn MC Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 N. Tetterton All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 1-9171839464

  Printed in the United States of America

  …his intense stare should be frightening but it brings out a sense of excitement.

  How is it that I can pull the trigger ending someone’s life and not even blink, no hesitation? Yet here, in this room, I’m sitting nervously in this chair. Almost twitching, at least twitching on the inside. Not even the barrel of a gun to my temple makes me twitch on the outside anymore. Maybe I’ve just become complacent about near-death experiences.

  This is fucking weird. Rubbing my hand down my legs trying to smooth out my dress pants over my legs. Why did I have to wear a fucking suit? Oh right, because walking into this place in my jeans, t-shirt, and my cut would send any chance for Ella to be able to come here right out the window. I try to not make any eye contact with the women who shuffle around me in the room even though they all keep glancing over towards me. I can deal with their looks and any other time I wouldn't even think twice, but this isn’t about me… this is about Ella.

  “Davis,” well, that’s me… here goes nothing.

  As I walk towards the room that the woman is standing next to, I can hear the sharp intake of breath that she sucks in, at least it’s good to know that it isn’t just my normal clothes that draw women to me. I watch the blush begin to form in her cheeks the closer I walk towards her, but she looks away, refusing to make eye contact. She is most likely around 22, so this all makes sense. She’s just old enough to be in the column of ‘women I would fuck’… which is pretty much anyone over the age of 21. But she isn’t sure what to think of me. My appearance intrigues yet also terrify her and she can’t quite figure out why she immediately thinks about fucking me. . I’m sure at first she notices my build, I’m taller than most men and I take care of my body. Between working on my bike and the hours I spend at the gym I make sure to stay in shape. I nod my head and give her a small smirk as she motions for me into the room. As I pass by her I can’t help but smirk and wink.

  “Ms. Saxs will be with you shortly.” Her words are barely over a whisper as she closes the door behind me, blush still consuming her face. Rubbing my hands together as I walk towards the chairs which sit in front of the large wooden desk. There is a computer that sits on the right side of it. On the left side of the desk, there is a stack of folders, and three left haphazardly between the pile and the computer. There is also a container to hold the pens on the desk but at least 5 or so just dropped on the desk. At the front of the desk, there is a large wooden nameplate which reads ‘Billie Saxs, Principal’. Behind the desk is a large window and I’m sure that during the school year she can see the kids walking around the campus. On the wall to the right, there is a dying plant and a cactus. There are photos, but they are slightly too far away for me to get a good look at to see the faces, or exactly what is happening, and honestly, I’m too nervous at this moment to be daring enough to get up and go look at them. Who would have ever thought that I could ever be nervous again, but as I sit in this extremely fancy private school, me the guy who dropped out of high school? Yes, I am nervous. To break these nerves, I start to try and gauge the woman with whom I will be meeting shortly. The woman who uses this office is someone who tries to break her character, she tries to be perfect; which shows with the perfectly placed file folders on one side and the pen holder with the majority of the pens in them, the plants to the side and the photos. From afar the office looks perfect, almost like a photo-worthy of a magazine; however, the files are strewn across her desk, the pens which have been dropped in no particular order, in fact, one of the pens is missing its cap, and the dying plant tells me that her real self, breaks through and she can’t quite help it.

  The door behind me pops open and I stand up assuming that the woman that I am meeting with will be standing there, but the same flustered woman is standing at the door and her words come out quick. Without meeting my eyes she rambles out, “I’m so sorry, Ms. Saxs is running behind it should only be a few more minutes.” I wish that I could just go ahead and get this over with. The young woman mutters some more words that are incoherent as she shuts the door. Running late just further proves my theory on her. She can’t help but let her true colors breakthrough. I hate people who pretend to be something that they are not.

  There are two built-in bookshelves behind me on each side of the door. The books bring back memories of when I was a kid, my mother reading to me as I fall asleep, and I can’t help but walk over and check out the titles. I smirk as I take in the titles and wonder if she has actually read all of these or if they are just for show. There seems to be no particular order of the books on the shelves. Except that one set of shelves is reference books while the shelves I’m looking at are all fiction books, I wonder if she tries to organize them. Gauging by the rest of the office, I bet she does. She organizes them, and within the week they are out of order again. She seems to have a wide array of novels, classics as well as some more modern novels.

  Anna Karenina

  The Alchemist

  The Hunger Games

  Gatsby

  Catcher and the Rye

  Divergent

  Fahrenheit 451…

  I pull the book out of the line when another grabs my attention. This book sits sideways on top of a few other books on a different shelf, something quite out of place with the rest of the books that sit on the shelves.

  “The Anarchist cookbook?” I can’t help but whisper the words out loud as my fingers graze over the spine, whoever this woman is I’m not sure if I’ve ever met someone quite like her. Bringing my attention back to the book in hand I open it up and flip through the pages, noticing the little words that are scribbled along the spine and the dog-eared creased corners… either she bought this book second hand or she has read it… more than once. When the door opens, my nerves from before taking ahold of me again, and I shut the book quickly and put it back onto the shelf… slightly out of place, much as I am in this room, but still almost into its place.

