by Alex Grayson
She’s a genre jumping book nerd who likes to write about psycho stalkers, alpha males and the strong women love them, anti-heroes, and the end of the bloody world! A lover of all things dark and dirty, she likes to write books that f**k with your heart, and your head and leave you begging for more.
She lives in the United Kingdom with her husband, three daughters and ridiculously naughty rescue beagle, Dogface.
She also loves cheap instant coffee, pink gin and ride or die friends.
Visit her at www.clairecriley.com
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Give Me Strength
Broken Deeds MC #7.5
Esther E Schmidt
A man will acknowledge his own strength when he feels the power of his woman standing strong beside him.
1
Lynn
“Ma! You could at least knock before you enter,” Archer grumbles.
I roll my eyes. “Very funny, Archer. But you of all people should know that if I didn’t do it when you were a kid…I’m not gonna start now.”
My son huffs and tucks his phone into his jeans pocket. “I’m the President of Broken Deeds MC, even Dad knocks before entering my office.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Now, see…I’m not a biker, I don’t have to stick to the whole biker rules thing. And speaking of your father, he’s actually the reason why I’m here.”
Concern fills Archer’s gaze and my heart tugs because I share the same concerns. “Dad has been more withdrawn than before his third operation.”
“I hate to say it but the reality of never regaining full strength in his hand is hitting him hard. It’s like he’s giving up while there’s no need. He can still do so damn much, and has come a long way with PT, but he doesn’t see it. All he’s focusing on is not being able to do everything with his hand like he used to do.” An angry growl slips past my lips. “Stubborn asshole. He needs to start looking forward, and see what’s right in front of him, instead of having his eyes on the past.”
Archer jerks a hand through his hair. “There’s only so much we can do. And you know how it is when you can ride a bike, but not long enough for any of the normal runs we do that require hours of holding a steady grip. It was one of the things he said to me when I refused to take over the MC the first time he offered. It wasn’t my time yet, you know as well as I do, he could have been President for many years instead of passing the gavel on to me.”
Archer is right. Deeds, my old man, should have been President for many years but he stepped down after he agreed he would do the surgery. He didn’t want another operation but it was something he needed. Many years ago, he was stabbed in the hand, and though it took some time, it healed completely.
But then sometime after he was shot straight through the same hand, and that does screw with the ability to use it. A hazard that comes with the job, he always says, but nowadays it’s always said through clenched teeth.
Broken Deeds solves cold cases or high-profile cases the government can’t seem to close themselves. All the bikers of Broken Deeds MC are skilled and trained and will go above and beyond to solve each case we take. And yes, sometimes there’s a risk and they are injured.
And though Deeds’ hand healed, he didn’t regain full ability. This is the reason they suggested a third operation. They wanted to try to get his hand from fifty to at least eighty percent functional.
Like I mentioned, he finally agreed to the operation. But I think the only reason he did was so he could distance himself from the club, from his job, from everything even more. Because his stubborn ass thinks not being able to use something fully means you fail completely.
And the third and final operation? They were able to get his hand back to about seventy-five percent in strength. Obviously the third operation was worth it, only he doesn’t see it the way we and his doctors do.
“Stepping back doesn’t mean he’s completely out,” I snap. “And I won’t be standing on the sidelines to watch him deteriorate. I’m sick of pussyfooting around him, and that’s not who I am, or who he is for that matter. So, I’m going to shove my boot up his ass, and leave him no other choice but to jolt up and act like he’s still alive and kicking. And you’re going to help me.”
Archer groans and mutters, “I’m going to regret this.” He clears his throat and asks, “What’s your brilliant plan? Because I know you have one or you wouldn’t be standing here.”
I have to keep a straight face because a victory smile is threatening to burst free. “You need to put him on a case.”
Archer shakes his head. “I can’t. Already tried and even Depay and Lochlan also asked him for help but he won’t budge. He keeps saying he’s retired.”
“Retired my ass,” I growl and point at the stack of files on his desk. “What is an easy open and shut case that needs action right now?”
“Ma, you know I can’t share those details because—” The male I put on this Earth has the sense to stop midsentence due to my raised eyebrow, recognizing the fact I’m about to snatch him by his ear to pull him over the desk so I can yell at him from up close.
His fingers slide over the pile and he pulls one out and throws it in front of me. “I was going to give this one to Kray so his old lady could help out but I’m guessing you want a case where you can have input and force Dad into action, right?”
Now the victorious smile does spread my face. “You got it,” I tell him and grab the file.
Glancing through it, I have to admit, it’s no wonder he wanted to give this case to Kray and Vienna. It involves some undercover work to draw this guy out and it’s perfect for what I have in mind. Time to put my plan into action.
2
Deeds
My phone starts to ring and I mentally curse before I hit the stop button on the treadmill and jump off. Cardio. Something I can do along with ab exercises and a few other muscle groups where I don’t need to use my hand. But believe me, when you have something that’s lacking from your normal abilities? For fucking sure you notice that shit with everything you do.
“What?” I bark into my phone without checking who’s calling.
