Two Of A Kind
Snakes Henchmen MC
Alivia Grayson
Two Of A Kind
Snakes Henchmen MC
Copyright © 2019 Alivia Grayson
The contents of this novel are pure fiction.
All names, places and events are in no way associated with any persons dead or alive.
Places and events are used for fictional purposes only.
Any similarity's to real life events, places or persons are pure coincidence.
No Part of this book may be reproduced in any former by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of dried quotations in a book review.
All rights reserved.
For my Family.
My beautiful babies, and the man I love with all that I am. For sister and best friend, who gives me the strength every day to keep fighting. Thank you for always believing in me, your love and support mean everything. Without you, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today.
I would also like to thank my dedicated ARC team, who have read this series with love and enthusiasm, and I will be forever grateful to you all!
Contents
Introduction
1. Trace
2. Fallon
3. Trace
4. Fallon
5. Trace
6. Fallon
7. Trace
8. Fallon
9. Trace
10. Fallon
11. Trace
12. Red
13. Fallon
14. Trace
15. Fallon
16. Trace
17. Fallon
18. Trace
19. Fallon
20. Trace
21. Fallon
22. Trace
23. Fallon
24. Trace
25. Fallon
26. Trace
27. Fallon
28. Trace
29. Fallon
30. Trace
31. Fallon
Epilogue
About the Author
Also By Alivia Grayson
Introduction
Welcome to Snakes Henchmen MC, here’s where you’ll meet the Motorcycle God’s in leather and denim that have plagued my mind for over ten years.
They’re strong and powerful, dangerous beyonds words sometimes, but vigilantes who fight for the rights of the innocent. Nothing is too much for these men. You need help, they’ll give it to you. You cross them, you die. That’s all there is too it.
Beware of the panty-melting, ovary exploding bikers with big hearts and even bigger… ;)
Chapter One
Trace
It was a mistake, Will.’
‘A mistake is miscounting the money in your wallet and counting more than you actually have. A mistake is breaking something that doesn’t belong to you and trying to conceal it for a while! A mistake isn’t fucking around behind my back! Why Jordan? Why would you do this to me?’
‘Because I’m weak...’
That was my excuse the first time I cheated on Willow, the girl I was to marry. Yeah, I know, me getting married? Stupid fucking idea. I cheated, and she found out. It was at the beginning of our relationship; we weren’t really serious back then, or so I thought. Willow thought differently.
Anyway, she forgave me, and we moved on.
What was my excuse for cheating while she was recovering after her attack?
I had none to give. I’m nothing but a bastard, a cunt, a lowdown son of a bitch with no morals, and I don’t deserve the love of a good woman.
Ha! What the hell am I talking about? I don’t want the love of a good woman. I’ll never love her in return, and I sure as shit won’t be faithful to her. There’s no reason for me to lie and pretend I’m someone I’m not.
There is one thing I love more than myself, though. I love pussy, all kinds of pussy. Black, White, Hispanic, Japanese, I don’t give a shit. If it’s wet and willing, I’m all up inside it.
Take the three whores asleep in my bed here at the clubhouse. Don’t ask me their names because I don’t have a clue. I don’t ask for names because I don’t intend to see them again, and I don’t even give a shit. I fucked all three of these nameless bitches as they’ve never been fucked before. I had them screaming my name, screaming for more, cumming and squirting all over the place. They haven’t really cum until they’ve cum for me.
The trouble is, and I’m not even bragging, just stating a fact, once they’ve cum on my command a couple of times, they don’t seem to understand it won’t be happening again. One night is all you get with Trace, then I’m done and moving on to the next willing whore.
However, call it age or something, but I’m starting to wonder what it would be like to have an old lady, someone to call mine. Then I fucking laugh at myself. Ain’t going to happen. Who the fuck needs bitches that cling on? It stifled me with Willow, and she wasn’t the kind of girl to be clingy. I am not ever going there again.
Besides, I couldn’t be faithful if my life depended on it. I’m an unashamed serial cheat. Who in their right mind would settle for one pussy when you could have every pussy within a thirty-mile radius in one night if you wanted it?
Nah. Monogamy isn’t for me. I’ll love them and leave them ’til the day I die. I’ll ride my women like I ride my motorcycle. Fast and hard, and they’ll never forget my name.
Trace.
Don’t you be forgetting it neither. However, I have a feeling you’ll be remembering my name long after my story is through...
Chapter Two
Fallon
I sit on the bench in the communal gardens of Vine Achers Hospice, salty tears falling from my eyes and hitting my lips. I’ve been both dreading this day and expecting it for three years. Expecting it because they told me it was inevitable. Dreading it because it means I have to say goodbye.
I’m not ready to say goodbye.
