See You in Valhalla

by MariaLisa deMora

  Borderline Freaks MC #4

  MariaLisa deMora

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Proofreading by Whiskey Jack Editing

  Copyright © 2019 MariaLisa deMora

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  First Published 2019

  ISBN 13: 978-1-946738-45-5

  DEDICATION

  As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. ~ President John F. Kennedy

  Legacy is the evolution of legend.

  To those who come along and take up

  the reins to reign – Thank you.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To know whether one is treading the straight and narrow depends entirely upon one’s point of view.

  Outlaws make their way through the world holding tight to only a few tenets. Revenge is one of them. Eye for an eye. Sometimes, however, there is a greater sense of justice when that payback is delayed.

  That’s the situation in which our good friends in the BFMC find themselves, trapped between man’s law, and the rule of vengeance. The rhythm to which they sway reminds me of an old country tune, one that reminded boot-stomping dancers to take only a little, and give just a little more, ensuring it all comes right in the end. Balanced on the knife’s edge to find a true path.

  Thanks to you, the readers, for supporting this series and voting with your wallets. It’s been written in a unique fashion for me, with the stories very nearly running end-to-end as the characters tell their tales.

  If you’ve enjoyed it only half as much as I loved putting their words to the page, I’ll count it a worthy effort.

  Woofully yours,

  ~ML

  See You in Valhalla

  This is Angelo Dobbs’ worst nightmare. A good man lies dead, and with the Borderline Freaks MC’s president and founding member gone, the leadership position within the club falls to him.

  It’s not that he can’t manage the easy task of leading a group of good men; he would just have preferred to stay a little farther out of the spotlight. But when his brothers issue the call, he answers.

  Carly Gibson, daughter of his dead friend, is an unexpected—but not unwelcome—complication for his new role. She’s the most intriguing woman he’s ever met, capable and filled with a strength of character. He finds himself instinctively drawn to her. Could he have found the woman meant to complete him, finally?

  Over the past couple of years, Dobbs—Neptune to the men of the BFMC—has watched as his closest friends found their soulmates. Now, their women are an integral part of the club. When they and Carly are threatened, Neptune will do anything to ensure their safety—and, just maybe, his future.

  One

  Neptune

  “Gibby was a hell of a man.”

  Angelo Dobbs raised his glass in response to the shouted words, understanding to his core what the speaker meant. “Hear, hear!” His was one of a dozen voices lifted in response. A sea of hands held up drinks, and each of those hands tipped their containers, spilling a small amount on the floor before taking their own measure.

  It had been two days since the club had laid their president in his grave. Matthew Gibson, affectionately known as Gibby, had been murdered nearly two weeks earlier. His body had been held for an autopsy, then further retained as the authorities attempted to find his next of kin. He had listed a daughter on his paperwork, but no other family. Without her consent, it had become a battle, but the state police had finally authorized the release of his body to Angelo after he’d presented a document stating he was Gibby’s executor. That was a full-on lie, but the forgery was one of the best Angelo could buy, and it had held up to the scrutiny of the staties as well as the coroner’s office.

  “Neptune.” The utterance of his club name preceded the weight of a hand on his shoulder by only a fraction of a second, but it was enough to keep him from reacting negatively. “When are we voting?”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Head angled, he scowled at the man standing next to him. “Monk, brother, you’re as likely as I am to decide when we do whatever.”

  Monk was also an officer in the Borderline Freaks MC, his role the road captain. Neptune’s was sergeant at arms, and their duties were different, but he’d never felt his was more important.

  “Well, you know for sure it won’t be Frootloop. He’s fuckin’ smashed, man.” They both glanced over at their vice president, and Neptune saw Monk’s headshake mirrored his own. “Word I heard is he’s scared shitless he’s gonna be tapped. You and me know better.” Frootloop had gotten his officer plate from Gibby, whom he’d served under in the military. “I don’t want it. Can’t take it. Not with what I got goin’ on. Blade’s in no position to pick up the mantle, either, and we both know it. That leaves a small field, brother.”

  “Still, there’s more options than just me.” Neptune’s skin itched with a need to move, a feeling he squashed ruthlessly, forcing his feet to stay in place as if cemented to the floor. “And I do not fuckin’ want it.”

  “You’d be our best bet, and that’s not me sayin’ it’d be settlin’ at all, brother. We’ll be blessed with your hand at the helm. You were a leader in the corps, and you’re a leader here in the BFMC.” Monk’s fingers dug into his shoulder, then lifted and clapped him in the center of his back. With his hand pressed tight to the patch Neptune wore, Monk said something that sounded way too much like an oath. “I’d follow you into hell and beyond, brother. ’Til Valhalla.”

  “Hope like fuck you don’t have to.” Neptune shook his head, gaze narrowed on Monk’s face. He didn’t see anything other than a genuine brotherhood there. Not that he’d expected to find deceit hiding amongst the well-known features, but old habits died hard. “I don’t fuckin’ want it, but if it’s the will of the club, I’ll do what’s demanded.”

