Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
About the Author
If you love erotica, one-click these hot Scorched releases… Sin and Ink
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Cathleen Ross. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Scorched is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Nina Bruhns
Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover photography by TheStockAlchemist
ISBN 978-1-64063-787-0
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition April 2019
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
To Nina for your rigorous never give up editing. I thank you.
To Susan for your fabulous Southern accent. Thanks for showing me the South through your eyes. Lastly, to Kandy Shepherd for being the best critique partner a girl could have.
Chapter One
New Orleans, Louisiana
Hugo Boudreaux spied his quarry, the Banderos Motorcycle Club president known as Glass, the moment he strode into their club bar on a seamy side street of New Orleans. Even the moon glow couldn’t drive the gloom away. From the surveillance photos, Hugo expected to see the tough, scar-ridden biker president, but not the disarmingly sweet young blonde in nurse’s scrubs sitting on the bar stool beside him.
Hugo’s mission was to infiltrate the Banderos, get information on their next weapon’s drop, and get out. What the fuck? Troy DeLance, the hard-assed biker and military man Hugo owed his life to, hadn’t mentioned a nurse.
A fucking nurse. A young, pretty one, to boot, in an unconventional way.
She met Hugo’s gaze and smiled, and he had a head spin. What the hell was this sweetie pie with her hair neatly contained in a bun, her big blue eyes, and a nose that was a little too big for a face softened by those sensual lips, doing hanging out with these drug-pushing pricks?
She was beautifully made—some might say slightly overweight, but not Hugo, he enjoyed curves. She was tidy in an understated, ladylike way. There was not one blond hair out of place, not a smear on her subtle makeup. Even her uniform was well pressed. Unfortunately, the only seat open at the bar was the one next to her.
Every hackle on his battle-toughened hide rose as he took a seat at the bar next to sweetie pie and ordered a beer. He’d have to take it easy. A woman this neat and tidy would be wary of a rugged six-foot-five ex-soldier. He was too big, too battle hardened, too addicted to rough sex for a woman like her. Not to mention he was on the wrong side of this biker war.
Get your fucking head into gear, Hugo. He was here on a mission. Not a date.
Once completed, he’d be free. Not that he would ever really be free. He’d had enough of the army, though he’d been committed to his job. Despite resigning from the military, he could never settle down back home, not while anger still curled around him like a snake. He had to learn to overcome it, or he’d never be able to start his own commercial explosives business.
He pulled himself back to the present and scoped out the bikers in the room.
Several Banderos members were playing pool on one of the tables nearby. Hugo counted his enemy. Five. He could deal with them if things went bad. His fists clenched, itching for action. Almost tasting the raw iron scent of blood, feel of flesh meeting flesh. Yeah, that was the whole problem. He enjoyed fighting. Too much.
His gaze swept over the nurse sitting next to him. What if sweetie pie got hurt? He hadn’t signed up for that. Fuck. He didn’t need this complication.
Glass caught him looking at the nurse and slapped his beer down on the wooden bar so that the froth fluffed over. He leaned forward and glared at Hugo. “This is Banderos territory. We don’t like strangers here.”
“Daddy, no. This is a public bar, and you’re not being welcoming. The man’s entitled to drink his beer in peace.” She patted the president’s big hairy hand, and Hugo stared, astounded at the calming effect she had on Glass.
Hugo raised his mug to her and nodded. He hadn’t expected anyone with composure and a pleasant manner like her. Not in a dump like this.
The nurse smiled again, and it was like daylight lit up his consciousness. “I’m sorry, mister. Daddy and I have had bad news today. Please forgive our lack of manners.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Glass slid his black-eyed stare back to Hugo, and despite the nurse’s kindness he recognized a challenge, and his killer training kicked in. He took note of the nasty scar running down the biker president’s cheek and the semi-automatic at his hip.
Hugo had one, too. He was always armed.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the nurse asked. Her voice was soft and low with a charming Louisiana lilt to it.
“No, Ma’am.” Most men would have left their beer on the counter and sidled back out the door after the president’s murderous stare. Not him. Hugo took a long, slow drink, clearing the memory of the parched dry desert of the Middle East from his throat. “I’m just passing through. Looking for work.”
“You military?” Glass asked.
“Ex-military.”
“Knew it. You walk like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”
“Daddy, no! Now I’m deeply ashamed of you. You make me want to cry, the way you speak.” She slapped Glass’s hand. “That was just downright mean.”
Hugo raised one eyebrow, bemused. Normally a man foolish enough to offend him would be eating his fist, but he didn’t want to upset Nursey here, and even her daddy appeared shamefaced. She had a way about her that made Hugo want to behave, which confused the hell out of him.