  The energy seems to shift when she walks into the room, it’s a mix of stress and something else that I recognize but given the woman standing in front of me, I cannot seem to believe it. There’s a folder in her hand. I can see her gaze as she scans the pages.

  “Mr. Davis.” Well, let’s start this awkward interview already.

  “Not exactly, but I can understand the confusion” my words come out condescendingly, there’s nothing new there, but as soon as she looks up at me, I internally kick myself. She stops in her spot, which is mere inches away from where I stand and her bright green eyes look up at me. She is a head shorter than I am, even with the tall black heels that she is wearing. She looks to be maybe twenty-six and I’m not sure how she could have made it as a principal of a school like this so early in her career. Her dark hair flows down and over her shoulders and it manages to contrast with her creamy porcelain skin. Her black skirt stops right below her knees but the way that it fits tight to her I can tell that without it, her legs would be hard to take my eyes off of. She’s wearing a black and white plaid blazer with a black silk blouse underneath it. I expect to hear the same intake of air as the woman from earlier did, but she doesn’t, which manages to surprise and disappo
int me at the same time. Even if outwardly she doesn’t show her attraction to me I can see the small ways that she is trying to push it down. I can see her pupils dilate just slightly. I watch as her free hand moves up to smooth out her hair. Not that I think I am God’s gift to women or anything, but I just know how women react to me even women who try to be as prim and proper as Ms. Billie Saxs is trying to make people believe that she is.

  You don’t get a certain reputation without being able to sense these things.

  ❖

  How did I fuck that up? I force myself to look away from the man standing in front of me back down to the folder. Flipping through a couple of pages I then remember all of the notes which I have for this meeting. This is the meeting that I was not looking forward to, but with already running late this morning and then traffic, I am more flustered than normal and forgot. I glance back up at the very intense man standing in front of me. His deep blue eyes take me by surprise and they cause me to quickly look back down to the folder which sits in my hand.

  I have to look up to him to be able to get a good look at his eyes and can’t help but wonder how tall he is. I’m judging by my 5’4 frame with 4-inch heels on and the still head that he has on me he is probably around 6’4. His dirty blonde hair is nearly shaved on the sides but much longer on the top, he has styled it with gel, combing it straight back. He’s wearing a suit, but I can tell that he feels very uncomfortable, well if this man could possibly be uncomfortable about anything. Even with the suit, I can still see the tattoos which peek out from over the collar of his shirt. They bring out a sense of curiosity in me that makes me think about pulling the collar back so I can get a better look at them.

  Hmm, this man is not like the ones I’m used to meeting with every other day. From looking at him I can tell that he’s full of masculinity, almost like a modern-day Viking, not like most of the fathers and administrators that I deal with day today. His entire demeanor starts a throbbing that I haven’t felt in some time. The ones who have softer hands than I do. No, this man… he knows how to work with his hands and he’s not afraid to get them dirty. Even though the suit conceals what exactly his body would look like underneath something tells me that it would not disappoint. The scar right along his cheekbone contradicts the rest of his face, it’s the only flaw on his face that I can find. Yet does things to me that I’m not so sure about. It screams to me that there’s something dangerous about this man… something dark and for some reason, it excites and at the same time terrifies me.

  “Daxton Wessex,” he extends his hand to me, “I’m Ella’s legal guardian. It’s been very recent. I sent over the paperwork last week.” I reach out to shake his hand and have to repress all of my emotions that threaten to boil up. The throbbing increases and I have to look away from him quickly to sustain the sensations. Clearly, it’s been too long since I have had sex. I pull back my hand after I can gauge my previous assessment of his rough hands was correct, as I glance back to the paperwork in my hand and flip through a couple of pages. Of course, I remember all of my notes to this particular meeting now, after I have made a complete idiot of myself.

  “Yes, I do apologize. I see it right here.” I mutter, seeing one of the books on the shelf is out of place… interesting, this man does not strike me as one who reads. “Please have a seat” I motion to him as I walk around my desk. I can still feel his eyes on me, setting my skin on fire wherever they land, as I move to my chair. Which causes all of my nerves to be overly aware of the situation.

  “Mr. Wessex-,” I begin.

  “Please,” he cuts me off and leans forward looking straight at me, “call me Dax.” The way he says his own name seems foreign to him, almost as if he isn’t used to saying it either.

  Nope, don’t want to do that.

  I can tell that by the way he looks at me, the way that he talks, and the way that he carries himself he is used to women doing whatever it is that he has in mind. I smile up to him again, politely. “Mr. Wessex.” I insist, sternly, without breaking eye contact until I have made my point across to him then looking down at the paperwork which sits in front of me, “Ella’s grades are incredible. She’s an A+ student, top of her class, with no disciplinary actions. She participates in after-school activities. On paper, she looks like a perfect fit for the school.” This is the part of this job that I hate. I emphasize the word she and when I look back up at him I can see the look on his face is not what he wants to hear. The playfulness that his eyes were just holding is now dissipated and a more serious look replaces it.

