Colt: Devil's Nightmare MC: Book 10

by Lena Bourne

  Colt: Devil’s Nightmare MC

  Lena Bourne

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Also by Lena Bourne

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Six Months Ago

  Brenda

  The afternoon’s not even done yet, but the clubhouse of the Kings MC is as smoky and lively as if the party has been going on for hours. Bikers of all shapes and sizes, old, young, bearded, smooth-cheeked, long-haired, bald, and everything in between talking loud and drinking hard. Leather armchairs and sofas dominate the old warehouse that had been converted into this clubhouse, back when warehouses were still mostly made of wood. Ages ago, in other words. There are small round tables and wooden chairs littered around the wide-open space, but only the junior members sit there, never the higher-ups.

  Monarch, the president, is lording over it all, sprawled out on the black leather sofa he had placed on a sort of wooden pedestal against one wall to better survey the room. He’s nearly fifty and mostly bald, but his bushy beard more than makes up for it. His belly protrudes out over the waistband of his dark jeans like an oversized baseball. Nothing will ever make it small again, and he has to have his cut and jackets made specially. He was a good-looking guy in his youth, I know because I’ve seen pictures, but all that’s now gone down the drain along with too many good dinners.

  Not that I care about his looks.

  He’s the king of kings here and I’m his little princess darling. Not his queen. She’s at home, in the huge house he pays for, taking care of his kids he rarely sees. I like the arrangement just fine. I like it when he beckons me over like he’s doing now, his full red lips blooming amid the washed-out black of his beard as he smiles. Almost I’d say like a rose, but that’s too feminine. Too gentle.

  I walk towards him, careful to keep my steps dainty and short like a cat’s. I’m wearing sky-high stilettos and swaying my hips, making the short, flowing dress I’m wearing even more decadently delicious. It’s tight over my breasts, but flows down over my hips, short in the front to show off my long legs. Just as he likes it. He also likes to stroke my hair and tell me I’m pretty, tell me I’m sweet. But that’s as far as his gentleness goes. He fucks like a bull and takes what he wants, as hard as he wants and when he wants. Sometimes he takes more than I want to give.

  And I’m over it all.

  Over and done with playing his sweet little princess. Never was, never will be. But it was fun pretending for a while.

  All I needed was an exit strategy.

  And I finally found it. It’s Josh and the money my best friend Stormi, him and I stole last night. He’s leaning on the bar counter, as transfixed by my slow walk across the room as Monarch is, as half the guys in here are, but he’s the only one who dares stare at me with open desire and lust. He’s Monarch’s distant and much younger cousin visiting from out of town, and the lust in his eyes is a good sign. It tells me I can be on the back of his bike and away from here soon. Monarch isn’t staying tonight. He’s got some stupid recital at his kid’s school to attend.

  I keep smiling back at Monarch as I walk towards him, but from the corner of my eye I’m watching Josh and he knows it. And likes it. Easy prey.

  Just like those two shmucks, we stole the twenty grand from last night. Horse and Piston, two nothings and nobodies from some backward MC who knows where.

  One more night of partying in Vegas to give it a proper goodbye before I ride off into the sunset with Josh. Or as far away from here as his bike will take us. Every man I’ve ever met has only wanted one thing from me: My body to use. And I don’t come cheap.

  1

  Six Months Later

  Brenda

  The bar is rowdy tonight. Rowdier than usual. There’s a tension weaving over the noise, and in between the full tables. It’s making all the loud laughter sound forced, all the yells and pieces of conversation I can hear laced with harsh undertones. Or maybe I’ve just finally, completely lost my mind.

  The Roadside Sinners MC bar slash clubhouse is only usually this full on the weekends or when they’re gearing up for some big thing. Neither is the case now, to the best of my knowledge. Not that I care.

  When I left Monarch and the Kings clubhouse on my last evening of freedom six months ago, I thought things were looking up. I never thought I’d miss the greasy leather sofas in that place, but I’d give anything to trade this smelly, smoky, run-down bar for being there right now. Even with Monarch’s groping hands all over me. Never thought I’d miss that guy, but I kinda do. I’m very close to calling him to come to my rescue, somehow, some way.

  But what’s he gonna say when he finds out his cousin Josh is dead? Will he blame me? Probably. He was never the brightest. And I bet he’s gonna know I was stepping out with Josh. He’s not the forgiving type. Best case scenario, it’s straight to one of the many truck stop whorehouses he operates for me when he finds me. Worst case, he kills me for cheating on him. I could charm him back, tell him some tale about how Josh forced me to go with him… No. It’s time I stop thinking about him altogether. I’ll get out of the Sinners’ clutches on my own. I’ll find a way.

