by Addy Archer
THE PROSPECT
OF REBEL RAGE MC
By Addy Archer
Copyright ©2019 Addy Archer All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion of it may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission of Addy Archer. Except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. All names, businesses, characters, events, places, are used fictitiously or are the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Please do not buy if strong sexual situations, violence, explicit language and biker romance offends you. This is not meant to be an exact impression of life in a motorcycle club. This is purely a work of fiction meant to entertain.
1st edition published: November 4, 2019
Editing by: Virginia, Hot Tree Editing
Formatting: Addy Archer
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BLURB
The Prospect of Rebel Rage MC
As a prospect of Rebel Rage MC, Linc’s assignment was simple: take care of the woman who was kidnapped. Easy… except for the riot of emotions she stirs within him.
Harper is broken and has the scars—inside and out—to prove it, but the love of a headstrong, protective biker might be just what she needs to heal.
While Linc and Harper dare to explore their developing feelings, danger lurks within the shadows, waiting to drag Harper back into the torment she barely survived the last time. Linc will risk it all to make sure that never happens, but will it be enough?
Escape into the world of Rebel Rage MC, where laws don’t apply, loyalty is everything, and love is worth fighting for. The President is book one of the Rebel Rage MC trilogy, which will continue in The Vice President and conclude in The Prospect.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
C H A P T E R O N E
C H A P T E R T W O
C H A P T E R T H R E E
C H A P T E R F O U R
C H A P T E R F I V E
C H A P T E R S I X
C H A P T E R S E V E N
C H A P T E R E I G H T
C H A P T E R N I N E
C H A P T E R T E N
C H A P T E R E L E V E N
E P I L O G U E
C H A P T E R O N E
~ L I N C ~
Seeing her gorgeous, serene face, you would think she doesn’t have a speck of worry in her life. But the complete opposite is true. A few months ago, her life became a living hell—one she’s been trying to crawl out of ever since. Among other things, she was held captive for weeks by a drug-dealing pimp called Romero. He pumped her full of drugs and hid her in a dark hole underneath his house.
I’m sad to say, the drugs weren’t the worst of it. I know all of this because I dragged her through the excruciating nightmares dominating every second of her life, and I was also the one to tend to her physical wounds. Knife wounds to be exact—most of which were located between her thighs. Treating those wounds left little to the imagination.
Her name is Harper, though I only recently became aware of this fact. She had insisted she couldn’t remember who she was or where she came from. At the time, it seemed logical with all the drugs that were pumped through her veins.
She came into our possession when my president and VP—along with a few of my other brothers—headed over to kill Romero due to club business. They never expected to stumble onto a woman hidden in a small space underneath Romero’s living room.
The reason I was assigned to Harper is because I’ve dealt with similar situations in the past, seeing my mother was a drug addict. My pres was confident enough I have the right experience to pull her through the turmoil going on in her life. She’s been in my care and cooped up inside this tiny house located behind the clubhouse ever since.
Romero turned out to be a crazy motherfucker who was two-timing everyone—not just us but Trigger Pull MC and a damn cartel as well. The fucker turned out to be an informant for the DEA. Talk about one screwed-up mess.
The cartel wasn’t as big or as connected as they first appeared to be. There was only a group of fifteen guys linked to it because they were just starting to get things going in our area. Their leader, Alejandro, had this crazy idea of tying his cartel to the Trigger Pull MC by forging a blood connection. He demanded to marry the MC’s president’s daughter—Harper.
Romero had been the middleman in this sick deal. As far as I know, he handed Harper over to Alejandro, only to kidnap her a few days later for his own benefit. All of the details aren’t clear, but with his two-timing ways, Romero made all parties go head-to-head. He must have thought this would be the ultimate way to kick-start his business since he was down to his last buck.
It’s all in the past, though. Everything is handled, except for Alejandro. He’s the only one involved who is still breathing and managed to escape when shit went down. Everyone else is either dead or locked up. Even the Nevada chapter of Trigger Pull MC has been ripped apart and taken care of.
Hell, it’s hard to believe what this woman endured and what she was wrapped up in. The Trigger Pull MC president of the Nevada chapter was killed by his own VP. The fucked-up thing? The president was Harper’s father, and the VP, Stone, is her brother.
Rebel Rage MC lost two good men that day—Dog and Brewer. A few others ended up in the hospital, but most of us ended up behind bars. Me being one of them. I was locked up for ten days, because even if we were working with the DEA to fix this shit, they needed the time to handle the fucking paperwork.
Fucked-up timing because Harper was doing somewhat better, even if I was the only one she could stand to have around her. Then I dropped off the face of the earth for ten whole days after we handled the mess we were all pulled into.
I could have stayed with her, but I didn’t. I had to go with my brothers when we went head-to-head with the other MC and the cartel, because I wanted to make sure that fucker who hurt Harper was dead. Yet, in the end, Alejandro was the only one who got away un-fucking-harmed.
