Sever (Deathstalkers MC Book 6)

by Alexis Noelle

  Table of Contents

  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

  By: Alexis Noelle

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 Ashley Piscitelli

  Cover by Cover Me Darling

  Photo by K Keeton Designs

  All rights Reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter without written permission from the author, except for inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be given away to another person except when loaned out per a lending program. If you’re reading this and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then it was pirated illegally. Please purchase a copy of your own and respect the hard work of this author.

  Table Contents

  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 One

  Tracker

  The night air was cool against my face as I sped through town toward a destination I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go. With every intersection, every roundabout, every set of lights, my gut twisted, telling me to turn around. To leave. Disappear and never come back.

  The club I’d been a part of had been run by idiots who didn’t know their asses from their goddamn brains. They ran the club into the ground, eventually teaming up with some crazy idiots that tried to demolish the Deathstalkers MC.

  They failed miserably.

  And the handful of us who weren’t in on the plan woke up the next day to guns in our faces and an ultimatum.

  Pledge our loyalty, or die.

  There were five of us. Five who hadn’t tried to fight a battle there was no chance of winning. I wasn’t sure how many would come, but this club is established. They have their shit together, not like the bullshit organization we were conned into joining. Marcus, our now deceased president, was basically a glorified drug dealer.

  The five of us met on the streets. In a way, we had formed our own crew, and we all joined the MC around the same time. Marcus offered us all cuts if we joined the club; no prospect time, no bitch work. It sounded too good to be true.

  It was.

  We went on runs, got a percentage of the take. We thought we had it good. It was enough to keep us comfortable and the work wasn’t too hard. After talking to the officers from the Deathstalkers, we realized that we’d been robbed. Coming here we will be taking home twice what we were before.

  Rock, Colt, Storm, Gunner, and I are getting a new start.

  This time I'm not letting anything fuck it up.

  The problem is that, as much as I wanted a new start, I sure as hell didn't want it in this town.

  The moment I turned eighteen, I ran.

  I ran as far and as fast as I could.

  I ran to achieve the freedom I always wanted.

  I also ran from her.

  She was the only person in my life who had ever made me feel something. Some might have thought I should have held on to that. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t take the chance that she would turn out to be like every other person in my life.

  I tried to push her away, but she had this intense energy that pulled me to her.

  I should have listened to my first instinct though and stayed far away from her.

  I pull up to the clubhouse, slowing down to weave through the ton of bikes parked in the car park. That makes sense. They said there would be church once we arrived so that the rules could be stated and we knew what would be expected of us.

  Getting off my bike, I look around at what is supposed to be my new home. “You guys ready for this?”

  I glance at the only men I have let myself count on for the past seven years.

  “Already looking better than that dump we called a clubhouse,” Rock says, climbing off his bike.

  The doors open and the pres and VP come walking toward us. Handshakes are exchanged before the pres takes a couple steps back. “Welcome. The brothers are waiting in church. Follow me.”

  They turn and we walk behind them. The clubhouse is large and open, tables are scattered around a bar that lines one wall, and half-dressed women smile at me from the couple couches and chairs placed in the middle of the room. There are even two pool tables in one corner, balls still on the table, cues tossed to one side as if something happened mid-game.

  We walk down a hallway and end up at a large room. There is a large oval table lined with chairs, those chairs occupied by men who look anything but inviting. Their hard faces study us as if we have come somewhere that we aren’t welcome.

  All eyes are on us, but I learned long ago never to show you’re intimated. It makes you look weak.

  And in this life, you never want people to see your weaknesses.

  “Have a seat and we’ll get started.” Pres takes his seat at the head of the table and a silence falls over the room.

  He stands tall, from the way the men immediately quiet I can tell that he has their respect. None of us respected Marcus, we did what we were told because we were supposed to. “Brothers, meet the new recruits. Lucky for them, they made the right decision and have decided to join us.” He looks at us. “You’re on probation, all of you. We have cuts. A month with no incidents, you’ll get your names on them, but make no mistake, you are brothers as of now.” He jabs at the table, his eyes sweeping over every one of us. “That means that you are bound by the rules of this club.”

  I nod, seeing the other guys do the same out of the corner of my eye. The silence is eerie. Our old president commanded respect, but this . . .

  This was another level.

  “You do whatever job you’re assigned, no bitching, no negotiation. You need to crash, there are rooms here, but the upstairs rooms are off-limits. Don’t know what you’re used to, but ’round here we respect our women. “Club girls,” he jerked his head toward the door, “most will do what you ask, but you do not fuck with them. Don’t know what you’re used to, but ’round here no means no, anyone’s got a problem with that feel free to make an appointment with Cutter here.” A man in the chair to his left shifted, catching my attention. “The old ladies are to be respected. You find a girl you want to keep around, you’re more than welcome to claim her.”

  He leans back in his chair, hands behind his
head, fingers laced. It’s a relaxed pose but I know his reputation and I’m not fooled.

  Not for one minute.

  “We just had guys get back from a run so it’ll be a few days before the next. The officers will give you any assignments you might have as of now. Any questions, ask. Just know that you'll be watched.” He looks around the room. “This is your family now. Respect it.”

  The gavel bangs on the table and the men get up, filing slowly from the room, speaking in hushed tones low enough not to be heard. Pres walks over, handing us each a cut. “Wear this with pride and don’t fuck it up. We’ll be having a party this weekend to celebrate.”

