by Debra Kayn
But he and the others understood that it wasn't their age that initially attracted them.
Carly possessed a talent for seeing beyond his past and accepting him in ways older women would've run away and counted their blessing not to be tied to a man who lived in a bunker and tended to go overboard on security measures. She loved the mountain life and even more important, she loved him.
There were no doubts about the sanctity of their relationship after what they'd gone through. He'd gone in loving Carly with no idea about families or how to show love. He was learning.
"That's it for the night, folks." Iliana waved her hand above her head. "Thank you, and feel free to continue the fun. The bar is open, and from what I've heard, the slots are ringing winners on the other side of the building."
Carly turned away from the stage and walked to the table, skipping the open chair beside him, and sitting on Mark's thigh. He pressed his hand against her lower back, letting his fingers slide under her shirt.
She leaned against him and kissed his lips. "Iliana is amazing. I never know which songs she's going to sing. She really riled up the crowd tonight with the ones she chose."
"Are you riled?" He took in her lips, curved up most of the time nowadays.
She squirmed on his leg. "Watch it, mister. We're not at home."
He patted her hip, knowing exactly where he was and not letting it stop him from touching her.
Home was the bunker. Despite his suggestion that she'd be more comfortable if he had a house built above ground, she wouldn't hear of it. Her argument that they spent the majority of their time outside on the mountain, she loved the privacy of going below with him to sleep.
She'd made the place theirs, organizing his supplies to make them part of the interior design, instead of as a stockroom. While he admired her talents, he was only concerned about the bed and having her in it with him. Something she always came to willingly.
"What do you think...we'll finish the cabin by Sunday night?" Quint poured each of them another shot out of the whiskey bottle.
Spotting Evie walking out of the room behind the stage, Mark nodded in answer to the question and said, "Evie's heading toward the table."
Carly rubbed his chest excitedly. He kissed her to keep her quiet. They'd worked for the last three months to erect the cabin for Evie. She could be close to Carly while having privacy for the quiet life she preferred.
Evie had no idea what was happening for her. She'd stayed behind at Anders' Lair since the morning she'd left the bunker. Eventually, Iliana talked her into playing the guitar for certain songs. The continual sadness Evie battled came in waves lately, but she kept living, a day at a time.
Carly's mom became a part of their thrown-together family the moment they'd found out about her past. She was one of them, and they'd be there for her for the rest of her life.
"Hi, Mom." Carly stood and hugged Evie. "You played beautifully."
"Thank you, darling." Evie accepted the accolades from the others with a smile before excusing herself to go back to the cabin.
Mark kissed Carly and stood, putting her on her feet. "I'll walk your mom back."
Taking Evie through the employees' breakroom, he opened the back door and strolled beside her. He'd become more comfortable around Carly's mom over the last year. Most of that came from understanding what she'd lived through and he'd disassociated her from Michael Jaster.
It wasn't her fault how she'd chosen to survive. Just like, he wouldn't want someone to judge him for how he'd lived the last thirty-one years.
"My daughter makes you happy." Evie glanced over at him.
"Is that what you call it?" He stopped outside her rental cabin. "Sometimes, I think it's something more. I just don't know what to call it."
Evie's gaze softened in the porch light. "That's how I feel about Carly. I always have. I would do anything to make sure she's happy."
He'd learned how she'd put Carly first, making sure she had as normal of a life as possible. Even when it had done more damage to herself.
"What are you doing Sunday?" he asked.
She looked at the cabin. He touched her arm, bringing her attention back to him. She was ready, he was sure of it.
"We'd like you to come over and spend the day with us." He saw a flash of curiosity in her gaze. "We have something to show you."
"What?"
He tucked his chin and looked at her. "Come and see. Your daughter would like to show you herself."
She nodded.
"I'll pick you up Sunday morning," he said.
She walked up to the porch, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside. He strolled back to the Lair, ready to go home.
An employee stepped out of the breakroom, holding the door open for him. "How are you doing this evening?"
"Good." He nodded, going inside.
He was good. Little by little, he started to enjoy what other people took for granted. A night out. Drinks with his woman. A stroll in the dark. Anything else was a gift that he never expected.
There were others who weren't living who would want him to be happy. He wanted to make sure he fulfilled their wishes.
Carly lifted her head looking around the room. He approached the table. The moment she spotted him, a guilty smile came to her lips.
He moved around the chairs, bringing her close. "What's that look for?"
"I love you." She laughed softly. "Why would you think it's anything but that?"
"Because I know you."
She wiggled against him. He chuckled, tugging her hips closer against him. Carly had a unique quality of always needing that closeness. Whether it was touching or kissing or simply sitting beside him watching the sun come up over the mountain. He could be putting gas in the ATV, and a small hand would come around his hip to stroke the front of his jeans. Often at night, they'd sit on the couch while he went over the records for Discover the Bitterroot and he'd catch her staring at his chest. She'd draw a heart or her initials on his skin with her finger, wearing the goofiest smile that got him hornier than hell.
