SAVAGE ROAD (A Devil Call MC Book) (Layne & Shelby Book One)

by Fawkes, Ana W.

  Ana is the author of the bestselling motorcycle romance serial series, DEVIL CALL MC. Other projects have included BY HIS COMMAND, FULL MOON MERCY, & RAW RIVER WILD.

  Don’t miss out on *new releases* *excerpts* *cover reveals* and some great *contests* … sign up for the *official* Ana W. Fawkes newsletter RIGHT NOW: http://eepurl.com/ADM0j

  ~*~

  *** Don’t miss to upcoming collaboration between Karolyn & Ana under the pen name – ANA JAMES – and their debut launch in the shifter world with the Pacific Bear Clan and the Fated Mates series! ***

  SAVAGE ROAD (Layne & Shelby Book One) (A Devil Call MC Book)

  He was ready to claim the President's patch...until she stepped into his path.

  Layne - I rode into town ready to claim my destiny as President of the Devil Call MC, but found a club that was self-destructing. I don't have time for any distractions...but when I see her behind the bar, I can't look away. I have to make her mine...but doing that puts her right in harm's way.

  Shelby - Since he walked into the bar, I can't stop thinking about him. I always swore I'd never get involved with a biker and my dad and his connections will kill us both if he finds out. But I'm falling hard and even the dangers brewing at the club can't change how I feel about him...

  *PART ONE*

  1.

  (Layne)

  I had plenty to say, plenty to do.

  Before I could say anything, before I could really put my foot down and take control of all that was broken…

  A bullet tore through me.

  Fuck.

  2.

  (Layne)

  Freedom had an expiration date which was determined by death.

  There was no other way to think or live. A lot of guys came into the fold looking for a leather cut and a pretty woman to snuggle between their legs. Fuck, who wouldn’t want that, right? Truth of it all… it’s more than that. It’s signing your life away. If you get through the prospect process and actually put on a real Devil Call MC cut, it’s nothing short of a religious experience. Like those who dip their heads into holy water, looking for that sense of freedom and being saved, that’s what the leather cut meant. You were now protected. You were now part of a brotherhood. And for every bullet or punch taken, and day spent in prison someone would do for you, you had to do the exact same fucking thing for everyone else wearing the cut.

  Even if you hated them.

  I throttled my ride and watched the mountains in the distance.

  The air was already getting cooler. Not that I minded. The whole flat land, dessert-like feel, with the bustling beach town bullshit had taken its toll on me. Yeah, my heart was a little heavy. I had said goodbye to my best friend and to a woman I loved. But the fact was that in Brocke, Talon owned it all. It was his town. It was his club. And Everly was his woman. I trusted him with her and that he’d die for the beautiful woman. So what more could I ask for?

  Well, I did ask for more, and I fucking got it.

  I was heading north into Oakville, a town that was going to become my bitch. I grinned as the air ripped at my face. I had horsepower between my legs, and it wasn’t just my motorcycle either. I was done dropping down that rabbit hole of bullshit with women. It came from a deep desire that lingered from when I was a kid. Life had always been shit for me. All I had was Talon.

  Now, all I had was myself. Which was fine. If Talon and I stayed close, we’d end up killing each other. Hell, we almost did kill each other a few times.

  Right on the edge of the town, twenty feet after an old, wooden, crooked sign that read STOP IN OAKVILLE!, stood a little, shit cabin looking thing. It had neon lights flashing out of sync, making me real thirsty for a cold beer.

  Since Oakville was all mine, I figured I’d stop and get a drink. I wasn’t sure if and what Talon did to prepare the guys up here for me. All I knew was that Oakville needed a President. There was a surge in crime - both from another MC and from guys in suits that had some dark pasts. The town was a little beat up and the economics were a disaster. Used as a running town, a lot of traffic with guns and drugs flowed through, often ending with fights and murders. Yet, Devil Call MC didn’t take a cut of anything.

  What a fucking mess.