I recognize Archer’s chuckle flowing through my phone. “Well, good evening to you too, Dad.”
“I was doing cardio,” I grunt, as if that’s an excuse for my grumpiness.
And I need to mention it because I’m not even out of breath since my body is trained for endurance.
“Do you know where Ma is?” Archer questions, and this puts me slightly on edge because he never calls to check.
Add the fact the woman was acting all strange when I went into the spare bedroom I turned into a tiny gym when the kids moved out, I’d say it raises a flag or two.
“Tell me right now, what the fuck is going on?” I demand and spin on my heels as I head for the bedroom since I don’t see her in the living room.
I glance around the bedroom and see a file on the bed. Opening it, I quickly glance over all the documents and pictures while Archer says, “She was going through the files on my desk when I came into my office earlier. I’m thinking she’s up to something and is trying to prove some shit. Hell if I know what’s up, but I don’t have to tell you what Ma’s like.”
“Why didn’t you handle it, Pres?” I sneer. “Because I’m staring at a damn file that should be in your office instead of on my damn bed.”
A low growl rumbles over the phone. “Not my job to handle your old lady. And you know damn well there’s only one person alive who can handle her.”
“Dammit, Archer. The file is about an escaped convict. A damn murderer who goes after prostitutes. Motherfucker. She’s gonna draw him out, isn’t she?” I slam the file closed and hiss out my words, “I am going to redden her ass when I drag her back here, so she knows not to fuck with me.”
“And that’s my cue to hung up. Let me know when you guys get back safe. And I need a damn report on this. You have more than one working finger, you ca
n fucking type. No excuses.”
I’m about to reply but he already hung up on me. No need to mention where my son’s fire comes from. Both me and his mother. His mother. My old lady went rogue and now I have to go after her to handle it.
“Dammit,” I roar and throw my phone on the bed as I chuck my shorts and head into the bathroom for a quick shower.
I’m pretty sure the pair of them ganged up on me by the way everything went down a minute ago. But right now, I can’t think straight. Lips. That’s short for “Hotlips,” the name I gave my old lady because of the damn mouth on her. She’s always been more than a handful.
I shake my head and rub a hand over my face to clear the water from my face. Come to think of it…she’s been caring and understanding for a long time. None of the rebel and spitfire she used to be. I swallow hard and suddenly understand the reason for their actions, and it has nothing to do with my fucked-up hand.
I turn the water off and grab a towel as I head back into the bedroom and get dressed. I give one more glance at all the papers to know what I’m going to be dealing with. Yet this fucker is a minor issue and will be handled accordingly. But first I have to find my woman because my hand is itching. Itching to leave a damn handprint on that wicked ass of hers.
3
Lynn
I glance down and adjust the dress that’s showing off my boobs, gotta give these babies some more air for the job I need to do. I’m wearing a short red dress along with black, over the knee boots. I left my long blonde hair down to somewhat hide the large red patch inked on my neck.
Normally I would proudly show it off because it means a lot to me. But tonight, I’m going for the picture-perfect hooker in search of some john to get some quick cash from. Well, not some john…I’ve set my eyes on an escaped convict by the name of Albie Shumberg.
He killed six prostitutes and he’s been on the run for over two months now. Archer obtained an anonymous tip that Albie has been staying in a trailer park nearby and has been seen visiting the local bar. Reason enough for me to put on some hooker clothes and see if I can catch the fucker.
I can handle myself, no worries. Both my old man, and my friend, Blue, taught me how to fight and I hit the gym several times a week. Plus, I’m not a total idiot. I have a tiny gun stashed in my boot and there are two knives strapped on me. One of those is the size and shape of a credit card and can be turned into a deadly weapon in the blink of an eye.
This is most certainly not my first rodeo, but for some reason I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be because Broke, my brother-in-law, is sitting in a corner. He’s wearing a baseball cap and dirty clothes and no one would give him a second glance, but I’d recognize him anywhere.
This was all Archer and I should have known he wouldn’t let me do this without some form of backup. Though, I thought Broke was going to stay in the car. And it aggravates me because if I recognize him…Deeds would too. And I want Deeds to focus on me, and at the task at hand.
I mentally snort. Task at hand. Isn’t this what it’s all about? I grab my tits again and give them one last shake before I let my hips sway overdramatically as I make my way toward the bar.
Leaning on my elbows, I make sure to put my cleavage on display while I let my eyes travel over the guys sitting at the bar. There are four in total but the one to the far right is where my attention is locked on. Albie Shumberg. The one with the anonymous tip was right, it is him.
I see his eyes fill with a hint of disgust, the twitch of his upper lip adds to it but everything fades and turns into pure interest. Well, mainly my boobs are holding the convict’s attention but that’s why I’ve put them on display. All the bodies of his female victims had their breasts mutilated. It’s safe to say that’s his signature, though I seriously don’t want to know his twisted reasons.
The guy next to me scoots closer and tries for a sexy voice, but it comes out as a cracked slur. As if he needs some cough medicine for the sore throat he’s suffering from, but he already drank the whole bottle. “Hey, sugar, can I get you a drink?”