I still remember that night like it was yesterday. It still haunts my dreams like a ghost in the night. A ghost that chokes me until every breath within me is fighting for survival. It holds me down with the weight of a forklift truck and has me screaming into the night like a banshee.
I haven’t been the same since that night. The night I lost everything. The night I watched my brother fall in a hail of bullets. The night I couldn’t save him, no matter how hard I tried.
Who am I without my brother? It had been just the two of us for so long, until he was shot down, of course. Now it’s just me alone. Even though my brother has been in this place for years, he was still here. I was still able to visit with him and talk to him about my day. If they turn off the machine keeping him alive, I will be utterly alone in the world.
Scott and I were alone in the world because our father left us when we were babies to join some silly motorcycle gang, and Mom walked out on us when we were little kids, leaving us to the foster system. We were kept together, luckily for us. However, we weren’t so lucky in ever finding a family that wanted us for long, a couple of months here, a couple there. It was always the same until Scott was old enough to care for me himself.
By that, I mean Scott kidnapped me from my foster home and ran with me, and he kept running.
Scott and I slept rough a lot those first few months. We moved around a lot because staying in one place would be too dangerous. We stole, lied, and cheated to get what we needed. All the while, Scott kept one eye over his shoulder, and he did whatever he needed to, to avoid being caught. Around keeping me safe, and the law at bay, Scott was trying to locate our no-good father. I never wanted that. I didn’t feel like we needed a father. H
e hadn’t wanted us when we were kids, what made Scott think he would want us just because we turned up out of the blue?
A few months after Scott abducted me, we found a place to stay. Scott had managed to get a job which paid enough for the rent on a trailer. It wasn’t much, just one bedroom, which he gave to me, while he slept on the sofa, a small compact kitchen, a tiny bathroom, but it was a roof over our heads. It was nice to sleep inside out of the cold, and Scott told me that he would do everything he could to make sure we didn’t lose our new home.
I wanted to go to school with kids of my age who lived in the trailer park, but Scott said it would be too risky. If he sent me to school, they’d want to know our background, and they’d work out in the end that whatever he told them would have been fabricated. If that happened, then they would call the authorities, and I’d be taken away from him. Scott told me that he couldn’t bear that thought, he didn’t want to lose me, so he taught me at home. Homeschooled me, if you will. Scott was brilliantly smart and taught me so much.
I made friends with a couple of kids who lived in the trailer across the way, and their names were Remi and Zane. Scott didn’t like it, Remi and Zane being guys. Scott told me that I should stay away from guys until I was old enough to understand what it was they really wanted from me. Those boys didn’t want anything but my friendship. I couldn’t openly give it to them because Scott threatened to hurt them. He was kind of overprotective like that.
As my older brother, four years older, I looked up to Scott and believed him when he told me everything he said and did was for my own good.
But why was that?
Scott started to change very quickly, and he got bigger, more muscle, stronger, and even dangerous. It wasn’t until he came home wearing a leather cut baring the sign of an MC I’d heard a lot about did I realize what he’d gotten himself into, where he’d gotten the money to keep us alive and safe.
My brother had become a member of Satan’s Cutthroat MC. Not a nice bunch of men, let me tell you. They thought of nothing but fucking, fighting, drinking, drugs, and did I mention fucking? Yeah, they were vile pigs. I don’t even think half of them had heard of soap.
They never came near me, though. Thankfully. My brother, who apparently, was no longer Scott but Thor – Yes, I’m being deadly serious – had made sure those men knew his baby sister was off-limits. If they so much as came near me, he’d flip out and beat the hell out of them. No joke.
It was a beautiful spring day when Scott came to me and told me that he’d found our father. That he joined Satan’s Cutthroat because he knew it would one day lead him to our father. I wasn’t sure whether I should be excited or pissed off. I didn’t need a father, especially one who walked out on me when I was a baby. However, I’d never seen Scott so excited about anything before.
Scott told me that he’d tell me everything as soon as he got home that night, and then he left. Scott hadn’t told me much of anything about our father; he didn’t have time, but that evening, he’d tell me everything he’d learned. I watched Scott ride away on his big, bad motorcycle, not realizing I would never get to find out who my father was.
I shake my head of thoughts and wipe my eyes. Thinking doesn’t get me anywhere, crying sure as hell doesn’t, but I have to decide what to do now. The doctors want me to allow them to turn off Scott’s machine, the one keeping him alive. For three years, I have fought to keep him alive, almost every day I have been told there is no brain activity, that I’m fooling myself. However, as long as I paid the medical bills on time, the doctors at the hospice kept Scott’s machine switched on for me.
It’s hard trying to keep up with the cost of Scott’s care, but I have to do what I have to do, no matter what that entails. I cannot let my brother down, just as he never let me down. Some weeks, I work more hours that is legal, but what choice do I have?
