Rough & Ruthless (Notorious Devils Book 4)

by Hayley Faiman

  Rough & Ruthless

  Copyright © 2016 by Hayley Faiman

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editor - Rosalyn Martin, The Green Pen

  Cover: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  title page

  copyright

  epigraph

  prologue

  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

  chapter thirty

  epilogue

  Rough & Ready

  Rough & Reckless

  also by Hayley Faiman

  about the author

  acknowledgments

  “This is a ruthless world and one must be ruthless to cope with it.”

  —Charlie Chaplin

  There’s nothing worse than realizing that you’ve made a mistake. Not a little mistake, like forgetting to pay your car note and being penalized, but a colossal mistake, like falling for a man who is exactly like your father. Except, he’s hidden it—a wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you will.

  I thought that Kyle was different. He said and did all the right things. He worked in finance, in one of those big buildings in the middle of downtown San Diego, and he wore a suit. With his styled blond hair and brown eyes, he was the polar opposite of my father, in every way.

  On our first date, Kyle came to my apartment door with a bouquet of a dozen red roses. They were gorgeous. I knew at that moment that he was special.

  No man had ever given me flowers before.

  No man had called me beautiful the way he did.

  No man had ever looked at me the way he did, like he couldn’t believe I was on his arm.

  Then, once we were official, things started to change. No, after he met my brother, Bates, things shifted. Bates actually liked Kyle. He said it was nice that I was with a man who had a good job, was clean cut, and wasn’t one of his brothers.

  When we returned from our visit with Bates and his new wife, Brentlee, Kyle was different—or rather, his view and treatment of me was different. He would make remarks to me, call me stupid or trashy. I no longer felt beautiful to him; rather, everything about me was pathetic and ugly.

  I accepted it all, though.

  Why?

  Because he didn’t hit me like my father hit my mother and me. He loved me—or at least he said he did. His words were hurtful, but he didn’t use his fists on me.

  In the bedroom, he was a lackluster lover and extremely boring, but I was okay with that as long as he was a nice man.

  I figured life could always be worse. He could be great in bed but beat the shit out of me, and I didn’t want that. So lackluster as long as he was nice was okay by me.

  It was when he started using his words to abuse me, when the snide names turned into downright cruelty, that I started fighting back.

  I’m submissive by nature; my father beat that into me. Bates was my strength my entire life. When he left, I had nobody to fight my battles, so I surrendered to my father’s hand.

  I never told my brother exactly how our father treated me. I think that somewhere in the back of his mind he must have known, but he’d rather believe that it was only him and mom who suffered the wrath of Grisha Lukin.

  Kyle was supposed to be different from my father, he was everything Grisha Lukin wasn’t. Until he was everything that embodied what was my father.

  It was nothing but a slap the first time.

  The second time, it was a punch to the stomach.

  I refused to do what he wanted, refused to be used the way he decided I should be. At twenty-seven years old, I’m not beholden to anyone. I own my own business and pay my own bills.

  What Kyle wants me to do is not something I can ever do. I’ve seen other women do it, I’ve known them too, but that isn’t me. The women that do those things do them because they want to, not because their man wants to get ahead in business. And that is exactly what he wants—to climb the ladder, using me as his step-stool and his whore.

  I’m no man’s whore.

  My brother left me in the lion’s den to save himself and eventually came back to save me. I won’t degrade him, or myself, by returning to a different den. So I do the only thing I can think of.

  I call a man I know can and will be ruthless. A man that will save me and not call Bates while doing it. I can’t bring this to him. He’s been through way too much with his wife and her abusive ex-husband already.

  In the bathroom of Kyle’s home, a place I’ve been invited to live, but haven’t moved in quite yet, I call Max, MadDog, Duhart—the president of the original charter of the motorcycle club, the Notorious Devils. The scariest man I have ever seen in my life.

  It has been years since I’ve laid eyes on him, but I have his number. Bates had instructed me to call him if I ever needed help, as he was closer to me, living in Northern California. It will take him at least nine hours to get to me, but I don’t really need him until tomorrow evening anyway, so that will be all right.

  Tonight, Kyle is going to needle me with words to help him advance his career. Lucky for me, he won’t touch me. I am safe from his dick tonight. He wants to save me for his client. A man coming from New York.

  A big executive who can catapult Kyle’s career.

  He likes young women. He likes to fuck them and tie them up, and he likes their boyfriends to watch. It’s his kink. Using an unavailable woman. He likes that feeling of power over them.

  I understand it, I really do.

  Men in power only crave more power.

  I am not going to be a pawn in this game, though. I don’t give a shit if Kyle rises to the top of his field. He isn’t nice anymore, and I want nice. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I turn on the shower to drown out my voice, and I call the only man I know who will make Kyle shit his pants and rescue me all at the same time.

