Outlaw Souls MC Box Set: Books 1-6

by Hope Stone

  To be honest, I kinda did, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Moves. Beneath his battle-hardened exterior, he was a total romantic. He believed in soulmates and all that bullshit.

  I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that true love didn’t exist.

  Because it didn’t. I had known that since I was five years old and my dad walked out, leaving my mom weeping on the floor of our shitty little kitchen.

  I hadn’t seen my dad since. Hadn’t wanted to. Even when Ryder and Moves suggested I try tracking him down, for closure, I wasn’t having it. Some stones are better left unturned.

  Not to mention that while I didn’t have many memories of him, I had enough to know he wasn’t worth knowing. I remember waking up to his drunken ranting late at night, and I remember him constantly losing a job but blaming someone else for his unemployment. It was never his fault. His boss was always a prick, or his friend threw him under the bus, or my mother was such a nag and drove him crazy.

  My mother loved him, she really did. But that never did her any good, just made her hurt all the more when he betrayed her. Unfortunately, my mom fell in love easily. She fell in love with the next guy, and the next, and the next. And she always ended up crying with her broken heart in her hands.

  The truth was, people weren’t good enough for each other. One way or another, someone always cheated or walked out or lied. So I was happy to flirt and engage in the occasional fuck, but why bother with anything else?

  I wanted my life to be like the numbers on my accounting books. Even, balanced. No lies. No evasions. No room for slip-ups.

  Moves shrugged at my silence. He was used to it. I had never been much of a talker.

  “Still waters run deep,” Moves mumbled.

  I pushed my sunglasses on as we mounted our bikes.

  “What about Kimmy?” Moves blurted out. “She’s cute, right?”

  I snorted. Moves had never been subtle. Also, I was pretty sure he was the one with a thing for Kim, he just didn’t know it yet.

  “Definitely not my type,” I said. “Besides, she’s seeing someone.”

  “She is?” Moves asked.

  “Yeah, I heard her telling Carlos about it the other day,” I said. “Older guy, I think. Big corporate job, sounds like.”

  “Fuck,” Moves said. “I guess someone is willing to risk getting close to that bitch on wheels.”

  I rolled my eyes at Moves’ ever-changing opinions. The guy had more mood swings than a teenage girl. “You just said she was cute.”

  “Yeah, well,” Moves said. “I say a lotta things.”

  I pushed my dark hair back from my face and rammed my boot down on the pedal. I was getting sick of chit-chat, even if Moves mostly meant well.

  Moves started revving his own engine and our bikes roared to life.

  As we hit the open road, I couldn’t hold back my grin. We merged onto the highway and headed south. If we were to go straight west, we would hit the ocean. That was one of my favorite rides, but we didn’t have time.

  I leaned forward and urged my bike even faster. The feeling of the wind pulsing over my face as my bike picked up speed was what I had fallen in love with first. The club and the brotherhood had just been added bonuses.

  I figured between my bike and my brothers, who needed anything else?

  Claire

  I tossed the envelope onto Veronica’s desk with a dramatic sigh. “Men are idiots.”

  “Tell me about it,” Veronica said, not even looking up as I flopped into my desk chair.

  “This guy was legit emailing his mistress naked pics from his personal phone that is part of his family plan, which his wife is on,” I said. “She gave me all the passwords so logging on was a breeze. She could have done it herself.”

  “Claire, baby, they never want to do it themselves,” Veronica said. “It’s easier if we swoop in and find the dirty stuff for them.”

  I shrugged and kicked my feet up on the desk. When I had first landed the job at Daniel O’Malley’s private investigating firm, I had been excited. Following cheating husbands with big sunglasses and a fancy camera had been thrilling.

  But after three years, it was getting old. I could practically recite the result of every case brought to us by some weeping wife.

  Her bigwig husband had a mistress, who was probably under twenty-five and had massive tits. He thought he was so clever by using a burner phone and telling his wife he had to work late. We usually only had to trail the husband for a few days before we could get back to the wife with photos, emails, texts, and other pieces of evidence that her divorce attorney would know how to use.