Scott is a shadow of the magnificent man he once was. Skin and bones in a bed that makes him look so small. He’s just twenty-four years old, too young to die. But then he’s been dead for three years, and I have only been fooling myself into believing he’ll ever wake up.
I told the doctor I needed a few days to make my decision. Dr. Volkov told me that he could give me that. Any longer and the decision will be taken out of my hands. This is no life for Scott. He wouldn’t want this. I know that, but I feel like I’m killing him all over again.
I make my way to work. I can’t afford a car because all of my money goes on medical care for Scott. I have to make sure I meet the payments for the hospice where people go to die. What a depressing thought! However, I knew this is where it would all end when I agreed to Scott being brought here. I just hoped it would buy me time to bring him back to life.
I work at Stilletthoe. Yes, it’s really called that. A strip joint three miles away from the trailer park where I still live, five miles from the home where Scott is. I’m underage, but they don’t know that. I told the owners that I was twenty-one when I came to work there. That was two years ago when the club Scott belonged to, gave up helping me pay for his needs.
Their president, Brick, told me as I was then eighteen, it was my job to pay for Scott, I was an adult now, and they’d done all they could. Then he walked away from me and stayed away for the most part. Some of the guys visit Scott now and again. However, most of the men, Scott worked with are now dead. Killed because of who and what they were.
I don’t need them anyway, and nor does Scott.
However, stripping in order to get enough money to pay for everything is probably the easiest way to get what you need. Don’t get me wrong; I do not sleep with the customers like most of the girls. I’ve never needed to prostitute myself. I strip to nothing but my panties while dancing and flirting with the pervy old men that lech all over the girls, but I have a no-touching rule. Yeah, I get the odd guy who slaps my ass as I walk by, but it’s all part of the job. I make good money, very good money, that keeps my brother comfortable, and a roof over my head. So I have nothing much to complain about.
My brother would be so ashamed of me doing this, he wanted so much more for me than this, but I really don’t have a choice.
“You’re late,”
“I’m not late, Missy,” I tell my boss as I walk past the bar. I’m ten minutes early.
“It’s half an hour before we open. The new owners want words with all the girls,” Shit, I forgot about that. Some crazy MC has bought the club, and things are about to change around here. Who knows if I’ll even have a job by the end of the night. “Get in the locker room with the other girls. The new owners are already in there waiting to speak with you.”
I nod my head and walk away from her. This isn’t going to go my way, I just know it.
When I enter the locker room, all the girls who work here are standing in front of four huge ass bikers and two beautiful looking women. My eyes lock with one of the bikers. He has pretty hazel-gray eyes, a chiseled jaw covered with scruff, and model features. He’s tall, really tall, and built like a God. My type if he wasn’t a lowdown dirty biker. I hate those fuckers.
He looks me up and down shamelessly, and I roll my eyes. Typical biker asshole looking at me like he wants to eat me. He’s not the first cunt to ever do that. “And you are?” He asks, his thick arms crossed over his big chest.
“Fallon.” I look at the women in front of him, telling them my name rather than him. I won’t engage in conversation with him for any reason.
“Well, Fallon,” The dark-haired girl tells me, “I’m Tammy. This is Tessa. These fine men behind me are,” She points to the one to the right of her, “Roman,” Here they go with their silly nicknames.
Roman is a big guy, very good looking, exceptionally so, and has the strangest shade of green eyes I’ve ever seen. He looks to be around forty, but I could be mistaken. It might just be all the shit he’s done in his life that’s aged him. He’s also looking at me weirdly, as though he recognizes me or something. I fucking doubt it; I’d remember if I’d met him or an
y of these people before. I doubt they’re easily forgettable.
Tammy point over her shoulder at the man standing right behind her. “My husband, Red.” I bite my lower lip as not to laugh. Whom the hell takes the name Red? Especially when your hair or beard isn’t Red. Whatever it’s his silly name.
Red looks to be quite a bit older than Tammy. He looks even older than Roman, though both men are handsome in their own right. Red is all big muscles, beard, deep brown eyes, tanned skin. Sad that he’s the clichéd biker.
“Then we have Tiger and Trace.” Tiger is giving me the eye. He has no fucking hope on this earth of getting anywhere with me. I wouldn’t stoop low enough to so much as have a drink with him. Tiger is not as built or tall as the others, and he’s got scars on his left cheek like he’s been cut up at some point in time. He looks like he’s getting on in age, but I’ll wager he’s only around my brother’s age.
Trace is the one who caught my eye when I first walked in. I can’t put my finger on his age, though. Not that I actually give two shits, but he’s so good looking, so handsome and built. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at him naked. However, I will never go there. Trust me. I can already tell what kind of man Trace is — a massive man whore. No, thank you!
Two Of A Kind: Snakes Henchmen MC Page 1