  You want to run a half a million dollar gun order through Oakville? Fuck you, brother, you’re now paying me a percentage. And I’ll give you protection of the MC to get you where you’re going.

  It was going to shake things up.

  Really bad.

  Really fucking bad.

  I pulled my ride over and spotted three motorcycles out front of the bar. Along the side was a little, two-door, beat up car. A crack spread across the windshield, the driver’s side mirror missing. The car looked tilted, like one of the tires was flat.

  The ground crunched under my feet as I approached the door to the bar.

  When I opened it, the door squealed, and all eyes went to me.

  A man stood behind the bar, a cigarette between his lips. He squinted as he looked at me. One guy sat at the bar, two hands cupped around a glass of beer. The other two guys in the bar were at a pool table where the felt was ripped in the middle and one of the legs was propped up with phonebooks.

  I approached the bar, to the corner, and stared at the bartender.

  The cigarette smoke rose in front of his face. His arms were skinny with loose skin. Tattoos littered his arms, but they were now wrinkled blotches of ink. The only thing really visible was a picture of the grim reaper on his neck.

  “Whaddaya want here?” he growled, ashes falling from the cigarette to the bar.

  “A beer,” I said. “That a problem?”

  “Why don’t you turn around first? Lemme see the back’a that cut.”

  “I don’t turn my back on anyone,” I said.

  “Smart man.” He reached down and brought a beautiful handgun up to the bar. A long barrel .357 with an ivory butt. A real old style weapon.

  “That’s a nice gun,” I said.

  “Don’t look at it. Look at me. Motherfucker.”

  I grinned. I looked to my left, and the guy at the bar kept staring. His eyes were loopy and confused. He was good and settled right on the barstool. Drunk as fuck.

  “You don’t know who I am,” Layne said.

  “An’ I don’t give two fucks.”

  Someone whistled. “Hey, Pep, you might wanna…”

  I shot my right hand forward. It was always a big risk to reach for another man’s weapon. But I was fast and the old man wasn’t. I had his gun, holding it like a baseball, not going for the trigger or wanting to threaten him.

  The cigarette fell from his mouth and he stiffened.

  I opened the chamber and dumped the eight long bullets into the palm of my hand. I slammed them down to the bar and then flicked my wrist, shutting the chamber. I rolled the gun around my pointer finger, like a bad ass cowboy. The barrel pointed at me, the beautiful ivory butt pointed at the old man.

  “You wouldn’t want to shoot your President, would you?” I asked.

  “Wha’s that?” the old man asked.

  “Hey, Pep!” one of the guys yelled. “He’s Devil Call, man.”

  “Get the shit outta here,” the old man said.

  “Name’s Layne. I’m heading north. Going to fix this place up.”

  “Good luck,” the old man spat. He then grabbed a glass and poured a golden colored beer. He put the glass down. “On the house. You wanna know about Oakville?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  The old man took the gun from me. I kept my hand cupped over the bullets. My little way of showing power.


  “First off, m’name is Pep. I use’ta wear the cut. Had the patch. My advice? Run. Get the fuck outta this place. Now.”

  I lifted my beer and grinned.

  Welcome home, Layne.

  3.

  (Shelby)

  I’m going to find you. I swear on it. I’m going to find you.

  I scanned with my finger over the fresh notes in the notebook. Most of the stuff was just scribbled notes and ideas. Nobody should ever care this much to find someone who didn’t want to be found. Well, that’s what Daddy said. He constantly told me she didn’t want to be found. But what woman wouldn’t want to meet her daughter. Could she really be that cruel of a woman? To abandon me and just… never care?

  I felt close though. I felt really close. Besides being in the right town and the right bar, there were other details coming up. Going east, I’d find her. Probably strung out in Vegas. Maybe working the streets. Or on the flip side she could be a small town wife and mother. Sitting on the PTA board, arguing over the sugar content of the orange juice given to the kids.

  That version made me smile.

  I missed out on that life, didn’t I?

