Brothers in Blue: The Complete Trilogy: Brothers in Blue Boxed Set - Books 1-3

by Jeanne St. James

  “I’m glad you have that confidence in me.”

  “I do. I know you.” Laying her cheek against his chest, she listened to his heart thump strongly. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. But I have another surprise.”

  She lifted her head as he reached into his back pocket. He handed her some rectangular booklets, even though it was too dark to see what they were. “What is it?”

  “Two tickets to Antigua. I can’t wait to see those long legs of yours in an itty-bitty turquoise bikini.”

  “You already see me naked,” she said surprised.

  “Not enough,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Well, we can remedy that right now.”

  “Yes, we can.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house, slamming the door behind them. He paused and turned back to dead-bolt the door.

  She didn’t blame him; you never know when there could be stray Brysons wandering around.

  Not ready to say goodbye to the Brysons?

  If you’d like to read Teddy’s short story, you get it here for free: BookHip.com/DRTBTW

  If You Enjoyed This Book

  Thank you for reading Brothers in Blue: The Complete Trilogy. If you enjoyed these stories, please consider leaving a review at your favorite retailer and/or Goodreads to let other readers know. Reviews are always appreciated and just a few words can help an independent author like me tremendously!

  The Brothers in Blue Series:

  Brothers in Blue: Max (Book 1)

  Brothers in Blue: Marc (Book 2)

  Brothers in Blue: Matt (Book 3)

  Teddy: A Brothers In Blue Novella

  Down & Dirty ’til Dead

  Turn the page to read the first chapter of

  Down & Dirty: Zak (Dirty Angels MC, book 1)

  About Down & Dirty: Zak

  Dirty Angels MC, Book 1

  Welcome to Shadow Valley where the Dirty Angels MC rules. Get ready to get Down & Dirty because this is Zak’s story…

  After spending the last ten years in prison, Zak, former DAMC president, has a few priorities: to reconnect with his “brothers,” to get drunk, and to get laid. Not necessarily in that order. When he spots a stunning woman in the clubhouse and mistakes her for one of the club’s strippers, those priorities get a bit skewed.

  Sophie has no idea what happened to her life. One minute she’s totally focused on building her bakery business, and the next? She’s delivering a cake to the Dirty Angels motorcycle club’s “homecoming” celebration for a member who just got out of prison. Little does she know baking that cake will change the rest of her life, not to mention, make her a target for a rival MC. Normally, Sophie wouldn’t be caught dead with a man like Zak, a tattooed, ex-con, badass biker.

  When a decades old territory war threatens to rip them apart, Zak will do anything to keep Sophie, his club, and the town safe. But being from two different worlds, the threat they’re under may not be worth the risk.

  Down & Dirty: Zak Sneak Peek

  Chapter One

  A high-pitched buzz sounded. The magnetic door latch released and with a violent push, Zak stepped out into the sunlight.

  Not even six feet from the building, he stopped, closed his eyes, flared his nostrils and inhaled a deep breath.

  Smelled like freedom.

  He opened his eyes, spun on his heels and raised his arms to give the double middle finger salute to the guards watching him on the cameras. He threw his head back and laughed.

  Fuck them all.

  His breath condensed in the frigid air and he wore no jacket but he didn’t care.

  Life. Was. Good.

  A horn honked and he turned to see who it was. Though, it wasn’t who he’d hoped, he wouldn’t gripe about it. A brother was a brother, whether blood or not.

  He picked up the small bag of personal items from where he dropped it in his haste to flip the guards the bird and jogged to the curb where his chariot awaited.

  Diesel tossed him his leather cut, as well as a hooded sweatshirt. After pulling the sweatshirt over his T, he raised his colors to his nose and inhaled.

  Yeah. His vest smelled like leather, smoke, booze and pussy. Best combination in the world.

  The patch was dirty and worn but still made a clear statement. He was a fucking Dirty Angel and after ten years in the joint, that still hadn’t changed.