“Nothing’s going up my ass,” he said calmly. “I’m a Ford, and my trunk’s shut tight.”
Glass’s aggressive expression relaxed, and he chuckled.
“Look, the man made you laugh, and I haven’t seen that in months.”
> Hugo rubbed his chin, looking from one to the other, unable to believe that this dangerous piece of shit was Nursey’s father.
Glass turned to his daughter, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek, grunting something in reply. She squeezed his hand and patted it.
She turned her pretty sea-blue gaze back on Hugo. Her eyes were rimmed with thick brown lashes…and were tinged with tears. Her lips were the pouty type, a bit trembly. She wiped away a tear before she spoke. “My momma’s been hit by a car. We’re both as jumpy as crickets. We’re both real worried.”
“No problem. I’m sorry to hear about your momma.”
Hugo returned to his beer, disturbed. Why the fuck did she have to be in the bar? This was going to complicate things. Shit was about to go down.
Nursey could get hurt.
Chapter Two
Alice Kaintuck wished the stranger would just leave. Sure, he was tall—a veritable giant—and hot as sin with a short military cut and black stubble that added to his allure. She’d always had a hankering for military men, and he was also dressed in a sand-colored T-shirt, commando pants, and tan head-kicking boots. He looked like he could take care of himself.
But with her mother in a coma, her quick-tempered father was ready to lash out at anyone in his path.
Alice lived for normal and respectable, wanted nothing more than a regular day-to-day life. She’d even applied to do her masters in nursing, determined to turn her bad name around by doing something worthwhile. One day, folks wouldn’t say the name Kaintuck and scowl.
That wasn’t much of a goal for some, but for a notorious biker’s daughter, it was a big deal.
Being near her father was like playing with a scorpion. Daddy already had a criminal record, and the police were looking for any reason to throw his ass in jail. She didn’t want trouble, and containing her father in this black mood was like trying to put a lid on a volcano. She hoped the stranger would find a job far away from here.
Just then, the roar of Harleys came to a stop outside. She’d grown up with the sound of bikes, and these didn’t sound like any from the club.
A sliver of dread rippled down her spine. “Daddy?”
Her father shook his head, his black eyebrows drawing together as his hand snaked to his gun.
Too late.
From a lifetime of club rivalry, she recognized the three members of the Slayers MC who strode into the bar. The Slayers president pointed a double-barrel shotgun at her father. The second man, his VC, pointed a submachine gun at her father’s men, who all dropped their pool cues. The last man was the Slayer president’s son, Troy DeLance, who came in empty-handed, but she wasn’t fooled. Beast, they called him.
She started to tremble, knowing a trap when she saw it.
Beast came to a stop in front of her father and opened his cut to reveal a lethal-looking knife.
The stranger sitting next to her rose, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her behind him. “Let the nurse leave.”
Stunned, she tried to push him away, but his iron-like grip held her in place, so she was forced to peer around his side. Bravery was no use if you were dead.
“Who the fuck are you, and since when do you give orders?” Beast asked him.
“A man who likes to protect a pretty woman,” the stranger said. “Let her go. Now, asswipe.”
Was the stranger crazy? He needed to leave, or he was a dead man.
“Let me go.” Alice hammered his shoulder. Despite her fear, she didn’t want his death on her conscience.
“Stay still, Nursey. You’re giving me a hard-on wiggling like that.”
Her jaw dropped. What was it with men and one-upmanship? Couldn’t he see this was a dangerous situation?
“I haven’t got time for a joker.” Beast pulled out the knife, strode up to the stranger, and put it to his throat, pressing the blade in so a trickle of blood ran down his skin, gathering on the collar of his T-shirt. “Interfere again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”
The stranger’s chin jerked back, but he held Beast’s gaze with a steely one of his own. “Try it, and I’ll crush every bone in your body.”
Her daddy went to pull out his semi-automatic, but the Slayer’s president cocked his shotgun first. “Put your hands up, Glass. All of you. We’ve come to talk.”
Her daddy reluctantly did as he was ordered. “You call this talk?”
All the Banderos men raised their hands. But not the stranger. Fool! He didn’t know about the club war, or about Beast’s terrible reputation. The bastard had actually blown up their club with a rocket launcher a year ago. Her heart raced, and an instant stress headache pounded at her temples.
Oh, dear God, don’t let anyone die, especially not this man who’s done nothing wrong.
The Slayer’s president stared hard at her daddy. “You accept another shipment of weapons, we blow up your club again. You bring drugs into our nightclubs, same deal. Understand?”