  “But…” he trails and I have to look back down to say what I need to say. If I look him in the eyes I will not be able to form the words.

  “…But,” I pause again as I can still feel his eyes on me even without looking up to him just yet. “Let me clarify that I am not the deciding vote here. I am simply here as an initial interview, mostly to weed the majority of the kids who have nowhere near a chance of being here.” I pause again letting myself look up to him, knowing exactly how I can say what I need to say without making it seem so blunt. Deep breath, “How is it that Ella came into your custody so suddenly?” I ask him maybe if I walk through the situation it will become apparent.

  “Her father is…” he pauses for a second, I know that he is trying to find the right words to say to me.

  “Incarcerated?” I ask him in a small voice and he glances away. Everyone has heard of Oz Davis and his arrest. As well as, his association with the Midnight Syndicate MC.

  “Pending trial,” He cuts his eyes and stares at me, hardening his stare. “and her mother took off, abandoning her when she was 6, Ella is my goddaughter.” I can see the love he has for Ella. When he speaks of her mother leaving his eyes to fall down and I wish I could do something for this girl, not even meeting her and I want to protect her from having a messed my life myself. As big and scary as Dax is sitting across from me when he claims her as his goddaughter his eyes are full of pride, “I want nothing but the best for her.”

  “And what is it that you do?” I ask him. There are rumors about Oz Davis… all around this city, but Daxton Wessex I, nor anyone that I know, has heard of any sort of connection to the Midnight Syndicate or for that matter even heard of him.

  His smile confuses me and I’m not sure if he smiling at me or if he smiling because he’s practiced this enough that he knows exactly what to say. “I’m a business owner.”

  “Oh,” I look at him a little surprised. “Which business do you own?” I ask him. I have my suspensions of which business he owns, if he’s the legal guardian of Ella, who is Oz’s daughter, the chances of him not being a part of the club are highly unlikely.

  He raises his eyes and looks straight at me, testing me, trying me, his intense stare should be frightening but it brings out a sense of excitement. “I don’t understand how that’s any of your fucking business.” He continues to stare at me and my breathing increases. I’m not sure if it’s due to the anger, from the way that he is speaking to me, or if it’s the fact that him speaking to me like this is somehow turning me on more. It’s clearly just because I need to get laid and that this man is a primal definition of what a man should be.

  “Mr. Wessex,” I mutter and I match his intensity, “I don’t think you understand how all of this works.”

  “I don’t need you patronizing me,” he begins to push himself up out of his seat, leaning his large frame overtop my desk, bringing himself closer to me, trying to intimidate me, “just because you think that you are better than me, Billie.” His voice continues to rise and continues to push himself closer to me with each word he says and with the last word, my name, he flicks his hands towards my nameplate which sits on my desk. But why is it when he uses my first name somehow it causes the tension between us to rise if that is even possible? He’s leaning almost all the way over my desk, hands pressed firmly on the wood. Screw him and him trying to intimidate me.

  I slam my hands on the desk and push myself up, matching his stance, h
is tone, his volume, and his demeanor, “It’s. Ms. Saxs.” our faces are closer than I intend for them to be and for a flash of a second I see a sense of surprise and maybe intrigue to his eyes and the corner of one side of his lip pulls up into a small smirk, but it disappears just as quickly as it appears. Once he gets his expression under control, his eyes become more intense, differently than the intensity they had before. This time he looks at me like he wants to devour me. “Now, Mr. Wessex,” I lower my voice to a normal volume and stress his name, still not wavering in my stance, “what I was saying is that at this private school, not only are the students evaluated but so are their families.” I pause as I sit back down and he begins to take his seat once more understanding what I am meaning, “my recommendation is on the students themselves, and forgive me if I am wrong I am under the impression that you may not be too familiar with the private school system,” he nods that he is not, “ok, I am trying to help you because all of this is going to be under review with the board of directors. Once she gets her approval from me. And those questions will be expected to be answered.” I pause once more. “Even with Ella’s fantastic record, Oz Davis’s pending manslaughter trial will have an impact on her being approved. So, unless on paper” I make my point by holding up the folder that sits in front of me, “you can have a way that not only counterbalances it but pushes it over for a positive look on the school. I’m sorry Mr. Wessex, but as much as it pains me to say it… it doesn’t look good.” I stop and his lips press into a firm line. “Now, I will pass along her application with my seal of approval,” I lower my voice because I’m not supposed to reveal the next piece of information, but not only do I feel bad for this girl, but because I can also see how much he wants to give her what he can, “you could get a call, but I will tell you that they will do research on everyone before they call you and Ella in for an interview.”