  This was his homecoming. And it would be his last one because he swore to himself he would never go into that concrete box again.

  Never.

  Diesel, the club’s “Enforcer,” wore a huge grin when they clasped hands and bumped chests. “Good to see you, brother.”

  The man’s smile was infectious. “Same, brother. Been too fuckin’ long.” He jabbed a finger at the Sergeant at Arms patch on the man’s cut. “I see nothin’s changed. Still bustin’ heads?”

  Diesel only laughed and moved around the hood of the car to the driver’s side.

  Zak yanked open the door of the classic Pontiac GTO—Diesel’s baby after his bike—and slid onto the seat, holding his vest on his lap like it was precious. Before climbing in, Diesel shrugged out of his, turned it inside out and slipped it back over his shoulders.

  You never wore your colors when riding in a “cage,” and if you did, you turned your colors in. Because DAMC was a damn bike club, not a car club. That was a lesson not to be forgotten. Zak smiled at the memory of kicking some prospect’s ass for disrespecting the club by wearing his vest colors out while in a car.

  Good times.

  As Diesel pulled away from the parking lot, the larger man’s head swiveled to study him, but Zak wasn’t in the mood to talk about his time inside so he said, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Need to get to church anyway, everyone’s gettin’ together for your homecomin’ celebration.”

  Zak glanced at him in surprise. “Yeah?”

  “Fuck yeah. Want to welcome home our President.”

  Zak shook his head and frowned. “I’m no longer President, D. Even I’m aware of that.”

  Diesel grunted, then said, “That’ll change,” and turned the key.

  The throaty roar of the big block engine was music to Zak’s ears. He couldn’t wait to get the power of his bike between his thighs again. He’d missed it.

  He’d missed the open road.

  He’d missed doing shit on his timetable and not the warden’s.

  Even so, he hadn’t missed being the club president and didn’t know if he even wanted the hassle anymore. He wanted to enjoy his newly found freedom for a while. And being constantly saddled with club business choked that freedom.

  But as his gaze slid to Diesel, he didn’t think the time was right to talk about it.

  They had a party to go to.

  Beer to drink.

  He needed to reconnect with his brothers.

  And, almost as important, he needed to fuck some pussy. Because ten years was way too long to go without.

  First order of business back at the club would be to make his rounds. Second was to drain his clogged pipes.

  And if it took more than one woman to do it? So be it.

  When Diesel pulled the GTO through the gate into the rear parking lot of the clubhouse, a sense of relief overcame Zak. He breathed easier and felt himself automatically settling back into the old ways. He was home. Really fucking home.

  He’d noticed there were no bikes or cars parked out front on the public side of the bar, The Iron Horse Roadhouse. Hawk must have shut the bar down so everyone could attend the pig roast, which would be held out back, the private side of the club bar.

  “We got the girls to clean out one of the larger rooms upstairs so you got somewhere to crash tonight. Stay until you get yourself settled.”

  Zak didn’t answer, he only nodded, amazed at the sight of how packed the back lot was with vehicles.

  Large turnout.

  Anxiety crept through him, his stomach churning a bit. He’d been
gone a long time. A whole fucking decade. Things looked the same so far, but he knew there had been changes. Hopefully for the better.

  Club life hadn’t stood still waiting for Zak to do his time. His fingers fisted in his vest as it laid on his lap.

  Diesel parked directly in front of the back entrance to the clubhouse—it was almost as if the spot had been reserved for him—and shut the car off, not moving to get out.

  Zak didn’t, either. Instead, he rolled his gaze up to read the sign over the grey steel-metal door.

  Dirty Angels MC.

  Under that, in smaller letters… Down & Dirty ‘til Dead.

  His nostrils flared as he sucked in oxygen.

  This was his family. They would welcome him home with open arms.

  Well, they would.

  His dad and brother… maybe not so much.