  Yes and no, I guess.

  A thundering boom made me jump. I dropped the notebook into the sink.

  “Shit,” I said.

  I grabbed the notebook and shook it, droplets of soapy water falling from the corner where it had gotten wet. I closed the notebook and tucked it into my back pocket.

  “Let’s go!” a voice yelled. “Fuck!”

  “Hold up,” I yelled back.

  The thundering pounding ensued. “Get the fuck out, bitch!”

  I unlocked the door and opened it. In came a stumbling drunk biker, Brett. It was late afternoon and he was piss drunk. His eyes squinted as he pinned me against the wall. His belt buckle dug into my lower stomach as he wiggled his hips, thinking he was sexy. I endured the few seconds of cheap moves and I was able to do so because I had one simple rule to life.

  Never fuck a biker.

  No matter what.

  Not that many of the guys in Devil Call MC were good looking, but the few that were, I just had to resist. If I needed some attention I had myself or I could skip town and find something else to ride for the night.

  But the rule stayed the same… never fuck a biker.

  I’d seen what happened to women who came through the clubhouse. They were sucked in and then passed around like a cheap bottle of whiskey. They were double teamed, triple teamed, and whatever hell they had going on in their lives usually bled into the clubhouse. Most of the shit was just plain nasty. Plus, anyone really involved with Devil Call MC was at risk.

  The violence and unspoken allure of violence was scary.

  I needed the job though. I needed the cash, the tips, the money under the table. I needed to stay off the radar and focus on my goal. These guys were mostly assholes, but they helped me if I needed it. And I got the help without having to bend over and strip myself naked.

  Although it didn’t come free…

  “Come on,” Brett growled at me. “Just one time. Let me fuck you. Shut this door. Slide it in deep. I ain’t going to tell anyone. I just want to taste that pussy of yours. I’ve watched that ass…”

  “Go piss, big boy,” I said and slithered by him.

  “I can’t. I’m half hard. Can’t be hard and piss at the same time. There’s different tubes and shit in a guy’s dick.”

  “Thanks for the lesson, Doctor,” I said and got to the door.

  Brett unzipped his jeans and pulled his dick out. It wasn’t the first Devil Call dick I’d seen and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. They were all proud of their dicks. Some had good reason, others really should have keep it to themselves. Brett? He was okay. I couldn’t look away from it though.

  Stop, Shelby, stop…

  I was a woman. I had needs. Just like a guy wouldn’t look away from a woman flashing her boobs, why should I look away from a guy flashing his dick? Did that suddenly make me a whore?

  Please.

  “Toilet’s that way,” I said.

  “Just grab it,” Brett said. “Come on. I can control it, you know. One stroke and I’ll go…”

  I grinned and stepped forward. I had a long night without much sleep thanks to my neighbor getting fucked all night. It left me in bed, half jealous of her. I slept in, got into an argument with Dad over stupid shit, and then came to the clubhouse to find a mess of broken bottles and glasses from a fight that happened early this morning between Hawke and Ransom. I hadn’t had enough coffee, and for a second I was trying to envision my life ten years from now.

  Running around the clubhouse? Cleaning up messes? Getting way too involved with the MC?

  Before I knew it, my hand was around Brett’s cock. I squeezed and pulled at him.

  “Jesus fuck, baby,” he groaned. His hand shot out and touched my face. “Come on, let me have that pussy…”

  I pumped at Brett’s dick once and then opened my hand. I stepped back and looked down as he throbbed.

  “Thought you could control it?” I asked and then laughed.

  “Fuck off, cunt,” Brett yelled.

  He slammed the door and I jumped back so it didn’t hit me.

  I turned and walked down the hall. A second later, Hawke was there, a cocky smile on his face. He had a smooth, steel like jaw. Blonde hair, blue eyes, killer for most women. Long hair that waved behind him when he rode his motorcycle. He was one the few that had good reason to be comfortable with waving his dick around.