For her, connecting with him in a way no one else had ever done gave her the security she needed. He considered himself less maintenance than her, he only wanted her twenty-four/seven. No reason to beat around the bush. He loved her.
Quint squeezed his shoulder. "We're going to ride home."
"Yeah, we're getting ready to go, too." He looked at his friend. "Want company halfway?"
"Sure." Quint moved away to talk with Katelynn, who smiled and waved in excitement at Carly.
"Let's go tell Anders and Iliana we're leaving." He held her hand, tugging her through the parted crowd.
While Iliana hugged Carly, he informed Anders about making arrangements to get Evie over to his place on Sunday. Clasping hands with Anders, he shared the satisfaction of making sure Carly's mom had a place where she could live in the Bitterroot Mountains and find her corner of the world where she could have freedom for rest of her years.
Carly came back to his side. He patted her ass. "Ready?"
She wrapped her arm around his back and walked with him out of the Lair. They met Quint and Katelynn by the ATVs in front of the pole building. While the women donned sweatshirts and tied their hair back in a ponytail, he started the engine. It took no time for Carly to hop on the back of the seat and wrap her arms around him.
He led the way, enjoying the night ride. The headlight lit up the trail, and the engine purred, dulling the ache in his body from a hard day of work.
Ten minutes later, Quint and Katelynn passed them on a switchback. Carly waved until the other two took a left at the Y. Mark took the trail to the right and headed over the peak toward home.
Knowing they were alone, Carly shimmied her hands up the front of his shirt. His stomach hardened at the touch of her hands. He eased up on the throttle. Why would he want to rush home when she had free reign to have her fun?
She scooted closer and squeezed her thighs around him from behind. Every bump, eve
ry turn, forced her breasts against his back.
She raked her fingernails over his skin lightly, wandering up to his chest. His cock pulsed to life.
He turned his head, and over his shoulder, he yelled, "You're asking for trouble, Carly."
Her laughter tickled his ear over the rumble of the ATV. She squeezed his pecs, pleased with herself.
He pressed his thumb on the throttle. The hell with taking his time. He wanted the privacy of his bunker, and he wanted Carly in his arms.
Dear readers ~
Thank you for reading the final book in the Escape To The Bitterroot Mountains series. I had a blast sharing the mountain life with those unfamiliar with the location and the different lifestyle that those who ride ATVs, UTVs, and snowmobiles as their daily transportation get to experience.
I'll share the news here first — My next book that will release will bring some excitement to loyal readers. I will be releasing a motorcycle club romance book like nothing you have ever read...and that's saying a lot considering how many biker books carry the Debra Kayn name. Move over Bantorus, Moroad, Ronacks, Notus, Brikken, and Wheels and Chrome, there's a new MC coming!
If you'd like to keep up on book releases, chat with me, and see pictures of life in the Bitterroot Mountains, I would love to have you follow me on social media. I'm on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and have a website, so be sure to check me out.
Love,
Debra
Author Bio
Debra Kayn is published by Grand Central Publishing, Simon & Schuster Publishing, Carina Press - Harlequin Enterprises Limited, and repped by agent, Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary Management. She has over fifty contemporary novels available worldwide where heroes and heroines come from the most unlikely characters.
She lives with her family in the Bitterroot Mountains of beautiful North Idaho where she enjoys the outdoors, the four seasons, and small-town living.
Website: www.debrakayn.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/DebraKayn
Facebook: www.facebook.com/DebraKaynFanPage
Instagram: www.instagram.com/DebraKayn
Debra Kayn's Backlist
Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series
Every Little Piece of Him
Every Girl Needs a Hero
Every Second in his Arms
A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga series
Chief
Jett
Olin
Thorn
Notus Motorcycle Club series
Hard Reality
Hard Mistake
Hard Drifter
Hard Escape
Hard Proof
The Higher You Fly
Ronacks Motorcycle Club series
...or something
Don't Say It
Rather Be Wrong
Can't Stop Fate
Red Light: Silver Girls series
Blow Softly
Touch Slowly
Fall Gently
Moroad Motorcycle Club series
Wrapped Around Him
For Life
His Crime
Time Owed
Falling For Crazy
Chasing Down Changes
Bantorus Motorcycle Club series
Breathing His Air
Aching To Exhale
Soothing His Madness
Grasping for Freedom
Fighting To Ride
Struggling For Justice
Starving For Vengeance
Living A Beautiful War
Melt My Heart - Anthology
Laying Down His Colors – Bantorus Motorcycle Club
A Hard Body Novel series
Archer
Weston
The Chromes and Wheels Gang series
Biker Babe in Black
Ride Free
Healing Trace
Playing For Hearts series
Wildly
Seductively
Conveniently
Secretly
Surprisingly
Modern Love – Anthology
The Sisters of McDougal Ranch series
Chantilly's Cowboy
Val's Rancher
Margot's Lawman
Florentine's Hero
Single Titles
Suite Cowboy
Hijinks
Resurrecting Charlie's Girl
Betraying the Prince
Love Rescued Me
Double Agent
Breaking Fire Code
Sneak Peek
***
CHIEF
Book 1, A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga series
Available at all retailers
PART 1
Chapter One
CHIEF STOOD OVER THE still body on the bare floor and planted his boot in the middle of the man's forehead. Sanders, the double-crossing motherfucker, should have kept his mouth shut about his deal with Brikken Motorcycle Club.
