The Hawthornes:

  Titus

  An Aces MC Story

  By Nicole Jacquelyn

  Titus

  Copyright ©2024 by Nicole Jacquelyn

  Kindle Edition

  All Rights Reserved

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  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 information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dedication

  To Ron.

  You married my mother almost twenty-two years ago.

  I was a brat. It lasted for years.

  You didn’t falter. You didn’t cave. You just kept showing up.

  Titus knows how to love his girls because of how you’ve loved me.

  Love you, Dad.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Titus

  I wasn’t sure how long we’d been sitting on the floor of the library, tucked between the romance and fantasy sections, but in the back of my mind, the ticking of each second passing was like a bomb waiting to go off. We’d spent the first fifteen minutes in the little alcove just past the bathrooms but before the emergency exit, a spot that for some reason no one had done anything with and fit the two of us perfectly. I knew from experience that the taste of her wouldn’t be gone until I brushed my teeth that night and the palms of my hands still tingled with the memory of all the silky skin under her shirt.

  “I just want to be a mom,” Noel said with a shrug, her lips tipping up at the edges. “Maybe volunteer to help old people fill out paperwork or something when I have extra time.”

  “That’s your big dream?” I teased, leaning forward as I grinned at her. “To be a mom and help old people with paperwork?”

  “I like paperwork,” she replied, raising her chin in defiance. “It’s like solving a puzzle. And I like the idea of taking care of my babies and our home. I know it’s not cool or popular.”

  “Who gives a shit?” I shot back, making her laugh quietly. “I mean, you’re a weirdo with the paperwork thing but I’m guessin’ you’ll make some confused little old lady very happy.”

  “What about you?” she asked, tilting her head as she played with a strand of hair that was brushing her cheek. “What do you want to do when you grow up?”

  “Rocket scientist,” I replied instantly. “No, physicist. No, I’m going to be an actor.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I dunno,” I mumbled, chastised. “Maybe somethin’ to do with writin’. I’ve always been pretty good at that, or maybe somethin’ with computers.”

  “Like write books?”

  “Or maybe journalism. I don’t know. There’s a pretty good computer engineering program down in Klamath Falls. That might be cool.”

  “You’d be good at that,” she said with a firm nod. “I think you should do it.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both,” she said easily.

  “I’ll probably end up workin’ at the garage.” I reached up to scratch my cheek. “You know, family business and all.”

  “You have three brothers.” She waved me off. “Let them do it.”

  “You’re right.” I nodded with a laugh. “Let them take over. I’ll get a track scholarship, go to some big school, and live the dream.”

  “What about a family?” she asked, still smiling at me. “A wife? Want one of those?”

  “You applyin’ for the job?”

  Noel snorted and her hand shot up to cover her face in embarrassment.

  “You can just say it,” I joked, sighing in mock desolation. “Sure, I’ll finance that lavish lifestyle you want.”

  “Lavish?”

  “Takes money to raise all those kids you’re gonna have.”

  “How do you know I want a bunch of kids?”

  “You said babies. Not baby. Babies.”

  “I could’ve meant two,” she shot back.

  “You didn’t.” I reached out and ran a finger down her jaw, dropping my hand when her face tilted, just barely, in my direction.

  It was all we had. Stolen moments in the library. Quiet conversation about our dream lives. That first fifteen minutes of bliss before anyone came looking for the teenagers who’d disappeared into a hidden corner. Brief hidden touches.

  None of that seemed to matter much. I was drawn to Noel Allen like a moth to a fucking flame. Ignoring her crazy ass parents and the fact that she couldn’t even be seen with me in public was something that had become almost normal.

  “I want at least four,” she murmured, her eyes steady on mine. “You okay with that?”

  I wobbled my head from side to side like I was considering it. “Only if I get you to myself for a couple of years first.”

  “Deal,” she whispered happily, her eyes shining.

  “Someday it’s not gonna be like this,” I promised, wrapping my hand around her ankle under the cover of her long skirt. “You and me are gonna walk down the street, holdin’ hands and kissin’ and doin’ whatever the hell we want.”

  “Three more years.” Her smile fell.

  “Three years is nothin’.”

  “Anything can happen in three years.”

  “Not to us, sugar,” I murmured, pulling my hand away as someone walked past.

  “Don’t you want to be out doing stuff?” she asked. It wasn’t the first time. “You should be going to dances and dates and all that.”

  “I’ve done that. Wasn’t as great as everyone says.”

  “You’re going to get bored,” she argued in frustration, looking past me at the clock on the wall. “You’re seventeen. Don’t you want to—”

  “I’m happy right where I’m at,” I cut her off, glaring.

  “Fine,” she grumbled. “But you’ll tell me, right? You won’t just stop coming?”

