Kinky Saints MC 6
Lazarus
[Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Romance, BDSM, Alternative, Contemporary, MM, HEA]
A trained chef and quiltmaker, the last thing Quillan Kelly expected when he asked the biker at the next booth to watch his belongings was to meet his new Daddy Dom. He was at the festival hoping to make enough money from his wares to move off the family ranch.
While the cute quiltmaker caught his eye at the festival, restauranteur Laz Santi wasn’t looking for a new lover. In the two years since his last lover had shredded his heart, he had buried himself deep into his work. When he went looking for the little man, he never expected to find him being beaten by his father.
Will Laz be able to release his past to love again? Can Quillan let go of his Big side to allow himself to be dependent on Laz? Will Quillan fit in with the rest of the Santi Littles?
Length: 21,000 words
LAZARUS
Kinky Saints MC 6
Cooper McKenzie

Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
Lazarus
Copyright © 2020 by Cooper McKenzie
ISBN: 978-1-64637-159-4
First Publication: May 2020
Cover design by Siren Publishing
All art and logo copyright © 2020 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book or print book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at [email protected]
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
DEDICATION
For my readers, who follow me from one crazy genre adventure to another. Thank you for your love and support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cooper McKenzie always thought she had been born a hundred years too late, though she appreciates air conditioning, computers, and other conveniences of modern-day life. She lives in central Texas with her mixed breed companion, Honey, the Princess Fuzzybutt.
For all titles by Cooper McKenzie, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/Cooper-McKenzie
TABLE OF CONTENTS
LAZARUS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
LAZARUS
Kinky Saints MC 6
COOPER MCKENZIE
Copyright © 2020
Chapter One
Quillan Kelly looked from the pile of plastic bins, tables, chairs, and tent in the middle of the road to his car and sighed. It was only seven thirty in the morning, and he wished he could take a nap. His back hurt, hell, everything hurt, and the day had not officially begun yet. Of course, the fact that he had been up past midnight finishing two more pillows for today’s booth as part of the town’s monthly vendor festival and then woke and left the ranch well before dawn need not be thought about. For now, Quillan was just happy to be here and would hopefully make enough money to escape his father.
He needed to hire an assistant, or at least make friends with someone who would come with him and watch his stuff for the few minutes it would take him to move his car to a legal parking space and return. Looking around for someone to impose on, he chose the group setting up next to him. There were several women moving around their area. Surely one of them would keep an eye on his stuff so no one would steal it.
“Excuse me,” he called softly, stopping at the border between his space and theirs.
When the entire group turned, he took a step back.
Bikers.
His booth sat next to a group of bikers and their women. The men were all dressed in varying shades of blue jeans, black T-shirts, and black leather vests with “Kinky Saints MC” patches over their hearts.
“Can we help you?” one of the men asked.
His voice was so deep he made Sam Elliott sound like a girl. A shiver raced down Quillan’s spine. At the same time, his cock jumped to attention, and his face began to burn.
Well, that had never happened before. Usually he had no reaction to men, especially uber-alpha, biker-type men. His last boyfriend had ridden a motorcycle and thought he was a badass, but he’d just been an asshole. Much like his father, who nowadays used his belt to take his bad moods out on Quillan.
He’d broken up with Clint, but it was harder to escape his father. After all, they were the only Kellys left in their branch of the family. His mother had died when he was fifteen, and he’d promised her to take care of his father.
He just wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do that when the man beat him several times a week, claiming to be beating the gay out of him. The beatings had gotten worse in recent weeks, since Quillan had won several prizes at a national quilting competition. Since his father had caused him to lose his job, Quillan concentrated on his new hobby that was taking over his life.
Focus, Quillan. You need to get your car moved and your booth set up, not flirt with the black-haired hottie who would probably gut you like a fish for coming on to him.
“Yes, um… I was wondering if someone would be willing to keep an eye on my stuff while I move my car. I just want to make sure it doesn’t walk away while I’m gone.”
The man glanced from him to the pile behind him and back again. “You think your stuff is going to walk away?”
Quillan shrugged as he smirked at the big man. “Never can tell. It’s been known to jump up and do a jig when the moon is full.”
The man stared at him a moment before chuckling. “Go and move your car. I’ll keep an eye on your stuff.”
“Thanks,” Quillan said as he hurried as fast as his sore, stiff body would let him around to the driver’s side of his car and climbed in.
It took him nearly ten minutes to get out of the blocked-off fair area, and drive the three blocks to the parking lot designated for vendors. Once his vehicle was parked and locked, Quillan walked as fast as he could back to where his booth would be. He slowed as he approached. Not only had the man watched his stuff, someone had put up his tent.