When we finally walked back into the clubhouse after those ten days in jail? I didn’t fucking walk…. I ran straight through the back door and headed for Harper. I wanted to tell her it was all handled and that she didn’t need to be afraid anymore. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell her Alejandro is still out there.
All his guys are either dead or in jail, so he’s on the run and alone. With the shit we did, he’ll think twice about coming after us. Besides, the DEA is on his ass too, as well as still visibly standing watch outside our clubhouse. They will be called back now that we’ve returned, but the DEA will still be actively searching for Alejandro, and so will we.
Everything is under control, right? Wrong. I remember all too vividly how her tiny hands fisted my cut, those stormy gray eyes of hers piercing me, as she demanded to know if Alejandro was dead.
I couldn’t tell her. When no words fell from my mouth, she rushed past me out the door, heading for the clubhouse to scream out her question to make sure she received an answer. Obviously terrified, she told her sister that Alejandro would come for her if he wasn’t dead. She had felt safe here until we went after him, but now, according to her, Alejandro knows where to find her and he won’t stop until he has her. She was screaming how she can’t go through it again and how the fucker will eventually be the death of her.
My hands fist at my side at the memory. Anger courses through me because she’s right. We let him slip through our fingers, and this shit isn’t over. After her yell
ing fit, Harper swayed on her fucking feet and crashed to the floor before my eyes. I was barely able to scoop her into my arms to prevent her from getting hurt. I carried her back to the house and tucked her into bed.
She woke up all frantic once, but I held her close and talked her down. She fell asleep in my arms and has been asleep for a few hours. I’m afraid this whole shit will set her back. She was doing so well, and now the fear is back full force.
I brush my knuckles gently along her cheek. I missed her so much those ten days we were apart. It’s also why I’m staring at her as she’s sleeping peacefully, to let it soak in my mind that she’s safe and with me. Harper might be asleep, but she leans into my touch, making my chest tighten. Reluctantly, I slip from beneath her and slide off the bed. I grab my boots and put them on.
Her groggy voice fills the air. “Are you leaving? When will you be back?” Her fear is evident in each goddamn word.
“I was going to grab some food for us, Apple. I won’t leave you ever again, okay? I’m right here,” I vow, and I mean every word.
Though, I would like nothing else but to leave now and hunt down Alejandro and kill him with my bare hands. Better yet, wrap my chain around his neck and tighten it to see the life leave his eyes. Yeah, that would be one hell of a sight—and the only reason I would leave her side, and only for the time it takes to kill that fucker. Then I’d rush right back to her.
She loves it when I call her Apple. I gave her the nickname because she wouldn’t eat any food I gave her, but I caught her stealing candy from me. Green apple-flavored gummy bears.
Back when she couldn’t remember her name—or I now think she was afraid to tell me and was protecting herself, and us along with it—she wanted to be called Apple. I guess the time for change has come, because all of us now know she’s Harper, the little sister of my VP’s old lady. Though, I still refuse to address her by her given name; to me, she’s Apple.
Harper swallows hard and gives me a slight nod. She scrambles up, and her gaze hits the mattress. “I’m sure you have to get back to the guys and the women.”
The women? “You know I have to work sometimes. I’m a prospect; it’s my job to run errands or fix the cars when needed. I’m the only mechanic around here. And what women? You mean the old ladies? Your sister is one of those. You want me to talk to them for you?”
She gives a little shake of her head. “No, I mean the women who are entertainment, the hang-arounds. You’ve been away for ten days.” There are some hushed words after that but I don’t understand any of it.
Until realization sets in. “Are you talking about my need to get my dick wet?”
Her cheeks turn a nice shade of red. I don’t understand her reaction or why she’s bringing this up. Sex as a discussion has been off the table with her being hurt by Alejandro and Romero. So why would she bring it up now?
“Just go,” she grumbles, clearly pissed off.
“Apple.” I sigh. “Look at me.”
The corner of my mouth twitches when she deliberately turns the other way. I place one knee on the mattress and lean over her body, balancing myself on my hands beside her head, caging her in. The action should be too much for her to handle due to the shit she went through, and yet she’s come such a long way these months we’ve been together.
And I know for sure she can handle and trusts me, because she pushes me away and growls angrily, “I don’t care about your dick. You can screw all the women in this clubhouse for all I care. Just leave me the hell alone.”
Her whole demeanor says otherwise, though. She does care. I might be twenty-one years old and never had a relationship, but for sure as shit do I understand a woman when she’s pissed. Believe me, working in this clubhouse and the whorehouses owned by the MC have given me a lot of examples how women react to men.
Now, I can either tell her I will fuck every woman I come across and walk out of here—and hurt her along with it—or let her know I have no interest in getting my dick wet. Either way, she’s not going believe me. It’s her own insecurities she’s dealing with, and I’m sure it has everything to do with me being away for days on end.
And I have to admit, I missed her like crazy. Perfectly normal because I’ve been looking after her ever since we found her. Day in, day out, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It’s only logical we’ve grown close.
