Rage of the Phoenix Read online

  Rage of the Phoenix

  Book One of Rage MC

  Elizabeth N. Harris

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely co-incidental.

  This book was written, produced and edited in England, United Kingdom, where some spelling, grammar and word usage will vary from US English.

  Elizabeth N Harris

  Rage of the Phoenix.

  Book One of Rage MC.

  Copyright © 2019 Elizabeth N Harris

  All rights reserved.

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Contents

  Title Page

  From the Author.

  Prologue.

  Chapter One.

  Chapter Two.

  Chapter Three.

  Chapter Four.

  Chapter Five.

  Chapter Six.

  Chapter Seven.

  Chapter Eight.

  Chapter Nine.

  Chapter Ten.

  Epilogue.

  Character Index.

  Authors Byword.

  From the Author.

  Hello and thanks for reading my first book in an exciting new series. I have been working on this idea for a while now and I’m greatly excited to see this finally come to print!

  I’d like to thank several people starting with my son Michael, the original Muggle. Thank you for your support while I whined, cried and sweated my way through editing this book and then secondly learning my way around Indie publishing. Yeah, that was hard!

  My other three sons who suffered mum being homework crazy with them one minute and then writing crazy the next! You are all saints, my angels for surviving this alongside me!

  Thanks to mum, Vanessa Harris, who diligently worked through editing and proof reading. You also listened to me whine for hours about plot holes, re-writes, the craziness of editing and so on and so forth.

  Ben Wright, where do I begin with you? You supported me years ago when I first sent you a different story. You read it and edited it and now through this process you’ve been a rock again. Thank you for everything, your staunch support, your comments, your friendship. You’ll never know what it means to me.

  Maureen Turner who was nominated by Kerry, thank you for wading through the painful process of giving honest feedback and telling me the truth!

  While my stories don’t resemble a living person, I did base them in Rapid City. In doing so I may have redesigned Rapid City a little to fit with Rage MC. I do hope no one is insulted or upset by this action, it is after all fiction and my imagination.

  Thank you to my reviewers for your constructive comments, to everyone else who proof-read the book and basically let me drive you all insane. Finally to you my readers, I hope you enjoy Rage MC’s journey with me. Below are a couple of ways to contact me, I try to reply to every message to feel free to drop me a line.

  Thank You

  Beth x.

  [email protected]

  Elizabethnharris74.net

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/483099482281750

  Sign up for my newsletter

  Prologue.

  January 2010.

  The woman bit back a whimper and held her bruised cheek. She pulled herself painfully up off the floor and clutched the lip of the dresser before collapsing onto the bed. The door creaked open, and she flinched thinking the scumbag had returned. Instead, her eldest child stepped into the room. In a glance, her son took in her face and the manner in which she carried her body and he knelt at her feet. He was beautiful, her boy, so handsome, one of the few bright lights in her life.

  “Mum.” He whispered. She smiled, holding it together. Her baby had grown into an adult before he should have. Something else she’d never forgive her abuser for doing to them. Movement sounded behind him and she watched her daughter hurrying the younger three children away. With a glance over his shoulder, her son pulled out several one-pound coins. He held the money out to her.

  “Son?” She asked frowning which hurt. His face turned in her direction. His eyes held hers, a faint hope, a slight belief in something, in them. She’d lost faith and innocence years ago. How could she wipe out the ideals he held dear? She couldn’t.

  “It’s okay Mum, he doesn’t know I’ve got money. I’d treat the little three to sweets but Mum, let’s spin the wheel. I’ll go to the shop and buy a Lottery ticket, it’s a massive jackpot tonight, the biggest ever. Mr Wilkes will put the numbers on if we ask him.” She shook her head and folded his fingers over the coins. God, he was so good to her. She understood his hope that by taking a risk, escape may be possible. Her boy, the man looking out for his family. That was on him too.

  “No, get yourself, your brothers and sister something special.” She whispered, they never had nice things to eat. Every child needed a treat. Lord knows he didn’t give her money so she could spoil her babies.

  “Mum, you pick the numbers or I will. Have you seen the figure on euro millions tonight? Two hundred and fifteen million pounds. Let’s try our luck, it’s that terrible, it has to change one day.” He whispered stubbornly. “Mum, we’ve tried running away, it doesn’t work. God has to give us a break sometime.”

  “Your birthdays.”

  “And the final two numbers? Yours and dad’s?” She nodded and her son slunk out of the room and left swiftly. Her daughter came in with a wet cloth and laid it over her face. She clutched her daughter’s hand, squeezing to convey what she struggled to put into words.

  She waited until the monster returned home. He did what he wanted then drifted off to sleep. A pillow cradled her injured cheek as she rolled over and prayed to God for deliverance.

  ◆◆◆

  Two weeks later, his fist rammed into her face again and she cowered as her cheekbone audibly cracked. The children huddled scared in the single bedroom the five of them shared. She trusted her eldest son to protect them. Barricaded in their room, in case their stepfathers rage boiled over towards them.