The rest of his gear remained in a pile under the tent.
He looked around, but the bikers were gone. Only the three women remained at the booth next to him. Each woman wore a black leather vest with “Kinky Saints MC” written across the top of back and a man’s name across the bottom.
“He’ll be back in a little while,” one of the women said. She wore her chestnut-brown hair in a bob and appeared to be the one in charge of the group. “They thought since we didn’t need their help once the tents were set up that they would walk around and offer help to the other vendors. Laz was going to weigh down the legs of your tent, but couldn’t work out how you wanted them placed.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Quillan said. “Please tell them I really appreciate their putting up my tent for me.”
The woman gave him a smile. “How would you have put it up if they hadn’t done it?”
Quill
an shrugged. “I’ve put it up alone a bunch of time. It takes a few minutes and I get a good workout, but I don’t usually have anyone to help me.”
“That’s so sad,” the woman said, sounding like she was going to cry for Quillan.
He decided she needed to be distracted before she tried to hug him. “I’m Quillan, by the way. Quillan Kelly.”
“Cara Santi. Nico is my Da…man,” she said after a short hesitation that made Quillan curious as to what she had been going to say. “Lyssa, the one with the braid, is signing and selling her books, and Willow is selling her photograph. When the guys come back, we’ll introduce you to them.”
Quillan nodded. “Good to meet you all. I’d better get to work if I want to sell anything.”
Grabbing the appropriate weights for one leg, he gritted his teeth as his muscles cried in protest. Straightening, he slowly walked to the back corner of the tent. After slipping a twenty-pound hand weight over the bottom of the post so that it rested on the small foot, he wrapped a large, heavy sandbag around the leg to sit on top of the weight. The committee in charge of the event demanded each leg have forty pounds of weight to hold the tent down.
Once the weights were secure and he was certain the tent wouldn’t blow away in whatever Texas wind decided to blow that day, Quillan turned his attention to setting up his displays.
The first step was to hang his Quilts by Quillan Kelly sign along the back wall. That went up easy enough, though he had to stop and breathe through the pain as he reached up and tied the ribbons to the tent frame. The problem came when the quilt that was supposed to hang along one side of the tent did not want to cooperate.
He was blinking back tears of pain and frustration as he tried holding up the quilt while securing the clips and hooking the clips over the cross bars that held up the tent roof. He really needed two more hands. Next time he would secure the clips at home, but that didn’t help him now.
“Need some help?” The same deep-voiced biker stepped up beside him and eased the bulk of the quilt’s weight from Quillan’s grasp.
“That would be great, thanks,” Quillan said as he blinked several times to clear his tear-blurred vision. No reason to be laughed at for crying so early in the morning.
Now able to use both hands to work the clamps and hooks, it took less than a minute to finish hanging the quilt. Without a word, the biker followed him across the tent space and they quickly hung the second quilt. Quillan hoped both quilts sold during the day so he didn’t have to squeeze them back into the vacuum bags they’d come out of, but only time would tell.
As they worked, he tried not to be too noticeable as he sniffed, but the biker smelled really, really good. Like fresh air, clean laundry, and a citrusy-spicy cologne that reached through his nose straight down to tickle his balls.
“Thanks again,” Quillan said hoarsely once they finished hanging the second quilt. “I didn’t think it would be so difficult to hang those by myself.”
“Did you make all this stuff?” the man asked as he looked from the hanging quilts to the plastic bins that overflowed with more quilts, a half-dozen pillows, a stack of pillowcases, coasters and matching napkins, and one bin that held nothing but stuffed animals.
“Yes,” Quillan answered simply as he spread a tablecloth over one of the tables before positioning it along the back of the tent.
“So, you’re Quillan?” he asked as if to confirm Quillan’s identity.
Quillan watched as the man pulled the lid off the box of critters, then picked up one animal and then the next, giving each a good looking over and squeeze before returning it to the bin.
Though he wanted to reply, “Duh,” Quillan said instead, “That’s me. Are you in the market for a stuffie, Mr.…?”
The man smiled as he put the animals back and stepped away from the bin. “No mister, just Laz. Laz Santi. If you need any other help, just ask one of the girls. If they can’t help, they’ll call one of us.”
Quillan nodded as he stepped out of the tent and turned to study the space he had to work with. Two eight-foot-long tables didn’t give him as much display space as he needed to set everything out, but he would make it work.
If only the Laz would go away for ten minutes so he could concentrate on putting his booth together without drooling.