Now, two men were dead.
The only way to survive and make sure the club's successful business of chopping motorcycles and sending them down to Southern California required him to make sure loose ends were tied.
It only took one rat to squeal to the Feds, who were always monitoring their activities too closely. He needed to keep eyes on his enemies and his MC brothers close.
"Wipe the place down." Chief stepped away and swept his gaze around the small apartment looking for anything of value.
The bare walls yellowed by tobacco smoke gave no insight to the dead man on the floor. No television, no extra pair of boots, no stacks of magazines on the one end table. Only two spoons and a dirty syringe on the arm of the couch showed what kind of existence the man lived.
Chief scattered the junk mail stacked on the kitchen counter. Going by the lack of contents in the place, Sander's cousin probably lived off government assistance and spent all his money he made from stealing on drugs. Unfortunately, listening to Sanders talk bought the fucker a premature death.
His riders conversed in low voices behind him doing their job to clean all evidence away. He walked down a short hallway and swung the first door open. An unmade bed took up most of the floor space. He stepped inside and moved the pile of dirty clothes out of his path with the toe of his boot.
Movement came from the other side of the room. He lowered his gaze to the floor. A mouse ran along the base of the wall and escaped under the closet door. He cocked his head, sensing there was something he was missing in the room.
From all appearances, Sanders' cousin barely existed and he lived alone. Not even a pile of pocket change sat on any surface in the apartment, no empty beer cans beside the bed.
A low crooning came and went. He held his breath and listened. Several seconds passed with no sound. He shifted to leave and spotted the closet door move. That was no damn mouse.
Taking out his knife, he sidestepped closer. His men had checked out the apartment before killing Sander's cousin. He'd received the all-clear and believed the apartment was vacant of anyone else.
A soft putter came from inside the closet. He reached above the bi-folding door and pulled, opening the closet. No clothes or hangers hung on the dowel. He lowered his gaze to the box on the floor of the two by four-foot closet. Shards of cardboard led a trail to the bottom corner where the mouse had already done its work.
The large box moved. He bent down, and using the tip of his knife, flipped the lid open. Bare skin peeked through the opening. His chest tightened, and he reached down with his other hand and propped the other side of the box open.
A thin, gangly girl, curled as tight as a potato bug hid at the bottom of the box. He took her condition in with a glance, scooped the mouse off her bare thigh, and tossed the rodent across the room, splattering it against the wall.
The same soft whine reached his ears at the same time the child's body constricted into a tighter ball. His chest expanded in irritation. The Brikken members who'd cleared the apartment had fucked up.
He grabbed the ch
ild's skinny arm and stood her up on her bare feet outside the closet. She stared at his boots without making a move to dart away. That alone surprised him. Kids were meant to run away from danger, a raised hand, a big man, a mouse.
His sons knew about the dangers out in the world and were taught at a young age how to stay aware of their surroundings. He hoped if they were in the same situation with a strange man wielding a knife over them, they'd scream their fucking heads off and run.
He slipped his knife into the sheath at his side. "Look at me."
The girl raised her chin and sniffed. Tear tracks marked her flushed cheeks. She had the lightest brown eyes he'd ever seen, reminding him of gold.
She couldn't be more than ten years old, probably younger than his youngest son. All skin and bones and knobby knees.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Her full bottom lip trembled, but she kept her eyes on his face the way he'd told her. The voices of the others in the front room grew louder. Within minutes, they'd need to leave the building.
And, they couldn't leave a witness behind.
He shook her arm. "Answer me."
"Johanna," she whispered. "Johanna Marie Koller."
"How old are you?"
She stared at his beard. "Eight."
"The man who lives here. What's his name?"
She turned her head slightly without looking away from him. "Don't know."
Silas. Sanders' cousin. He already knew the man's name. He shook her again. "He your daddy, girl?"
The tears started again. "Don't know."
"Where's your mom?"
Johanna shrugged and dropped her gaze. He studied the spit of a girl. Her shoulders thrown forward, her neck arched, and her brown hair a ratted mess he couldn't tell if she had curls or needed a good brushing.
Under the circumstances, her reaction seemed more miserable than scared. A little girl had no reason for sorrow unless she'd lost her parents. He had a feeling her lack of running away came from the sense she had no idea where to run. She looked lost.
"Your momma gone?"
The slight nod was the only answer he needed. He let her go and walked out of the room. Only D-Con remained in the room with the dead guy on the floor.