“Brave words at the end of a gun,” her father snarled.
Beast pointed his knife at him. “The correct answer is yes, fuckwit.”
Oh, dear God, Daddy, don’t fight them.
She was the only person who could calm her father. “Let me go.” She hammered the stranger’s back with her fist. The man was a foot taller than her with shoulders like door lintels. Although she thought of herself as strong, it was still like a butterfly trying to shift a rock wall.
To her surprise, he released her. But only to lunge for Beast’s knife hand. He gripped his wrist and twisted it behind his back, using his other arm to put a chokehold on Beast. “Drop the knife, asshole, or I’ll break your neck.”
The knife clattered to the floor, and the stranger kicked it out of Beast’s reach.
“This isn’t your business,” Beast said in a strangled voice.
“It is, since you wouldn’t let the nurse leave,” the stranger said.
Fear dried every bit of spit in her throat. Bullets were about to fly. There wouldn’t be one man left standing. Her stomach heaved.
The Slayer’s president took aim at them. “Let Beast go.”
“When you let the nurse out. Whatever this is, it isn’t her fight,” the stranger said.
“Done,” the Slayer’s president said. “You,” he said to Alice. “Get the fuck out of here.”
She hesitated. She didn’t want to leave her father. Maybe she could—
The stranger shoved her toward the door. “Go. Now.”
Fine. She ran to the doorway and turned, nerves razor-edged, her vision blurred by tears. “Daddy, please. Do what they want. I love you. I can’t lose you. Please, I’m begging you.”
Glass growled, his dark eyes flashing hatred until he focused on her, and she recognized a whole host of love, and regret, in his gaze before he fixed it back on the Slayer’s president. “Have it your way, motherfucker.”
Her knees sagged, and she grabbed the bar’s coat rack to steady herself. Thank God.
The stranger released his chokehold on Beast, who returned the favor by twisting around and punching him viciously in the gut so he bent over and gagged.
“You interfere with Slayer business again, I’ll gut you,” Beast said.
Alice put her trembling hand to her mouth. Beast was tall, but the stranger was taller. A mountain of a man, handsome, and raw with animal tension. The stranger spat on the floor. “I’ll be waiting, jerk. It’ll be your funeral.”
“That’s enough.” The Slayer president nodded to Beast and his VP, who backed out of the bar and slid past her to mount their bikes. In a heartbeat, they were gone.
She ran to the stranger, who was wiping blood from his throat with the back of his hand. “Don’t fuss, Nursey. I’m fine.”
Her professional, practical side kicked in, though she still wanted to puke. “You’re not fine. You nearly had your throat cut trying to save me. You need stitches.”
“Take him home, Alice. No hospital. No cops. Stitch him there,” her daddy said.
“Yes, Daddy.” She put her arm around the stranger. Lordy, he had muscles out the wazoo. “You’re coming with me.”
Instead of resisting, the stranger shot her a look that would fry off her panties. A jolt of answering heat that instinct told her was some sort of aftershock made her return his gaze.
“What’s your name, son?” her daddy asked.
“Hugo Boudreaux.”
“I owe you. You need a job. I’m down men, and hell’s gonna erupt soon. I need someone to guard my daughter. You’re hired.”
Chapter Three
Hugo let the nurse drive his truck to her apartment near the center of New Orleans on the pretext that she thought he might pass out on account of the miniscule stab wound.
After they introduced each other, he asked, “Your father usually encourage you to take a total stranger home, Alice?”
“Never. He must be desperate. He just lost ten men, and he’s under siege.”
“Lost?”
“Jail. The club’s in trouble.” She glanced at Hugo with wary blue eyes. “You need to understand something. I love my father, but I don’t like what he does, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
His respect for her went up a notch. “Fair enough.”
“Hold your T-shirt against your throat and press on the wound,” she ordered with her bossy nurse voice.
He did as she asked, wondering idly what she’d be like to dominate in bed.
Then he got real. He had to be kidding. She’d probably complain if her perfect hair got out of place. He needed a woman who liked to get down and dirty for the rough sex that got him off.
Once she was on the freeway, she floored his truck, so that the motorcycle helmet she used when she rode with Glass rolled onto the floor in front of him.
“Slow down. A bit of blood doesn’t mean I’m going to die.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. You should be in the hospital.” She cast him a worried glance.
“But you’re going to do what your daddy says,” he said, repeating her intonation.
“If I think you need surgery, you’ll go to the hospital, but I’ll try and stitch you at home. I don’t want police involved, and I certainly don’t want to compromise my new job.”
Rough and Ready Page 1