  “In that case.” The weight of Monk’s hand disappeared, and he lifted two fingers to his mouth. A whistle split the air. “Time to vote, brothers. No one can ever take Gibby’s place, but we cannot be without a leader. With that said, I nominate Neptune.” His initial shout quieted the crowd, but as silence fell around them, Monk’s voice gained emotion, ragged pain at the grief forced upon them all.

  Neptune had been played.

  “Fucking hell.”

  “Seconded.” Neptune turned to see Wolf standing along the wall to his other side. His friend shot him a somber smile and asked, “Mr. Secretary, are there other nominations?”

  In response, Wheels, their secretary, held up a hand with five digits spread, slowly and silently tucking them into his palm as he counted down. When he had a fist without any additional names shouted, he called back to Wolf, “No, sir. No other members or officers put forth for consideration. All in favor?” He stuck his fist out, lifting it high. “So vote, now.”

  Every man raised a hand, fist pointing to the ceiling. All but Neptune. Teeth clenched, he held his peace, waiting for the process to come to an end. There was a reason parliamentary procedure was followed in tight or loose format, dependi
ng on the need. It was easily understood, provided a framework within which the men were held to clear expectations. Right now, they were voting for their club’s leadership, selecting a man to sit at the head of the table. One who would set his stamp on the direction of the organization for the next few months, at least. Years, if Neptune allowed it to rock on that long.

  “Mr. Secretary, do we have consensus?” Monk’s question was clear, his tone triumphant as he turned to look at Neptune.

  “We do, Road Captain. The nomination was seconded and voted, and there is no opposition.” There was a brutal finality in Wheels’ next words. “Neptune is president.”

  Neptune stared at Monk for another moment, then swept the room with his gaze, marking the expression on each face. Relief was most frequently represented, but pride existed, as did a subdued anticipation. He didn’t see anything he didn’t want, and that eased the tension in his gut. There was no anger or fear, and above all, no regret. It’s well and truly done.

  “My brothers—” He paused for effect, lifting his chin and stretching out the silence before he finished in the strongest voice he could muster. “I accept.” Neptune raised his beer amidst the shouts and laughter, then led them in another acknowledgment, this one to cover their remaining guilt at moving on, calling out, “To Gibby.”

  “To Gibby.” Every man drank deeply, any unease at the vacuum left after Gibby’s death fading rapidly.

  Neptune glanced across the room to where the gavel rested on a shelf that also held the lockbox with the club’s charter papers. It had always bothered him that the important documentation was displayed like that, even if he’d understood why Gibby preferred it to be so. Item one on the list of changes. He snorted quietly at his own hubris in assuming he’d be making many of those decisions.

  Monk blew out a heavy breath that he echoed, knowing it carried both regret and acceptance. Monk said, “Sloth’ll give you the pres patch tomorrow. I had him have one made up, but I thought it could wait until after the wake’s over.”

  They’d buried Gibby in his cut, founder patch still in place along with his officer plate. It hadn’t been on him when he died, but they’d found it in his home, marking that as the place from which the murderers had taken him.

  Now that his goal had been achieved, Monk stepped closer, voice lowered so it didn’t carry. “You hear anything about that kid Gibby supposedly had?”

  “Not a word. Putnam said he couldn’t find evidence a Carly Gibson existed, at least not in conjunction with our Gibby.” For a major of the local state troopers, Putnam wasn’t a half-bad guy. Reasonable, even. “I gave him a list of base assignments and told him I’d let him know if I find anything going through Gibby’s stuff.”

  The man’s home had been willed to the club, and after the police had finished processing it as a scene of interest, Neptune, Monk, Wolf, and Blade had all started the tasks of sorting out personal from club with everything inside. It was a daunting responsibility. Gibby had lived in the same house for two decades, and alongside the normal detritus of a life well lived were various artifacts from the first days of the club.

  Neptune looked around the room, noting the bevy of eyes still fixed on him. Dammit.

  From here on out, that’s what it would be, at least until he could give up the gavel he hadn’t yet wielded. Center of attention, exactly where he never wanted to be. The area between his shoulder blades itched, an uncomfortable crawling sensation taking up residence just underneath the skin.

  “What say we start planning a couple of things.” He crooked a finger at Wolf and got a nod in response as his friend pushed off the wall he’d still been leaning on. A glance at Frootloop showed the man’s clear relief at not being asked to take on the office but also proved he wouldn’t be much help for anything today as he upended another beer, finishing the bottle fast. “Blade.” Pitched low, Neptune’s voice carried just far enough, and he saw his other friend turn and start walking his direction.

  Once the three men were lined up in a semicircle facing him, Neptune blew out a quick breath. “We need a memorial ride, but it has to be organized with the other chapters in the area. The vote tonight has to be ratified by Mother, but I don’t know of any reason they’d table it, which means your maneuvering bought you someone in this seat who isn’t afraid to leverage all the assets at his disposal.” He leveled a finger and dragged it in an arc, pointing at all of them in turn. “You, my brothers, are those assets.”

  “Seriously? It’s been what?” Monk pretended to consult a watch on the bare back of his wrist. “Two minutes? You can’t just stand still and be for two minutes?”