  She didn’t understand why he raged at her tonight. The court trial had been won, the firm had given him generous praise, his expensive steak meal cooked to perfection. Meanwhile, her children shared five tins of beans and ten pieces of bread between them.

  Her son had yet again gone without for his siblings. Sneaking her own dinner of two slices of bread into her pocket, she slipped them to him so he’d eat something. Her husband meanwhile fed on steak that cost over twenty pounds. Bitterness swept through her.

  The monster was scum, pure scum. He dined well every night and her children made do with what she found to buy for twenty pounds. Twenty freaking pounds! How on earth did anyone feed five kids and themselves on twenty pounds? She starved herself near enough every day, often just having a slice of bread. The scumbag forced her to eat that in front of him, while he lorded it over her.

  Things were so desperate her son had taken an early morning paper round and an after-school job at the local newsagents while her husband was at work. Mr Wilkes, the elderly man her boy worked for, knew their circumstances, she knew he knew, but she knew he couldn’t help her.

  Mr Wilkes often kindly smuggled the children a treat w
hen she was in the shop and the widower generously paid her son well. The old man kept her son’s wages, so her husband couldn’t find the cash. He was saving, saving to get them free. There were no limits for her shame. She’d no money, it was impossible to save. Forced to produce receipts for everything, if a single penny was missing, he’d smile and punishment inevitably followed.

  A fist slammed into her again and she fell to her knees. Realisation swept over her that this time would be far worse than usual. The snarl on his face, the glow of hateful pleasure that he held power over her. The scumbag loved this, the knowledge she was powerless. She was right, it was horrific. As expected, after her beating, he left the house. Strolled to the club to drink and brag about his day while he left his wife in a pool of blood.

  The door opened and her boy entered. One glimpse at her, his body stiffened, anger and hate flashed across his features. He knelt and gently helped her rise. In the background the radio played quietly. Her husband thought it hid the sounds of his fists hitting her. Even with his supposed cleverness, he was a fool. Her son walked her into the bathroom and cleaned her face and hands.

  “Mum, you’re bleeding from your lady parts.” She looked and saw blood dripping down her legs. Waving him away, he left the room while she washed the bloody wounds. When she went back, she sat on the bed, a failure at being a mother. She couldn’t rescue her kids, she’d no chance to save herself, he’d track her wherever she fled. The evil bastard had done so every time they attempted an escape. A single tear dripped down her cheek.

  “Take your siblings and run, go to Mr Wilkes.” He shook his head at once in denial. “Tell Mr Wilkes everything, social services will become involved.”

  “Not without you Mum.” She took his face in her hands.

  “Son, he’s unstoppable. As long as he has me, he’ll settle for just me, get safe.” She argued through her cracked jawbone, it was causing her a great deal of misery. The way he’d kicked her chin, it was lucky it only felt fractured and not dislocated.

  “If we leave, he will kill you.” He disagreed. She couldn’t deny that. Together they sat in silence. “The only thing stopping him from killing you is the fact we’re witnesses.” A sigh that caused pain in her ribs escaped her, she corrected her breathing so it was shallower.

  “Start packing Mum. We’ll go to the hospital. Demand police from another borough get brought in. This time they must listen. Come on, you’re too badly hurt Mum, you need medical help.” He rose to his feet and then they both paused and looked to the radio as the presenter’s urgent voice caught their attention.

  “Again on breaking news, the National Lottery urges everyone in the Devon borough of Totnes to check their tickets. The National Lottery know the winning ticket for the two hundred and seventeen million pounds bought in Totnes, Devon, is still unclaimed. One lucky winner purchased the ticket at a local newsagent. The winning numbers are…” Oh my god, she looked up and her mouth dropped open.

  “Holy shit, Mum! Where is it?” A loud cry burst from her boy.

  “In my handbag, in the lining.” She whispered not daring to dream. Her son rushed to the drawers and pulled out the bag. With her luck, her scumbag husband had more than likely stolen it. He rummaged through and found the torn lining and shoved his hand in it. An incredulous look on his face he held up a crumpled Lottery ticket.

  “Mum. This is it, we’re free at last!” Quicker than lightning he ran to the door. With a bellow for his sister and brothers, he rounded them up and into tatty coats and shoes. As they were home schooled, her husband got away with dressing them in rubbish. There were a few sets of decent clothes, which they were allowed to wear when they had to appear as a family, which was rare.

  Together, supporting their mum, he and his sister got everyone out of the house and down the driveway. She weaved a little, an awful tenderness between her legs and her stomach clenched in terrible pain. The eldest slung her arms over their shoulders and between them they carried her. She remained upright by sheer willpower.

  “Where too?” His sister asked looking at him scared. He gazed at the fragile girl and only one person came to mind.

  “Mr Wilkes.” The boy said, convinced the older man would be their hero. He wrapped an arm around his mum’s waist and his sister took the other side. With a tight hold on his littlest brother’s hand, he made his middle brother go to his sister. The eldest of the smaller three held on to their youngest brother.