Friends. That’s it. I’m sure that’s all she can ever give another man with the shit that was done to her. Besides, I care too much for her to ever risk hurting her. Sharing secrets and bonding over a screwed-up past, we’ve built a close friendship that I treasure.
“Pizza or spaghetti?” I ask her, switching topics to pull us out of this weird discussion about me getting my dick wet.
She’s not pushing me away anymore. “Are you making or ordering the spaghetti?”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “Ordering. I ain’t leaving you.”
“Oh, thank the stars.” She sighs over-dramatically. “Because you, my friend, cannot cook.”
“What?” I growl in fake anger.
She shoots me a grin and shrugs. “Sorry, dude. Someone needs to be honest with you. And the last time you tried to cook me something, I ended up puking for days.”
I roll my eyes. “Right, sure, blame me. Because I’m pretty sure the whole puking thing was because of the whole kidnapped, drugged-up, save your life, detox incident and not my damn cooking.”
For a moment I’m afraid I’ve pushed too hard to soon. Before I left her for ten days, I could joke around about what she went through. She asked me to do it so she could somehow harden and not flinch at every reminder. The first few weeks she was in my care, she wouldn’t even say one fucking word. She slowly opened up to me, and she’s been doing great with each day passing.
Dammit, I can see her remembering shit, but she closes her eyes for a brief moment and takes a deep breath. When she opens them back up, those gray, stormy eyes flare with challenge as she says, “Nope, that was all your incompetence, mister. So, we’re ordering. And can you get me some Italian apple cake thingies for dessert like you brought the last time you ordered spaghetti?”
“We’re having spaghetti then?” I question, grabbing my phone from my jeans.
Her eyes are focused on me, and I can see there’s a question burning to get out, but her lips stay sealed.
“Out with it, Apple.” I sigh, suddenly feeling tired as well as hungry. Not to mention, I want a hot shower and a change of clothes. “We’re friends. Friends share everything, right?”
“Are you going to sleep in your own room at the clubhouse tonight?” The whisper of words is hard to catch, but I completely understand why.
I plant my ass back on the mattress. “You mean now that the both of us are aware you remember everything? With you bursting into the clubhouse and all?”
Her cheeks pinken, and I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but I’ve seen it in her eyes how she remembers who she is but didn’t say shit. With everything she went through, I thought it was her right at the time. Now? Not so much. Everything is out in the open between us.
“There was a reason why I didn’t say anything. I did it to protect you and myself,” she says and clenches her jaw right after.
I soften my voice. “You’re still safe here. He’s just one man.”
She’s in my face as soon as those words leave my mouth. “He was just one man when he took me from my house, Linc. He was also just one man when he tied me up. One man when he raped me. One. Man. Who took away who I was and gave me the scars, pain, and screwed-up memories in return. All of it is forever burned into my soul, including the words he kept repeating over and over again. He will find me. He will do it all over again. And then? Maybe he’ll give me the mercy he was talking about. The one involving a knife and my guts landing at my feet before he cuts off my head, hands, and feet. Yes, I feel perfectly safe knowing he’s still out there. You know, because he’s just one man.”
Her chest is heavin
g, but there are no tears, no panic, no fear. There’s only anger, and it’s all aimed at me. I should handle her with care, but she’s come so damn far. From drugged up and not speaking to this fierce woman standing before me throwing out her anger.
Even if she crashed in the clubhouse earlier when she was confronting everyone, she feels confident and strong in this house she’s been staying in. And, by the way she’s facing off with me, she is most definitely comfortable with me. So, yeah, it might be completely out of place with the things she just said, but I’m wearing a big-ass smile.
A grunt rips from my throat when her tiny fist connects with my abs. “What the hell, Apple?”
“I should be question your sanity, you idiot. I open up to you, and you return it by sporting a freaky smile? It’s insane to say the least. Not a reaction I expect from my so-called friend.” She even uses air quotes when she growls the “so-called” at me.
I lean into her face, our noses almost touching. “I. Am. Your. Friend,” I grumble, agitated she’s doubting, or joking, about that fact. “The freaky smile was because I’m fucking proud of you getting all angry at me. You voiced out loud, in full anger, what you went through. Do you even realize you did?” I cup her face with both hands and place my forehead against hers. “So, yeah, I am sporting a freaky smile. For you.”
Our eyes are connected, and she’s so damn close. Each breath she takes is expelled against my lips. It would be so easy to close the distance and smash our mouths together and finally taste those lush lips.
Fuck.
I have to get myself under control. What the hell am I thinking? She’s been through hell. I’m her friend, and all I can think about is getting my dick wet. Great. Why am I thinking of sex? I’m sure it’s because she mentioned it earlier, planting a damn seed in my head. It’s absolutely not a topic the both of us need right now.
I clear my throat and step back, my hands leaving her face. “I should arrange some food. I want a shower, and I’ve requested a meeting. So, I have to be in church later tonight.”