  He mentally shook that problem out of his head and shot a look at Diesel before pushing the door open and unfolding from the passenger seat. As soon as he was on his feet, he shrugged his vest over his shoulders.

  That was more like it. Now he was home.

  He glanced down to where the rectangular patch was missing, where it had been ripped free from the leather, just a few stray threads left behind as a reminder.

  He was no longer president. Someone else wore that patch now.

  More power to Pierce for taking on the headache.

  Though, some of the brothers weren’t thrilled with Pierce taking the head of the table. Even though they were all brothers at heart, Pierce didn’t come from either bloodline of the two club founders, Doc and Bear.

  And Pierce didn’t always agree with all of the club’s business staying on the upside, staying legit. He tended to lean toward the old ways.

  But the old ways had gotten way too many of them locked up. And when a brother was doing time, that meant less money in the coffers. One less member paying dues, one less member working in the businesses.

  And that was not good. Not good for the club in general. Not good for the brothers who remained on the outside because they had to step up to fill in the financial gaps.

  “You just gonna stand there, or you gonna take your ass inside?” Diesel prodded, making Zak shake himself mentally to get himself out of his head, his thoughts.

  With a smile to his brother, he kissed the tips of his fingers then leapt straight up, tagging the club’s entryway sign with his hand.

  Good to be home.

  Diesel laughed, yanked open the door, and shoved Zak past the threshold into the dim interior.

  And then the sound was deafening. The hooting, the hollering, the cat calls, the whistles, and “fuck yeah’s,” as Zak parted the crowd like the Red Sea. The common area was packed. Familiar faces became a blur as he fought his way through the back pats, shoulder bumps, forearms clasps. His face began to ache from the smile he wore; it couldn’t get any bigger, any wider.

  He pushed his way to the club’s private bar and stared at Hawk stationed behind it. The big man had his thick arms crossed over his chest and a serious expression on his face. He looked the same as Zak remembered, just ten years older. A few lines at the corners of his dark brown eyes, his dark hair in a short Mohawk. That hadn’t changed, either. Both sides of his head shaved, his bare scalp sporting tattoos.

  His right-hand man.

  Or used to be, anyway. Zak’s gaze dropped to the man’s rectangular patch and was pleased to see the man was still VP.

  But Zak knew that. He had been kept up to date for the most part during his stint at the State Correctional Institution in Fayette county. Most of the brothers had taken turns visiting when they could. Not that Zak expected them to, but it was good when they did.

  It took everything in his power not to leap over the bar and grab the man only two years his senior into a bear hug. No matter what shit went down, Hawk always had his back.

  Through thick and thin. Maybe not true brothers, but brothers all the same.

  “Still as ugly as ever, chicken hawk,” Zak growled at him. “Bet your hair is stiffer than your dick ever gets.”

  “You give me limp dick just thinking about how many salads you tossed in the joint.”

  Zak realized how quiet the room became around them. All eyes on them.

  “What’s a man gotta do to get a damn drink ‘round here?”

  Hawk grabbed his junk. “Suck my cock. Probably good at doin’ that now. Probably a pro.”

  “Fucker,” Zak grumbled, struggling to keep a straight face.

  Izzy walked behind the bar and in between the two men having a stare down. “Boys. Just kiss and get it over with. And then get the man a damn drink.”

  Zak’s eyes slid to Isabella. “Damn, Izzy, you’re lookin’ good.”

  “Anything with a pussy probably looks good to you right now. But,” she put both palms on the bar and leaned toward Zak, “it helped that I got rid of that dead weight.” She slapped a shot glass in front of him and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Jack.”

  Izzy nodded then turned to grab the Jack Daniels from the shelf behind the bar. “Call me Bella, Zak. I’m trying to erase anything that reminds me of that rat bastard.” She poured him a double.

  He raised the glass up to her in a salute. “Here’s to freedom. For both of us.” Then downed the whiskey. The burn down his throat felt good. Real. A reminder that he was now free and needed to keep it that way.

  “Amen to that,” she muttered.