  Gradually, hiding from approaching cars, they crept to the local corner shop. In his mind it took forever but the pressure to get them to safety eased when the newsagents came into view.

  He banged on the glass window, praying Mr Wilkes hadn’t settled for the night. The boy kept banging and eventually saw lights go on in the shop. Mr Wilkes stood in the doorway and looked through the glass. Then for a much older fellow, he moved fast and got the door open and ushered them inside to safety.

  The little ones were crying quietly. Mr Wilkes made soothing noises as he took them through to the back. On entering the small living room, the three younger children clung together. The old man fetched chocolate and snacks for the youngsters and settled them in front of the television.

  The widower ran his hands over their heads, offering comfort and protection. Mr Wilkes ushered the eldest two children and the woman into the small kitchen and hauled out a chair into which she gratefully sat.

  “Jesus lass.” Mr Wilkes muttered. She put her hand up, although she hadn’t checked in the mirror, her face was doubtless black and blue. By everyone’s faces she knew it was awful. Blood stained her trousers around her pelvis and she could only imagine how she looked.

  “I’ll call for an ambulance.” Mr Wilkes muttered looking for his mobile phone.

  “Mr Wilkes, Mum has the winning ticket, the Lottery ticket!” Her son burst out nearly bouncing on his toes. He reached out to stop the man dialling. Mr Wilkes lifted his head from where he was searching and his eyes grew wide.

  “What lad?” Mr Wilkes asked a faint hope on his old face. This was a nice family, he liked these folks, with their soft-spoken mum and charming children. The mother was so similar to his own dear wife and the kids reminded him of the ones they’d never had. Stood on the side-lines watching their suffering, caused a good man untold nightmares these last few years. The children had become withdrawn and fearful and he had seen bruises on her, explained as clumsiness. Hate was such a strong word and yet he hated the stepfather with a passion.

  “The euro millions ticket that they’re looking for, it’s ours!” He waved the ticket he’d kept a tight grip on while holding his mum. Mr Wilkes’s eyes widened even further. Oh thank God, his prayers for the family were answered at last! Tears welled, realising what this meant for the family.

  “Rigthy’o lad. I’ll get things going.” He choked out. Mr Wilkes acted at once, getting on the phone to the Lottery people. The phone connected, and he hastily explained the circumstances to the woman who took his call. Sally, as she introduced herself, flew into action on hearing the list of injuries. First, Sally confirmed the ticket was the single sole winner and then second, sent a limousine to collect them.

  The car drove straight to a private medical centre, where doctors treated her for cuts, bruises, lacerations and a broken wrist. Doctor’s stitched between her legs, where he’d kicked her so hard, skin had ripped open. There was severe bruising to her stomach but nothing had ruptured, something she was thankful for.

  Scans revealed her liver and kidneys showed bruising and swelling from repeated blows. He’d broken four of her fingers and her nose, her jaw was fractured as she’d suspected. The medical staff took photographs and x-rays of cracked ribs and earlier broken bones. The evidence told a sad tale of abuse.

  On Sally’s insistence, police from Exeter met them there. Detectives took brief statements and further photographs. Security organised by Sally waited outside the door, observing the police officers. The on-call doctor described one of the worst cases of domestic
violence he’d ever seen and offered a statement to that effect.

  Sally had showed up with two managers of the Lottery. On finding out the woman’s condition, a solicitor arrived, who Sally had urgently contacted to meet with them. Sally wasn’t foolish, her training told her that the husband could claim half of the winnings. Instead Mr Wilkes would collect the fortune. A signed agreement was being drawn up for Mr Wilkes to give her the money when her divorce was completed.

  It was a grey area but not illegal, the Lottery people stated if the woman said the ticket belonged to Mr Wilkes then it did. If Mr Wilkes then signed everything over to the family when her divorce was final, who were they to comment on his generosity?

  The solicitor agreed to get a binding arrangement that Mr Wilkes couldn’t and (they knew) wouldn’t break, to them within the next few days. For such an important document, the phrasing needed to be perfect.

  Sally whisked everyone off as soon as possible to secure them in a hotel penthouse with security at the door. The detectives came back the next day and took further statements, this time bringing child specialist police officers to talk to the youngsters. The dedicated officers helped the children through the traumatic event.

  Sally ensured local law enforcement remained ignorant. Because as the family had explained, every single time they called the local police, they kept it quiet. The monster being prominent in the legal community, ensured any report was squashed. Exeter officers got an arrest warrant issued, with an emergency hearing in front of a judge for the next day.

  The binding arrangement proved unnecessary they found out three days later. Unbelievably, her husband hadn’t divorced his first wife. Whom he’d driven into running away by continuous beatings, just as he’d his current.

  When Sally began looking for the divorce papers from his first marriage, it turned out there were none! The judge dealing with the case ordered the marriage void. Her now ex-husband was behind bars for serious multiple offences, including bigamy. The local police were under scrutiny by Exeter police, for their part in covering up domestic violence.