  His problem? He just assumed everyone wanted his dick.

  “Hey, pretty thing.”

  Oh, and he always talked to me like it was the first time we met.

  “What do you need? Another beer?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Hawke said. “And then maybe a little kiss to my cheek…”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, dude.”

  “Aw, come on, pretty thing. Can I kiss your cheek? Then your lips.” He leaned in a little. “Between your legs…”

  I lifted my right hand - the hand that had just been around Brett’s dick - and I touched his cheek. I patted it. “Sorry. No.”

  Hawke then grabbed my wrist and slid my hand to his lips. My eyes went wide and he kissed the palm of my hand. It took all I could to not laugh. I mean, it was a stretch to think, but since I just touched Brett and Hawke kissed my hand… it was like Hawke had kissed Brett’s… you know…

  I got behind the bar a minute later, feeling safe there. It was my safety net or something.

  As long as I poured full shots and cold beers the guys were mostly happy. There were a few other women who helped in the clubhouse, but they were strippers on the side. They spent part-time naked, part-time with just their pants down, taking it from one of the guys.

  I preferred cash only, please.

  Hawke put a ten on the bar and winked. He licked his lips, took his beer, and left the clubhouse.

  The door exploded back open a second after Hawke left.

  It was Finn.

  Tall, wide shoulders, black eyes and hair. Everything about him screamed evil. When he walked around, nobody spoke and everyone tried their best to look busy. He was, in so many ways, the guy who ran the clubhouse. There really wasn’t a set leader around here though. I heard the guys always talking about the President’s patch. That they needed to vote or bring someone up to handle it.

  I wondered why Finn never got the patch, but I never dared to ask.

  He stood with his big hands balled into fists. He pointed to a pool game between Bain and Rylan and said, “Clear the table. Right fucking now.”

  The guys moved, dropping their sticks, hurrying to put the remaining pool balls in the closest pockets.

  Finn looked at me. “Get the towels.”

  “Towels…”

  He kicked at a barstool and knocked it over. “You fucking heard me. Now.”

  I crouched down and looked at the shelves. I grabbed a handful of permanently
stained dirty towels and stood back up. That’s when I gasped and dropped the towels.

  There was a man standing near the bar, bleeding from his face. Behind him stood Ax, the biggest and strongest guy in Devil Call MC. He had to be almost seven feet tall and wore nothing but black boots, black jeans, and the leather cut. Never a shirt. His arms, chest, stomach, and neck were smothered in tattoos. All of the tattoos were death, dying, blood, devils, fire, weapons, and skulls.

  He was by far the scariest person in the world.

  You know how you used to think monsters were under your bed at night? Those monsters feared Ax slept under their bed at night. Get it?

  Ax had the guy’s wrists with one hand.

  “Please… please… please…” the guy kept whispering.

  His left eye was swollen shut, puffed out like a black baseball. His nose was jutted to the left, bleeding like a broken faucet. His lips quivered as the blood rolled over like a gooey waterfall. His jaw was cut, his shirt ripped, and with his one eye, as he stared at me, he knew he was going to die.

  “What the hell… was he in an accident?” I asked.

  Ax growled. He smiled, showing his silver teeth. Yeah, the guy was missing teeth and they were replaced with silver fucking teeth.

  “Just tell me who did it?” Finn asked.

  “I… fucking said… man…”

  Finn shook his head. “Break his wrist.” Finn spoke calmly, annoyed.

  The man started to shake his head, yelling. Ax brought the man’s right wrist forward. The man tried punching Ax with his left hand, but it did nothing to Ax. Nobody could ever hurt Ax. Unless you shot him, maybe. Even then, I had the vision of Ax just sitting up, the bullet wounds closing up, him standing. Like some kind of monster from a scary movie.

  Ax held the guy’s wrist with his massive hands. He then gritted his teeth and twisted. The sound was… sickening. The guy’s wrist popped like someone popped a bag of potato chips.

  The guy then fell to the ground, screaming.