  Occasionally, there was something a little more riveting. Sometimes a missing child, a guy who owed money and was trying to disappear, or even a murder that the police couldn’t crack. But for the most part, it was asshole husbands.

  Veronica swung her thick dark hair over one shoulder and gave me a wry smile. “Think Dan got another one in today. It’ll go to you though. I’m not done working on this one.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Veronica usually sped through her cases. While I preferred to trail the guys and gather evidence off of phones or hard drives, Veronica did it the old-fashioned way. She’d put on an itty-bitty black dress and waltz right up to the scumbag at the bar. A few hours later, she would be in his hotel room, plenty of photos taken for the poor wife, and lecturing the guy on being an idiot.

  “You’re kidding,” I said. “This guy said no to you?”

  “He’s a careful one,” Veronica said. “Doesn’t drink either, which is always a challenge.”

  “You’ll get him,” I said.

  “I always do,” Veronica said with a wicked gleam in her eye.

  Veronica and I were the only two employees who worked for Dan. She had been at the firm for almost a decade and had pretty much taught me everything I knew.

  I had been green when I arrived in La Playa with twenty bucks in my wallet and a thirst for adventure. I had wanted to try being a stunt double in Hollywood or a personal assistant for a millionaire. Anything that would offer adventure really.

  I grew up in a small town in Northern California. My parents were nice, but ordinary. By the time I graduated from the local college, I was desperate for something new and exciting. So I headed south and never looked back.

  Working as a PI was exciting. It was. I loved the life I had created for myself in La Playa. But lately, I had been chomping at the bit for something else. A bigger case. A new challenge.

  “You ok?” Veronica asked.

  She was observant, that’s part of what made her a great PI. She had noticed my sense of ennui.

  “Sure,” I said with a small shrug. “Just bored.”

  “If you’re always looking for the next thrill,” Veronica said. “You’ll miss all the good things you’ve got.”

  “Thanks, Yoda.”

  Beneath her femme fatale exterior, Veronica was wise and sympathetic. She was the uncontested best at breaking the tough news to the wives of the cheaters. I was always too abrupt. I would just shove the photos in their face, telling them the man they had been married to for years sucked and they needed to move on fast.

  Veronica was more understanding. She held a lot of hands, wiped away a lot of tears, and gave amazing pep talks about how this wasn’t the end, it was a new beginning. I knew that if I ever got gutted by a cheating husband, I would run to Veronica first.

  Not like that would ever happen though. After the bullshit I had seen in the last few years, long-term relationships looked about as appealing as a dumpster fire to me. Besides, every guy I dated ended up boring me. I always got tired of the same old routines.

  The door swung open and Daniel O’Malley strutted into the office. He was over six feet tall, his suits were always wrinkled, and his hair was always messy, but he had managed to build a successful private investigating business over the course of two decades. He said it was because he had always hired smart and capable girls like me and Veronica.


  I swung my feet off my desk and straightened my oversized jean jacket.

  “Fenelli,” he barked at Veronica. “Still working the Greenberg guy?”

  “Yup,” Veronica said.

  “Brennan?” he asked, turning to me.

  Daniel always used our last names. I think it made him feel like he was in an old-school Hollywood detective movie.

  “Finished with the latest today,” I said. “Just need to type up the report.”

  “Great,” Daniel said, tossing a file onto my desk. “I’ve got a new one.”

  I opened it up. Olivia Cook was concerned by her husband Trey’s recent behavior. She wanted to get to the bottom of it, as painful as the truth may be. I scanned the pictures. Olivia looked like something out of Town & Country magazine. Blonde hair, big smile, floral dress, cute kid clinging to her hand.

  Trey also looked the part. Handsome face and a build that suggested he had been an athlete in high school but was just starting to go to seed a bit. Guys like that gained a few pounds, got a few gray hairs, and their fragile masculinity exploded. They had to go out and shower some dumb young bimbo with gifts to get their self-esteem back on track.