Once he had things set up, Quillan would welcome the man back to chat, at least until customers began walking the area. He was tempted to find out Laz’s phone number, and whether or not he was single.
There was also the question of whether or not Laz Santi was gay.
While Quillan’s gaydar and semi-hard cock were telling him the big, burly, manly-man biker dude who was lingering and playing with stuffed animals was not as straight as his brother bikers, he didn’t want to make a mistake. He also didn’t want to get the shit beaten out of him for making a pass at the man.
* * * *
Though he didn’t like being ignored by the little man who had caught his fancy, Lazarus Santi retreated to help the women set up. It was obvious Quillan was stressing about his booth, and Laz didn’t want to cause him additional problems. He would have to keep an eye on the man and make sure that he calmed down once he was set up and settled for the day. No one that pretty should be stressed.
The fact that Quillan was moving like an old man in the throes of an arthritic attack was something else Laz would keep an eye on. The man looked healthy, but was moving and occasionally sucking his breath and wincing like he was in pain.
Quillan’s golden-blond hair was super short on the sides, but longer with curls on the top and made Laz’s fingers itch to see how soft those curls were. His eyes were the most unique that Laz had ever seen. They were a deep purple, like the stain grape juice makes on a white tablecloth.
If Laz had to guess, he’d say Quillan wore his light gray T-shirt with a T-Rex on the front and bright red sneakers to indulge his Little side. Confirming his suspicion that Quillan was a Little boy would take a longer conversation than the one they’d just had. He would also need to make sure the man wasn’t already in a relationship.
Turning to where his cousin’s women had set up their double booth, he sighed. When the women had told them what they planned at family dinner the night before, Laz couldn’t see how they were going to set up a book-signing, an art sale of Willow’s photographs, and the items Annie, Cara, and their craft ladies made under the two tents. But the women had somehow made everything work.
Along the far wall were the wire screens with Willow’s framed work hanging from them. Tables along the back wall held the craft items and supplies, while the table holding Lyssa’s books sat in the center front of the double tent. The back corners each held a chair for the other women, and Lyssa had one pushed under her table.
Their men, Nico, Theo, and Zeno, had already finished weighting the legs, setting up tables, and securing the display racks. They now stood shoulder to shoulder along the front of the tent, watching their women empty the boxes and setting out all the stuff that they had brought.
As he continued watching, first one woman, and then another would go to their man to share a word or two, a snuggle, and a brief kiss before returning to open another box and bring out more stuff. Laz sighed, jealous of the love that swirled around him.
It had been two years since Daniel had shredded his heart. He knew it was well past time to move on, but no one he’d met in the past months created a spark of interest. Glancing over his shoulder at the man in the next booth, the one who made quilts almost as beautiful as he was, Laz wondered if maybe Quillan could be the one to drive Daniel out of his heart once and for all.
He certainly hoped so.
Chapter Two
Quillan hoped the women at the booth next door wouldn’t be upset with him for imposing again. As soon as he finished bagging up a pair of pillows for his latest customer, Quillan decided he had to ask. He’d been drinking the bottles of water and iced tea he’d brought from home and really needed a bathroom break. He wouldn�
�t have to go far since the bar and grill across the street had just opened. He could buy some more tea and use the facilities at the same time.
But first he needed to gather the courage to ask for another favor. Something he’d never been good at. That was part of why he was out of work, and counting every penny he made today in order to be able to move out of the guesthouse at his parents’ house as soon as possible. He was tired of being his father’s whipping boy every few days.
“You ready for a break, cub?”
Quillan turned from where he was rearranging things to cover up the holes made by items he had sold. Laz was standing at the entrance of his tent.
“Excuse me?”
“I wondered if you needed to take a break?”
Quillan nodded quickly, then reached into the large carryall bag he had packed with everything he needed for the day for his wallet. “Yes, please. I just need to, ah, use the restroom and get another tea, and I’ll be right back.”
Laz nodded and gave him a small smile as he glanced at the super large insulated cup Quillan picked up next. “You’ve had enough tea. Make it water, cub.”
Though he wanted to argue that he was a grown-ass man and could do what he wanted, the big man calling him “cub” spoke directly to the Little boy in him. He’d been reading stories about Daddy Dominants and their Littles for a few months now and was intrigued by the concept.
His bladder screaming for relief, Quillan said, “Thanks,” as he hurried out of the tent and across the closed off road into the bar.
He returned five minutes later, wondering if he should have ordered some lunch while he’d been inside. But that would have meant abandoning his booth a second time, unless he could have talked the staff into delivering his food to him.
Lazarus Page 1