  I scroll down the list on my phone and I find him.

  MadDog Duhart.

  I look down at the blonde head that’s bobbing in my lap, and I groan. Not because she’s doing such a gre
at job blowing me that I can’t help myself, but because she isn’t. She’s young and hot, but she’s fucking terrible.

  I wrap my hand around the back of her head and I push her as far down as she can go, then I lift my hips and I fuck her mouth until I come.

  I release her and lift my chin, signaling for her to go away. She obliges, thank god. Christ, had I let her continue on her own, it would have taken me another ten minutes just to get off. I tuck myself back in my pants and make my way toward the bar.

  I tap the bar top and wait for my beer. The prospect’s fast, thank fuck. I have a beer and a shot sitting in front of me in less than three minutes. Young punk ass kid. I down the shot and then take a pull from my beer before I turn around and place my elbows on the bar, looking around at my clubhouse.

  I’m getting too old for this shit, but what am I going to do? Quit? Retire? I won’t lie and say that retiring hasn’t crossed my mind. I have three grandkids now, and I miss those little brats. They are fuckin’ perfect.

  I close my eyes for a minute and think about my dead wife, Eleanora. My granddaughter Ellie was named in her memory, a beautiful tribute to the woman who had my heart for so many years.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I look down, surprised at the person who’s calling me.

  Mary-Anne Lukin.

  ‘’Ello,” I murmur into the phone as I walk to my office where it’s quiet, taking my beer with me.

  “It’s Mary-Anne, Bates’ sister,” she whispers.

  It sounds like there’s running water behind her, and I furrow my brow as I lock my office door behind me.

  “Know that. What’s wrong, babe?”

  “I need your help, MadDog, please.”

  Her voice sounds so small, and I feel this knee-jerk reaction—protect.

  I need to protect her.

  The last time I saw her, she was about seventeen years old, a skinny gangly lookin’ thing with thick, black hair. I haven’t seen her since. Sniper didn’t bring her around the clubhouse much as she grew up, and I sure as fuck don’t blame him.

  “Tell me what you need and it’s yours,” I grumble.

  “You, I need you. I need help,” she whispers. It sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.

  My cock goes rock hard at her words— I need you.

  “Where ya at? It’s gonna take me a little time to get to you,” I say as I stand and grab my keys from my desk drawer. She spouts off an address and tells me she’ll text me if her location changes before I arrive.

  “It’s a guy’s house, the guy I’ve been seeing; but MadDog, I need out,” she states. She isn’t pleading anymore. She’s telling me she needs out, and she’s matter-of-fact about it—set and determined.

  “Hold tight, darlin’, I’ll be there soon’s I can.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  My dick presses even harder against my jeans. Fuck me. I’m a dirty old man. She needs my help, a young kid asking for help, and I’m getting’ hard by the sound of her fuckin’ voice. Christ.

  “I need five guys to come on a ride down to San Diego,” I announce as soon as I walk back into the bar area.

  “For what?” Grease, my Vice President, asks.

  “Sniper, from the Idaho chapter, his sister needs our help. She’s in a bad situation and needs out,” I say.

  “Fuck, yeah, I’m in,” Grease grunts and stands up. Four others are quick to volunteer, and we all quickly go out to our bikes.

  I don’t know the details of her situation, but she called me, and not Sniper, so my guess it’s probably pretty bad. She knows Sniper would lose his shit.

  A sister protecting her brother. Family. That’s what this whole fuckin’ club is about. Family. And I aim to always protect mine, and that includes the little sister of one of my brothers.

  Mary-Anne Lukin.

  Mary-Anne’s tits press against my back as her small hands fist my t-shirt at my waist. Fuck. I have to fight my cock from going rock hard in my jeans. I groan when her thighs squeeze the outside of mine as I merge onto the freeway.

  This ride back up north is going to be the fuckin’ death of me as long as she’s on the back of my bike.

  When I pulled into her townhouse’s driveway and watched her open the door to her place, my heart and dick jumped simultaneously at the sight of her. She’d texted me just minutes before we arrived in the city to let us know that she was at home, alone.

  Mary-Anne is tall, long and lean, with her black hair straight, even longer than it was at seventeen years old. Her blue eyes met mine and, swear to fuck, I felt that shit in my goddam dick.

  I signal to my five men after about three hours of riding to pull off at the next exit. We need food and a little breather before we finish the long trek home. I need to ask Mary-Anne some questions, too; find out what exactly we’ve gotten ourselves into and what we’ve jerked her out of.