  Cleaning up after this get-together tomorrow morning will be hell, and I bet Stormi’s not gonna be around to help me, as per usual lately. I’ve developed a damn repetitive strain injury in my back from all the sweeping and taking out the trash I do around here, and she’s helping less and less now that she’s with that new guy, Ace. She’s not here now either, and she said nothing about going anywhere before she left with him earlier. I bet she sees him as her ticket out of here. Though I have it on good authority he’s not leaving this place anytime soon.

  I wish I had my own ticket out of here.

  But all I have is endless glasses to fill with cheap whiskey, endless bottles of beer to lug in from the back, stack in the fridge, unscrew, serve and then trash again before I repeat the cycle. And endless trying to get the president’s son Piston to take a more concrete interest in me. Something that’ll get me out from behind this bar and into some semblance of a normal life.

  But I lost my touch. Lost my mojo. It died when the Sinners shot the last guy I picked to save me from a bad situation. That and I’ve also been working very hard on being a mean girl in an effort to prevent getting fucked by any of the Sinners. I just don’t know how to play nice with men anymore. Sometimes I think I deserve this. Sometimes I hate everyone and everything. Most days I just hate myself very much. Never did that before.

  I had a good thing going with Monarch. I had everything I needed and more besides. Just not what I wanted.

  Now I’ll be behind this bar for the rest of my life, which will probably be short. Serving bikers who either don’t want anything to do with me or hate me. Bikers who wouldn’t lose a second of sleep if I just dropped dead behind this counter. At least I’ve done a good job of keeping them from wanting anything more from me than the drinks I serve. Chasing a guy away is just the other side of the coin of attracting one. I know
both sides of the coin very well.

  Sometimes I think of burning it all down after the last of them leaves for the night.

  Sometimes I almost do it.

  Then I remember I have nowhere else to go. Besides, they’d hunt me down and kill me sooner rather than later if I do that.

  “Can I get a drink over here, or what?” a guy whose voice doesn’t sound familiar says harshly.

  But when I turn to him, he’s smiling, his brown eyes kind of sparkling in the overhead lights. He’s got a handsome face, soft yet chiseled in all the right places, especially along the jaw. His lips are just full enough, very kissable. The leather jacket he’s wearing is stretched taut along his biceps, which is always a welcome sight. He’s got nice hands too, broad and strong-looking. His hair’s a little longer than I usually like on guys, but I’m always up for trying new things. I’ve definitely never seen him around here before. I’d remember. I’d try hard to go with him when he left.

  “Or am I interrupting you?” he asks, his grin growing to reveal very nice teeth that sparkle just as much as his eyes.

  “Depends on how you look at it,” I say and smile back. “What will it be?”

  “A beer,” he says.

  I surprise even myself with the promptness of reaching into the fridge for a bottle, opening it deftly, and placing it on the counter in front of him.

  “You sure are practiced at this,” he says, wrapping his fingers around the bottle but not taking a drink.

  “It’s a job, and I aim to please,” I say, flipping my hair back behind my shoulder and leaning on the bar near him.

  “Do you now?” he asks, the sparkles in his eyes flaring up in a totally different light. Reddish. The color of lust and desire and flame. Just the type I like to cause in men’s eyes. And haven’t been able to in any of the guys around here. To the Sinners, I’m worth less than the trash I clean up after in this bar.

  “Somehow I doubt that,” he adds, grins again and takes a drink, his eyes still full of interest, but a different kind—the kind that sees too clearly past the show I’ve started to put on for him. I’m rusty. I’ve lost my touch with men.

  “And what brings you here tonight?” I ask, shifting my stance and leaning deeper on the counter to give him a good view of the mounds of my breasts. When I got here six months ago, this bra I’m wearing could barely contain them, but now I have to work for the same effect with all the weight I’ve lost. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  The maneuver worked. His eyes slide down to my décolletage like a nice warm breeze on a summer night. Maybe I can get out of here tonight. For good. It’s high time.

  “Just passing through,” he says and glances at something or someone over my shoulder.

  Him looking away from me shouldn’t, but it dashes, slashes, kills all my hope. I almost turn to see who or what he’s looking at. Maybe Lisa. She’s good at commanding the attention of most guys in here with her fire-red hair and legs for days. I used to be her. I used to be the woman a roomful of men slobbered after. But not here. Here I’m trash.

  “You’re on the way to somewhere, then?” I ask, sounding so wistful I want to smack myself.

  “You could say that,” he’s full-on shifted his attention to something else now.

  But whether it’s Lisa weaving her way through the tables, Ace who just walked in without Stormi on his heels, or Piston who’s at the other end of the bar glaring at us, I can’t be sure. Piston’s a little wimp, but he’s the best chance of bettering my situation around here. Maybe I should stop talking to this guy.

  But I don’t want to stop talking to this guy.

  I want to do more than just talk to this guy.

  Even if he doesn’t end up being my ticket out of here. Even if it’s just a night of fun. I like him like I haven’t liked a guy in a very long time. I want him just because.

  I don’t recognize the me that’s thinking that, but here it is.