I don’t have time to reply because I’m suddenly facing someone’s back. “Out of your paygrade, Wes.”
There’s a rumble of laughter before I hear the guy who offered me a drink slur, “You get that one then. I’d rather spend my money on beer anyway.”
I make sure to check my boobs once more, letting my finger trail my cleavage, when I feel fingers wrap around my wrist as my hand is guided away.
“Hands off those tits, pretty lady. They don’t need a female’s touch,” Albie croaks and licks his lips.
It takes everything in me to swallow down the bile rising in my throat. Not to mention the fact I’m itching to kick him in the balls and let my knee redecorate his nose.
But instead I croon, “And what kind of touch do they need?”
Pretty sure his mental answer is “My knife,” because that’s what the fucker does with women before he kills them.
“Why don’t we get a drink first? Then I’ll gladly show you,” Albie says.
I take a step back and turn my attention to the bartender and dismiss Albie. Over the bartender’s shoulder my eyes suddenly hit familiar ones, making my heart skip a beat. My plan worked. He’s here. Deeds. My husband. My old man. The very pissed-off man who I love with every inch of my being.
The corner of my mouth twitches and I guess I’m not cut out for this undercover shit that requires sweet talk and trying to get into another man’s pants as if my next meal depends on it. Because I don’t think twice and tell Albie, “I don’t know about the ‘we’ part. I might just get a bottle of tequila, spread some salt on my nipples and lick it off before throwing the liquid down my throat.”
Albie growls low beside me and waves his hand to grab the bartender’s attention. “I need a bottle of tequila and some salt.”
Apparently, it was the right thing to say to a twisted convict who would like to slice up my tits and kill me afterwards. Shit. I need to stick to the whole prostitute appearance. I can’t just follow him without negotiating a price, right? Why don’t I know any hooker 101?
“Now, now, a whole bottle.” I smirk and tilt my head in his direction. “Are you sure you’re not spending everything before you can…you know…spend everything?”
“Chickie, these days you pay for everything,” Albie states in a condescending tone. “And I have what you want and need, so don’t you worry about a thing.”
The fucker makes me snort. He’s the one who needs to worry, because for sure he’s gonna pay for everything. Not with cash, though.
4
Deeds
My hands clench into fists and even if one lacks the same amount of strength as the other, I’m pretty sure I’m drawing blood by the way my short nails dig into my palm. There’s nothing worse than seeing your woman go in undercover, wearing fucking hooker clothes while another man—a damn killer—is salivating at the mere thought of having her body.
I’m going to kick the ever-loving-shit out of this fucker before the night is through. Even if he wasn’t a damn killer, he would be dead for lusting after my damn wife and putting his hand on her wrist. Fuck. I have to get a handle on myself. It’s been awhile since I’ve been on a job because I thought I was over and done with.
I mean, you can hardly go into the field if you’re not sure the gun you’re holding will work correctly, right? Because in my opinion my hand can somewhat be compared with a gun. You expect it to work when needed but there’s always a risk it can jam, and that uncertainty has cut into my brain like a festering wound that I can’t seem to close.
And that’s even worse than the fact my hand only holds about seventy-five percent of the strength it used to have. I know, I should be thankful I can still use it. But not being able to go on long rides with my woman warming my back sucks some serious ass.
I glance down at my hand and slowly unclench, shaking it a few times because I can feel my fingers starting to cramp. Like I said, un-re-fucking-liable. A sigh
rips from me and I roll my shoulders. I’m not at home. I need my head in the game; a killer is talking to my woman and we need to take him out.
Glancing up, my heart starts to thump in high speed when I come up empty. They’re not where they were standing a moment ago and I quickly scan the bar, seeing a glimpse of Albie going down the hall in the back.
I push away from the bar and head for the back where the toilets are. My breathing picks up when I don’t see either of them and I also check both bathrooms, but there’s nobody back here. I rush further down the hall and notice a door leading out. Nothing. Good thing I’m still holding onto the door or it would have fallen shut behind me.
Now I’m able to retrace my steps and notice another door to my left where it states “Office – Personnel Only.” I hear glass shatter and I just know my woman is in trouble. Dammit, why did she have to interfere with club business?
Yeah, I know, because of me. I’m the reason she’s here risking her life to drag a killer off the streets but deep down she wants to shake my old ass into awareness. And let me tell you something, she has.
But if she’s going to pay for it with her life, I’ll bring her back from the dead and smack her ass till she can’t walk her way back to heaven ever again. Because I can’t lose her. She’s my everything; the damn oxygen my body thrives on.
I try the door and it opens instantly. What an asshole, he didn’t even lock it. But there’s no time to think since said asshole has my old lady pinned against the wall and a broken bottle is heading for her tits. What. The. Fuck?
Within two steps I have my arm wrapped around his neck and my fingers curled around his wrist. I’m trying to pull the broken bottle away from Lips but I’m struggling to hold him in my grip as it is.