  But she did look good. Her wavy, long dark brown hair went past the middle of her back. Her dark brown eyes looked guarded, as they should with the shit she went through with her husband—now ex. Even though it was chilly out, she wore a tight black tank top with the letters DAMC over her ample breasts with her pink bra straps showing. A wide black leather belt cinched her narrow waist, and her hips... damn, they’d widened out perfectly. Grab worthy, hang on tight as she’s bucking wild on your lap worthy.

  But even so, he wouldn’t fuck her with a ten-foot pole. And one reason was standing directly behind her, watching him check her out. The other reason sidled up next to him. Diesel. Both men were brothers for real. And both men were her cousins who now kept a close eye on her. Very close. And he certainly didn’t need a double ass-kicking fresh out of the joint.

  “Know it’s been ten years, but don’t even think about it,” Diesel muttered near his ear.

  Zak lifted both palms in surrender. “Wouldn’t even go there.”

  “Good.”

  They seemed to be more protective of her now than ever. And with good reason. He had heard what her ex had done to her. And he understood them getting their hackles up when a male showed interest. Though, she worked at The Iron Horse and he couldn’t imagine she didn’t get hit on a lot. Her curves had matured over the last ten years and he had to admit she was drop-dead gorgeous. He wondered how many asses Hawk and Diesel thumped because of that.

  Izzy shifted down the bar to talk to someone else and Hawk stepped back up, pouring him another double then pouring one for Diesel and himself. They clinked shot glasses then downed them in one swallow.

  Zak slapped the glass down on the bar top and got serious. “Anyone see my dad or Axel?”

  He didn’t miss when Diesel and Hawk’s eyes met briefly, a silent message, then their gaze broke and went back to him.

  “See ‘em ‘round town, but haven’t had any real run-ins with ‘em.”

  “Guess they won’t be here tonight,” Zak said softly, trying to fight the disappointment, but having a hard time keeping it from his voice.

  “You know how it is with those fuckin’ cops, Z,” Jag said, walking up behind him and pounding him a welcome on the back. “They stick with their own. They don’t wanna get dirt under their nails by fraternizin’ with us.”

  Zak turned to his cousin, and they clasped hands as if they were about to arm wrestle and then bumped shoulders.

  Jag muttered, “Fuck that,” and wrapped his beefy arms around Zak and squeezed him tight.

/>   Zak thought he spotted a tear in his blood relative and the club Road Captain’s eye.

  Nah. Couldn’t have been.

  Dirty Angels never cried. Even when they did.

  And if they did, no one noticed or talked about it. Ever.

  One time a prospect made fun of a patched member who got emotional and he ended up disappearing. Just like that.

  Poof.

  But then that was in the old days.

  Even a hard-assed MC member shed some tears once in a while. But, again, somehow no one ever noticed.

  “Uncle Mitch and your brother have been scarce. When the pigs show up here, for whatever reason they feel’s ‘necessary,’ they usually send anyone but them. And from what Dad says, they’ve circled the wagons ‘round Jayde since she’s come home from college. They don’t want her gettin’ anywhere near the club or any of us dirty fuckers.”

  “With good reason,” Zak joked. Or tried to. He missed his little sister, too. The last time he saw her she was around fourteen years old. His mother and she had sat in the back of the courtroom for his sentencing and once it was over, he turned to look at them and they were gone. Disappeared. It probably had been too much for them.

  So, he didn’t blame them. And he tried not to take it to heart that no one from his immediate family had ever visited him once while he was at Fayette. He understood their desire to keep their lives separate.

  Though, his grandfather would have been pissed if he’d still been alive. The club had been his grandfather’s heart and soul.

  Fuck.

  He was supposed to be celebrating, not getting morose.

  Zak cleared the thick out of his throat and said, “Proud of you for gettin’ voted in as Road Captain.”

  Jag dropped his head, breaking eye contact, and murmured, “Nah, it was nothin’. Someone had to step up.”