  Pulling into a parking stall of a small diner, I tap her thigh and wait for her to dismount my bike before I follow and do the same. I remove my helmet and hold my hand out to take Mary-Anne’s as well. I watch, thankful for my sunglasses, as she shakes her hair out, lookin’ like a fuckin’ wet dream while doin’ it, before placing the helmet in my hand.

  I don’t say a word to her, observing her, feeling like a fuckin’ dirty old pervert at the same time, too. I stow our helmets, trying to keep my hands busy so that they don’t roam what I know has to be a tight ass beneath her skin-tight jeans. I breathe a sigh of relief when my brothers pull into the restaurant next to us.

  “Get us a table,” I bark out to the only prospect that joined us, a twenty-two-year-old kid named West.

  He’s going to make a great Devil, and I’ll be proud to call him brother once it’s time. He doesn’t say anything, lifting a chin, instead, and leaving us to go inside.

  “Max,” Mary-Anne whispers as she takes a step closer toward me.

  I hear boots hitting the ground and then fade away as she makes her way into my space.

  I bite back a moan when her hand lifts and rests against my chest. My eyes immediately move to it, and I want nothing more than to take her delicate hand in mine and haul her lithe body closer to me.

  “Mary,” I mutter.

  “I don’t think I could ever repay you for your help,” she says, her voice soft and sweet.

  I close my eyes and try not to tell her that repayment is easy, and that I could think of at least ten different ways she could do that for me. But I don’t know what she’s been through; I don’t know why she’s running; and I sure as fuck am not going to make her feel forced into doing a damn thing. In fact, I need her as far away from me as possible before I fuck her hard, fast, long, and unrelentingly.

  “You’re family,” I grunt.

  “Yeah,” she sighs, taking a step back from me and turning her head.

  “I need to know what I just took you out of,” I say, trying to keep my usually gruff voice gentle for her.

  “A different version of hell than I was raised in, but hell nonetheless,” she says softly.

  Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek with my palm, and wince when her face flinches with the movement. That answers some of my questions right there, the telling flinch of a woman who’s had a man’s hand lifted and struck against her in anger.

  “I’ll get you sorted, babe,” I murmur.

  Her light blue eyes widen, and I don’t mistake her face as it weighs a little heavier against my hand, accepting my touch.

  “I trust you, Max,” she sighs.

  I knit my brows together. She shouldn’t trust me. No way in fuck should she. Granted, I’ll help her, and I won’t physically hurt her in the process, but she damn sure shouldn’t trust me. Not when the thoughts running through my mind about what I want to do to her body would probably send her screaming to her brother for help.

  No woman has ever made me want to protect her, fuck her, and fight for her like she does. I’ve only said a few words to her, and yet, I know that she’s someone special.
Maybe it’s the way her haunted blue eyes look up at me, or maybe it’s the strength I see in her after only minutes of being in her presence; I don’t know, but it makes me want to know more. I’ve never been affected this way before, not even by my wife, Eleanora.

  I feel like a shit even thinking it, because I loved Ellie wholeheartedly. Maybe because I’m older now, I know that what I’m feeling right this minute with Mary, it’s different than anything I’ve felt before in my life.

  Fuck.

  I am so fucked.

  “Table’s ready,” West hollers from the doorway of the diner.

  I drop my hand from Mary-Anne’s face and lift my chin. She begins to walk toward the restaurant and I watch her ass as she does it.

  Fuck me.

  I am so fucked.

  I walk into the crappy little roadside dinner and inhale deeply before letting my breath out. I can’t believe I left. I can’t believe MadDog came the way he did, grabbed me and whisked me away.

  The whole situation is more than I can handle, including the way I feel when I’m pressed up against him on the back of his bike.

  Shit, he’s so hot.

  I didn’t expect that.

  Granted, I knew he was good looking. His son, Fury, is sexy as hell; but it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. The last time I did, I was just a kid.

  Now, as a woman, he’s not just this dad-type authority figure—he’s a man, a sexy man. The way his muscles feel when I hold onto him the further he takes me from San Diego and Kyle, god, I can only imagine what he looks like without the shirt in the way.

  Nervously, I make my way over to the table where five of his brethren sit. I’m not surprised that I don’t recognize a single one of them. Bates tended to keep me far away from his club after he came back from the military. The only reason I even met MadDog, the one time I did, was because Bates allowed me to go to a family BBQ when I was seventeen. I didn’t even meet any of the members while I lived with Kentlee, MadDog’s daughter-in-law, back in Idaho. Bates wouldn’t allow it.

  All five men watch me as I sit down in an empty chair. I’m relieved we aren’t sitting in a booth, so I don’t have to be pressed up against them. Alhough, pressing up against MadDog some more wouldn’t be a hardship.