  “Wonderful,” I said. “Another thrilling chapter in the book of matrimonial bliss.”

  Veronica stifled a giggle, but Daniel frowned.

  “Let’s 86 the sarcasm, Brennan,” Daniel said.

  I flashed him my most charming smile. “Sure thing, boss. I’ll get right on this tonight.”

  Daniel gave a brisk nod and headed into his office. He gave off a stern exterior, but he was a good guy overall.

  I settled into my desk and pulled out my notebook. My desk was a mess of papers, photos, and pens, but I thrived in that kind of disarray. Veronica, on the other hand, kept her desk immaculate.

  Two hours later, I had finished putting together my final report. I sent it to Daniel and then grabbed the next file. As tired as I was with the cheating husbands, I always got a little thrill of anticipation with a new case. It was like a wrapped present where you thought you knew what it was, but you couldn’t be sure.

  Anything could lurk beneath the shining veneer of Trey and Olivia Cook. It could be scandal, intrigue, a web of deceit that stretched back years. He could be the head of a coke ring or the leader of some crazy cult. No matter what it was. I, Claire Brennan, would crack the case.

  It was probably just a mistress with big tits. But it could be something else, and that’s what gave me the little flutter of butterflies in my stomach.

  I read over the info about Trey’s office and license plate number. I checked my watch. If I hustled, I might be able to trail him as he left his work. It was Friday night, so if he was meeting his side chick, it would be about now while his wife was at home making mac and cheese for the kid.

  I shoved the file into my bag and stood up.

  “Heading out already?” Veronica asked.

  “Might as well,” I said. “Who knows? This one could be different.”

  Veronica smirked. “Maybe.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I was parked outside his office in the heart of La Playa near the boardwalk. He had a nice cushy position in a consulting firm; probably had a corner office too.

  I rolled down my window and kept my eye on his car. When I first started the whole PI thing, my instinct was to do it like the movies. Big sunglasses, a hat, maybe even a scarf. But the secret to not being seen is to not try and hide. Just dawdle about in plain sight. Look like you’re up to absolutely nothing.

  It doesn’t hurt that no one suspects foul play from the petite girl with a blonde ponytail.

  Veronica does it a little differently. She wants to be seen. She wants the guy to notice her so much that he can’t resist. Not me. I stick to my corners where I can watch undetected.

  At six on the dot, Trey Cook strolled out of his office and hopped into his car. In the distance, the sun was setting over the water. He was working late for a Friday, but maybe he did that to cover his bases if his wife ever asked a coworker.

  If I were a betting woman, I would have put my money on Trey heading straight to one of the bougie cocktail bars or steakhouses in downtown La Playa. Mistresses loved that kind of thing while men like Trey loved to impress.

  It’s a good thing I didn’t gamble, because Trey surprised me by driving all the way out to East La Playa.

  “Ok, Trey,” I muttered. “We’re roughing it tonight.”

  He finally pulled up to a bar I had never been to called Blue Dog Saloon. It didn’t look dangerous, per se, but it was decidedly shabby. Not without charm, though.

  I cast a wary eye towards the bikes parked outside. There were biker clubs all around LA, but I had never had any trouble with them. Then again, I had never really gone near bikers.

  Overall, it was not the type of bar I expected Trey to frequent. This case was looking more interesting by the second.

  I looked down at myself. I was wearing worn black jeans with frayed hems, sturdy boots, and my reliable jean jacket. Not exactly a Friday Night Out Look, but any PI worth her salt is always prepared for wardrobe adjustments.

  I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and ran my hands through it until it settled in soft waves down to my shoulders. Then I dug around in my bag and yanked out some dark red lipstick and mascara.

  After hastily applying the makeup, I shoved my wallet and my phone into my smaller handbag. It looked weird to walk into a bar with a huge tote bag. Getting pictures would be tricky, even if I used my phone instead of my nicer camera.