  “Brother, you knew me before you tossed me into the deep end here. You ever known me to just be?” He lifted his top lip in a pretend sneer. “It’s like you don’t even know me.” He tsked on the slow inhale before blowing out a deep sigh. “I’m offended.”

  “Put on. All of it’s a put-on farce. Little liar.” Blade offered the mild insult on a grin that slowly faded. Neptune felt the weight of his gaze for a minute, then Blade dipped his head deeply, lifting a fist to pound against Neptune’s chest. “Prez.” As if in slow motion, he watched as Monk and Wolf did the same, their voices filled with gravel. “Prez.”

  The import of their actions hit him all at once, and it took everything inside him to stifle the grief that welled up, suffocating him with a wave of darkness. Gibby was gone forever, killed at the hands of men denied their brotherhood. Men who’d proven unfit, not worthy. Gibby, along with the rest of the members, had made sure those men would never be members of not only the BFMC but of any respected club in a four-state area. In retribution, Gibby had been strung up in a tree, hanging there like trash waiting for a storm to come along and knock it down. It didn’t matter who the men were, who they thought they had on their side. Their treatment of Gibby couldn’t stand. Neptune wouldn’t allow it.

  The club had been waiting two weeks.

  Holding their breath and waiting patiently to get Gibby back and give him the send-off he deserved.

  “Brothers.” Neptune reached out and gave them a salute similar to the one they’d offered him, thudding his fist firmly on each man’s shoulder. Raising his voice, he called out to the members in the room, getting the attention of every man. “It’s time.”

  Two

  Carly

  Her brain stuttered upon waking, trying to convince her body that it didn’t hurt quite as badly as she knew it must. The rough, thin mattress under her cheek stank. It was grimy to the touch as she pushed upright into a sitting position, legs crisscrossed in front of her. Carly cleared her throat, wincing when a stinging burn rippled, following the sound, fading as she forced another burst of air through. Eyes opened to slits, she hung her head, hair in uneven hanks around her face to hide her from casual observers.

  There were three of them today. That was fitting, since today marked three months since she’d been taken. Men in chairs pulled right up to the edge of the bars separating her from the hallway that led to outside and freedom. The armchairs were plush, which meant they’d been settled in for the long haul. No hard folding chairs for this bunch.

  She shifted, and the metal cot under her swayed slightly, the chains holding it up rattling in their bolted holes. At first the movement had been hard for her to get accustomed to, the sickening way it swayed underneath her at the slightest provocation. Or slammed around violently when under great duress. Now it was just business as usual. A body can get used to a lot of things.

  Licking her lips provided no relief from the parched dryness, and Carly worked her tongue along the insides of her teeth, having no luck in trying to stir up the least bit of saliva to swallow. At least I won’t need to pee anytime soon. Or anything else. Only a few weeks into her captivity she’d tried to gross out the men who’d paid for their chance with her, bare ass hovering over the narrow-slit toilet as she’d strained. Turned out one of them had a scat kink. She shuddered at the memory. Live and learn.

  Scr
atching at an insect bite on her arm with one thumbnail, she studied the faces of these men.

  Uniformly Caucasian, uniformly wealthy appearance of entitlement, and uniformly painted with the asshole brush. The one in the middle wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she decided he’d be her fainting goat today. Only one of the three would be allowed into the cage at the end of this extended prologue.

  If she could force the encounter to work out as she wanted, she’d have a few minutes of peace. The losers didn’t typically stick around to watch, and the guards wouldn’t come traipsing by as long as the visitor was present. Privacy—not for her, but for the victor. The chosen one was smaller than the other two and pudgy in the middle, and had a timid appearance. Not a typical top-dog-looking guy, but she had confidence she could get him in, get him hard, and then choke him into ecstasy, repeating the process for as long as he’d last.

  Ignoring the two men on either side of him, she kept her eyes on the mark, giving him tiny smiles when he’d lift his eyes to her face. She tried and failed a dozen times to snag his gaze, her attention so blatant the other two men had started shifting uncomfortably. Finally, he glanced up and she had contact, widening her eyes in feigned surprise as she turned her chin coquettishly to the side. It worked, as she’d known it would, and he’d gone from not looking at her to staring at her face. Carly licked her lips, watching as sweat sprang forth on his brow at the action. The sleeveless top she wore was loose, and she hooked a thumb in the arm, dragging it to the side and giving him a flash of boob that made his face redden, lips parting in a quick pant.

  Rules in place said he had to ask and she had to accept. A two-way street, according to her faceless captor. And wasn’t that a kick in the ass, being made to be party to her own rape. Her plans hadn’t always worked out, and more often than she wanted to remember, she’d been overpowered, thrown on the cot, and taken. She’d trained for this, though, and been briefed that it was a known possibility when she’d accepted the job. It was just that deep down inside she hadn’t expected it, hadn’t thought it could really happen, just a one in a million chance that seemed worth the risk at the time. Each op before this one had ended the way she’d expected, but the closer she came to the main target, the chancier the opportunities became. She’d lost the roll of the dice this time. Bad odds. She shoved that thought into a box and lost it in a corner of her mind.