  “Noel.” I cleared my throat, taking in her long blond hair, the round cheeks with not two, but three dimples, the long dark lashes that framed her dark brown eyes. “I’ll always show up, yeah? In three years when you turn eighteen, I’m gonna get you the fuck outta there.”

  “Don’t swear.”

  “I’m gonna come to your house and you’re gonna saunter out of there like some rock star, flipping your asshole dad the bird the whole time.”

  “Yeah right!” She giggled.

  “They won’t be able to stop you,” I whispered, leaning forward to brush my lips over hers. Once, twice, before pulling back to a safe distance. “I’ll fuck up anyone that tries.”

  “You promise?”

  “I swear it.”

  “The day I turn eighteen,” she confirmed, her eyes soft.

  “I’ll pick you up at fuckin’ midnight,” I confirmed roughly.

  “Don’t swear,” she whispered, reaching out to run her fingers lightly over my wrist. She glanced up at the clock behind me and sighed. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll stay here ’til I know you’re gone,” I murmured, swallowing hard. “You know I love you?”

  “Yeah.” Her cheeks grew rosy as she tucked her hair back into the bun at the base of her neck.

  “No matter what,” I called quietly as she walked away.

  Her hand came out at her side, just barely. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I wouldn’t have seen it flashing the ASL sign for love.

  As soon as she was out of sight, I scrubbed my hands over my face in frustration. I just wanted one fucking day that we could be alone, really alone, for more than a few minutes. I wanted to be able to talk to her louder than a goddamn whisper. Hold her hand without worrying that someone would see us. Kiss her like I wanted to, long and deep, without worrying that we were about to be caught.

  “Three more years,” I murmured under my breath, leaning my head back against the shelf. Three more years until we didn’t have to hide anymore. Three more years until she’
d be out of that nightmare of a house. Three more years until I didn’t feel like a complete nut job, sneaking around a library just so I could see the girl I was in love with.

  If my parents knew how sure I was about her, they’d lose their fucking minds. My brothers would give me endless shit. Hell, everyone I knew would think I was an idiot. We were teenagers and stupid and immature.

  None of that changed the fact that when I looked at her, every part of me lit up. There would never be anyone else for me. Someday, Noel Allen was going to be my wife.

  Chapter 1

  Titus

  “The next time I see you anywhere near her,” I snapped, holding the asshole by the neckband of his shirt. “You’ll be breathin’ through a tube, you nasty fuck.”

  “Jesus, Titus,” my little sister Myla hissed, pulling on my arm. “Enough.”

  I ignored her.

  “You understand?” I asked the guy, wrinkling my nose as his eyes welled with tears.

  “Got it,” he rasped, nodding like a bobblehead.

  “Good. Get the fuck outta here.”

  I stood in the middle of the bar and watched him race out like his ass was on fire.

  “He won’t bother you again,” I said cheerfully, turning toward my sister.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she scoffed, stomping toward our friends in the corner.

  “What’s up your ass now? You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “You know,” she grouched, turning to face me. “I liked you a whole lot better when you didn’t lose it at every single little thing that pissed you off.”

  “I didn’t lose it,” I argued. “He walked out on his own two feet, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, this time.”

  “Dude grabbed your ass!”

  “And I was handling it, you moron!” she shouted.

  Throwing my hands up in surrender, I took a step backward. “I’m sorry, Rambo. Next time I’ll have you escort the creep out. My bad.”

  Myla’s hands fisted at her sides just like they’d done when we were kids, and for a second, anticipation shot through me at the thought of her swinging. She had a solid right hook and I wouldn’t mind the split second of adrenaline getting hit in the face would bring me. Of course, it wasn’t as if I’d ever hit her back, so the feeling would be short-lived.

  “I’m gonna stop inviting you out if you can’t control yourself,” she growled.

  “You didn’t invite me,” I replied dubiously. “I talked to Cian about it on Thursday.”

  “Next time I’ll tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

  “All good then?” Cian asked, moving in behind Myla to look at me over her head. “Heard my name.”

  “Next time, don’t tell him where we’re going,” Myla bitched, pointing her finger at me.

  “Oh, alright.” He widened his eyes at me.

  “Some asshole grabbed her ass at the bar and she’s upset about how I took care of it,” I mocked.

  “He nearly pissed himself!”

  “Where is he?” Cian asked, searching the crowd like he’d find the guy.

  “He’s gone.” I couldn’t hide the satisfaction in my voice.

  “Maybe I liked him grabbing my ass,” Myla spit. “Ever think of that?”

  “Yeah, that’s why you shot straight as an arrow and swung around like you were going to tear his throat out with your teeth—because you liked it,” I replied flatly.

  “It’s not even about me.” She shook her head tiredly and crossed her arms over her chest. “You were just looking for someone to hit. That’s how it always is. We’ve already been banned from two bars forever and I’m guessing you’re still pissed that guy didn’t fight back.”