  I shoved my small pink pepper spray into my purse as well. I was pretty street-smart and I knew how to avoid risky situations, but a girl could never be too careful.

  At the last minute, I tugged my jean jacket off. I was wearing a white lacy blouse with short sleeves, cropped to show just an inch of my stomach. If I needed to flirt my way around the bar that would help.

  Veronica had taught me how to keep everything I might need for any venue in my car. She also always had at least three pairs of heels, but I skipped that step. I never wore heels. They made it too hard to run if things got dicey.

  I pulled myself out of the car and walked towards the entrance. There was a cute hanging sign of a blue dog with rock music blasting from within. I burned with curiosity. What was Trey up to?

  Once inside, it didn’t take me long to figure it out. I casually scanned the room as I headed towards the bar and spotted him right away. In his button-down shirt and tie, he stood out like a sore thumb.

  He was holding hands with a drop-dead gorgeous woman. She had legs for days and raven-black hair. I blinked in surprise when I saw she wasn’t in the typical Mistress Fashion. She was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, introducing Trey to a few guys who wore matching leather jackets.

  I felt a pang of sympathy. I bet she didn’t even know the jerk had a wife. Most of the mistresses were aware of a wife, they just don’t care or they think he’ll leave her someday. Sometimes they honestly don’t know, and those were always tough.

  This girl looked way too self-respecting to be with a married guy. It was unlikely she knew.

  I leaned on a chair and waited for the people in front of me to finish ordering. I furrowed my brow as I tried to come up with a plan of action. Snapping photos was risky in a bar since people would notice.

  Plus, Olivia would want more than a few blurry pictures. It’s amazing how wives, even the smart ones, can justify damning photo evidence. They needed it to be undeniable before they believed their beloved husbands have betrayed them. I would need to trail Trey a bit more, and maybe dig up some texts.

  I could also try and approach the girl on her own. It was risky, and it sometimes backfired to enlist the mistress, but it could pay off. Especially if she had a taste for revenge. I glanced back at the tall beauty and observed her flashing eyes. Definitely looked like the revenge type.

  “Hey, can I get you a drink?”

  I stifled an eye roll as I turned arou
nd at the masculine voice. Then blinked in surprise when I saw a leather jacket beneath a cocky grin. The same leather jacket Trey’s side piece was wearing. What a delightful surprise. I could see the patch on the arm now. Outlaw Souls.

  I gave him a sweet smile and shrugged. “I’ll take a Corona.”

  Within minutes, the biker had gotten both of us a beer. He had to know the bartender.

  “I’m Claire,” I said.

  “Pleasure,” he said. “I’m Moves.”

  He jerked his head and led me back towards his friends. I took a deep breath. It was beyond risky interacting with the person you were trailing too early in the game. Veronica never put on her itty-bitty dress until she had gathered all the information she needed.

  Luckily, Trey had let the woman lead him out onto the dance floor while Moves was steering me towards a few of the guys perched at a table in the corner.

  “Claire, this is Hawk and Carlos,” Moves said. “And this is Pin.”

  I glanced at the guys as they nodded at me. They all had nicknames. I had heard biker clubs used alternate names, but I had always doubted it since it seemed a little cheesy.

  Hawk and Carlos seemed nice and relaxed, but the third guy, Pin, looked like he had just swallowed a wasp. He clasped his lips together and barely gave me a nod. My eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and glowing tan skin before I turned back to Moves.

  “So, you new in town?” Moves asked.

  “No, I’ve been here a few years,” I said. “I work in sales downtown.”

  My father used to say that I lied like a rug. Only he had told me it was a weakness. I had learned it was my greatest strength.

  “What brings you out here?” Moves said.

  “Meeting a friend,” I said. “I’m just a bit early.”

  In fifteen minutes, I could glance at my phone and either say my friend had bailed or, if I needed an escape route, say she wanted to meet somewhere else and head for the exit.

  I looked up at Moves just in time to see him widening his eyes at Pin and nodding at me. So Moves was the wingman for a very reluctant Pin. Interesting. I could work with that.