  “That guy over there would prefer it if you were talking to him,” he says, gesturing at Piston with a slight nod of his head.

  I purse my lips and shake my head. “But it’s not about what he wants, now is it?”

  He chuckles at that, and I really like his smile. Like how it’s fresh and touching and warm, yet lustful at the same time.

  “What’s your name, then?” he asks.

  I almost say Brandy, the name another old biker not much different than Monarch called me by because I’m such a rare and delicious treat, apparently. But instead, I say, “Brenda.” Giving him the name my daddy gave me.

  “I’m Colt,” he says.

  And as we shake hands—his hand just as warm and strong and right as I knew it would be—it feels like a deal’s been made. A new beginning sparking into a possibility like a string of firecrackers going off.

  But in the next second his attention is gone from me again. Ace is being led into the back, Piston at his back. But I don’t know if that’s what’s he’s looking at.

  And now I think I just imagined the connection between us because I’ve lost my mind. If I ever do get out of here my next stop will be an asylum somewhere. Maybe the same one where they keep my mom. She wasn’t that much older than me when she lost it completely.

  Colt

  This bar the Sinners run is as low as it gets. Rickety tables, the chairs in even worse condition. I bet I’m getting splinters in my ass from this bar stool I’m sitting on. The smell is overpowering too, and not in a good way—old smoke, spilled booze, sweat, blood, and so many other things I’d rather not even try to find a name for. Do they ever even open a window? And every time the door opens, dust from the damn gravel road leading here enters in a cloud. It’s exactly the type of place my old man would feel right at home in. As for me, if I somehow wandered in here just for a drink, I’d turn right around and wander somewhere else instead. Even the club girls all look like they’ve seen better days.

  Except the one behind the counter. I’ve been trying to get her attention for the past ten minutes, but she’s just staring over the mass of bikers gathered in here at the front door, not thinking anything kind, judging by the wicked fire in her eyes. Elbows on the counter, boobs squeezed together and threatening to pop out, her hips swaying gently to the music, the short jean skirt she’s wearing barely concealing her round ass. Any guy’d be hard-pressed to choose which is hotter, her ass or her boobs, and I’m no exception. Although it’s her hair that got my attention first and held it. Long and dark and spilling in lush, thick waves down her back and around her boobs. I bet her eyes are blue—dark blue—a deadly combination. A regular Snow white. And I bet she can handle more than seven dwarves. Just the way I like them. Bad and wild and a little wicked. I never knew what to do with a nice girl.

  And what the fuck am I thinking now?

  I’m supposed to be on a job. I’m supposed to be proving myself, so I’ll be sent on more of them. I’m not supposed to be wondering about what color Snow White’s panties are. Red, I bet, like her bra and the apple.

  Fuck. Focus.

  Blaze is by the back door, acting drunk, but glancing from the door to me and back to the bottle of beer in his hands way too often. Although to be fair, I’m probably the only one who’s noticing that, since I’ve known Blaze for so long I barely have to look at him to know what he’s thinking. Besides, I also know why we’re really here. We’re supposed to warn Ace to get out because the shit’s about to hit the fan for the Sinners sooner rather than later.

  “Can I get a drink over here or what?” I say to finally get her attention and break this weird spell looking at her put me under.

  Blue swirled with white like some fantasyland lake somewhere. That’s the color of her eyes, I realize as she looks at me. I realize little else as she walks towards me, boobs bouncing, hips swaying, lips red and plump, and begging to be kissed. Or wrapped around my cock.

  “Or am I interrupting?” the sole purpose of asking her that is to make the fierce fire in her eyes glow b
righter.

  She flirts back, she’s interested too, but I bet she’s like that with all the guys here. It shouldn’t, but that bothers me. I don’t like being just another guy to a woman. Especially not in a decrepit place like this, the kind of place that my father would love.

  I ask for a beer. She delivers it with the speed of light, says something about aiming to please, which I very much doubt about her.

  There’s fear behind the fire and blueness of her eyes. A caged animal type of fear. Not a pretty thing to see. And it just grows and grows the more she flirts and smiles, matching me banter for banter, smile for a grin, as she makes sure I get a real good look at her boobs while we’re talking. I want to be the one who chases that fear out of her eyes. I want her to take me to her room in the back and fuck my brains out. I want her to forget whatever she’s afraid of, for tonight at least. Not much else I can offer.

  And I fucking can’t even offer her that.

  I’m on a job.

  One of the president’s sons is giving me the stink eye over talking to her, and the last thing I need is to cause a scene. I should lean back, finish my beer, and ignore her for the rest of the evening. Do my job and nothing else for the rest of the evening. Maybe I am the good-for-nothing, lazy, piece of shit my father always said I was. Maybe Cross and the Devils will finally realize that tonight.

  But the more I pull away from her, the closer she comes. I should’ve just let her keep on ignoring me.