  I ground my teeth together, refusing to respond. Was I disappointed that the dude had practically cried instead of standing up for himself? Yeah, a little. But he wouldn’t have even been on my radar if I hadn’t seen him creep up on Myla at the bar and put his hands on her when she wasn’t paying attention.

  “He’s gone, yeah?” Cian said, throwing his arm over Myla’s shoulders. “Forget it.”

  Myla sighed as she let him turn her back toward the table. “Yeah, until the next guy that looks at Titus wrong.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior,” I promised as we reached the table.

  “Yeah right,” Myla’s best friend Frankie piped up. “When have you ever been on your best behavior?”

  “Up until he was seventeen,” Myla replied, shooting me a look.

  “Shut it, Myla,” I warned. We’d been down that particular conversational road about a thousand times.

  “Oh, yeah,” Frankie said, staring into space. “I remember those days. You used to wear little shortie shorts. It was hot.”

  “They were running shorts,” I shot back as I sat down next to her. “You little freak.”

  “You still wear those?” she asked teasingly. “’Cause I could come by sometime. Sit outside in my car. Follow behind you. Just to keep you safe, you know.”

  I watched her for a minute. “You talk a big game but I have a feelin’ if I ever so much as looked at you like I wanted you, you’d crawl under the table in horror.”

  Frankie laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “Hey, maybe I want you to look at me like that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Frankie sighed dramatically and fell back in her seat. “Fine. You’re right. But who else am I going to flirt with?”

  “That was flirting?” I asked, lifting my beer. “You should probably work on it.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” she replied, but she was grinning.

  I liked Frankie. Myla’d had a lot of friends growing up, but only two who had gone the distance. Myla, Frankie, and Lou were like the three musketeers. If you saw one of them, you knew the others weren’t far away and by their sophomore year in college, they’d moved in together in the house Myla was buying from our dad.

  So, yeah, I liked her. She was cool as fuck. But I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole and we both knew it.

  Seven of us had met up at the bar, but the place was so loud that you could barely hear anyone speak unless they were sitting right next to you. I zoned out as the conversation droned on around me until Cian leaned over. “You get the website for the garage all set up?”

  “It’s functional,” I replied with a nod. “Nothin’ pretty yet. Need to get some more photos tomorrow if the weather isn’t shit.”

  “You think it’s gonna bring in more work?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” I scoffed. “Don’t know how they’ve kept the place goin’ so long without one.”

  “Word of mouth,” Cian replied, saluting me with his beer. “We’re that fuckin’ good.”

  “Why is it so hot when you swear?” Lou asked Cian, raising her voice to be heard across the table.

  “It’s the accent,” Frankie yelled back. “Fookin’.” She shivered dramatically, grinning.

  “Thanks, darlin’,” Cian called back, laying the accent on thick before turning toward me again.

  “You grew up here,” I said flatly. “It barely even comes out anymore.”

  “Only when I need it to, yeah?” he joked.

  “Careful with who you’re tryin’ to reel in.” My sister was unsurprisingly quiet on the other side of Cian.

  “I’d never go there, and you know it. Lou and Frank are just givin’ me shit.”

  I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. Going out with friends was fun, but the bar scene was getting old. The club parties were a little more my scene, but only when the old ladies weren’t there and I didn’t have to see my mom hanging all over my dad. Patching in to the Aces MC had never been in my plans growing up, but shit changed. After a little snafu that sent me home early from my junior year in college, I’d bowed to the inevitable. I didn’t regret it as much as I’d thought I would.

  The club gave me an outlet that I hadn’t realized I needed and it provided a consistency that I hadn’t noticed I’d been missing. As long as I was loyal to the club, they’d be loyal to me. There was something about that knowledge that settled me. I’d had to spend two years as a prospect instead of one because I’d gone back and finished my senior year of college but I hadn’t minded. By the time I was done, I was a full-fledged member just like my older brothers.

  I could rebuild an engine as well as anyone else in the club and I was pretty fucking great at bodywork, too, but with my degree, the officers decided they needed me in a different capacity. Updating the way the ancient garage functioned hadn’t been exactly smooth, but even the old-timers were starting to use their tablets for more than just coasters for their coffee mugs. I kept everything moving more seamlessly than it ever had before and the computers were up to date and running like they were supposed to. It was pretty fucking satisfying work and now that I just had the website to revamp and maintenance on the current systems, I had time for other freelance jobs. I had to listen to the boys giving me shit about my pretty hands because I didn’t have permanent grease under my fingernails, but anytime they did I just pointed to my uncle Casper who’d been working behind the scenes for longer than I’d been alive. His hands were pretty fuckin’ clean too. Literally, not figuratively.