  One of the officers comes walking up to me. He was the one Pres referenced and his face seems a bit more accepting than the other brothers. “Name’s Cutter.” He offers his hand and I shake it, noticing the patch on his cut that says “Treasurer.”

  He follows my gaze. “Pres said you had this title at the old club?”

  I did, but considering Marcus was hiding most of the money, I don’t think the position was ever really mine. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I’ve been keeping up with the legitimate businesses.”

  I try to rein in my shock but he catches it.

  “Yeah, that’s right, we’ve got legit stuff. Problem is, it’s too much and I don’t have the education for it. We need a professional. You’re gonna head out here.” He hands me a card, pointing at the address. I turn the card over in my hands. It’s a fancy one. “Heard they don’t mind cutting some corners and fudging some numbers for the right price. You need time to get settled?”

  “No.” I left most of my crap at the old clubhouse. Wasn’t worth the effort to bring it with me.

  He lifts his chin. “Owner is expecting you. Good to have you here, brother.” He claps me on the back and walks out of the room. My shoulders drop slightly. I hope the rest of the men will be as accepting as Cutter, but I highly doubt it.

  I’m barely out of the room when Colt is on me. “What was all that? You already get yourself in trouble?”

  “Nope, got an assignment. See you later.”

  I walk out to my bike, feeling good that I’ve already been given a role. There’s a chance this is some sort of test; that they think I will fail so they’ve set me up. Just means I have to make sure this goes smooth.

  Hopefully I don’t run into the one woman who could put all of it in jeopardy.

  Chapter Two

  Megan

  Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

  My alarm sounds and I groan, not wanting to wake up but rolling over and swiping the screen to make the deafening sound stop anyway.

  A bang sounds on my door, making me jump. “Get up before you’re late!” Chrissy yells from the other side.

  “Coming, Mom!”

  It would be too much to ask for privacy so when I’m standing underneath the shower and the door opens, all I can do is shake my head. “Can’t a girl get a minute alone? You’re worse than living with my parents, you know?”

  “Don’t pretend like you don’t love living with me.”

  “I do, but I’d also love to be able to shower without an audience.” I turn the shower knobs and reach out to grab my towel, but it’s gone. “Give it to me!”

  She laughs. I peek around the curtain and even through the steam I see her dangling the towel from her finger, a wicked look in her eyes that says she’s in the mood to tease. It’s times like these where I wonder how she ever made it to best friend status because, in all honesty, she can be as annoying as hell. “First, apologize for letting the red death corrupt your soul and make you bitchy this morning.”

  “I’m not on it yet, and if you weren’t so intrusive I wouldn’t be so bitchy.”

  “Maybe you need some intrusion to make you less bitchy.”

  I release a sound that almost resembles a growl. “I will cut you.”

  Her eyes widen. “Whatever man you end up with is gonna need balls of steel.” She tosses me the towel and by the time I’ve wrapped it around me, she’s out of the bathroom.

  Chrissy and I were roommates freshman year of college and have been best friends ever since. She’s the first person after Ryder that I ever thought I could trust.

  When she met me I was a mess. I’d lost myself. Chrissy helped me put the pieces back together with her particular mix of caring and sarcasm. She helped me dig myself out of the hole I was in and I swore to myself there and then that I would never let someone have enough of me to destroy me.

  I get dressed and then head into the kitchen to fill my travel mug with coffee. Chrissy is sitting at the counter finishing off her breakfast. “You gonna be home for dinner?”

  “Unless I get stuck.” Chrissy is a social worker, which still blows my mind sometimes. She is always so blunt, imagining her working with kids almost makes me laugh.

  “Want me to bring home Thai?” I grab my purse and head toward the door.

  “Miss Hendrix, are you trying to seduce me? You know that’s my favorite.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  I laugh, wondering how she manages to have this much energy in the morning because Lord knows I don’t. “Jesus, do you ever stop?”

  “Yep, the entire time I’m at work. Although, I’m making dirty jokes in my head so I don’t know how true that is.”

  The journey to the office isn’t a long one, but morning traffic makes it a bitch of a commute. I play the game where you try and switch lanes but every time I do, mine of course comes to a direct halt.

  I went to school for accounting, wanting to have a stable job that would help me support myself. Ever since I was younger, that has always been a goal of mine, independence. Once I decided to leave my house and live at college, my parents basically disowned me. They never thought I’d go, so the fact that now they had to take care of the kids probably scared them. I miss my brothers and sister, but they refused to let me see them after I left.

  Leaving them was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I had to do something for me. I spent my entire senior year waiting for Ryder to come back. He promised he would and I had no reason to doubt him. I even held out hope when he didn’t show up after I graduated. By the time August rolled around without any sign of him, it was clear I’d been a fool. First chance I got, I split. I couldn’t wait to get as far away from that place as possible.

  I pull up to Duncan & Shie Accounting Offices and grab the first spot I see. I’ve only got an entry level position, but I’ve been trying to be really efficient and proactive so when a spot opens up with a higher title, I might get it. I stash my purse in the bottom drawer before powering up my computer.

  “Megan.”

  I look up to see Connor. He just started here a few months ago and he seems really nice. He’s asked me out to lunch a few times but I just can’t bring myself to say yes.

  “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Good. I wanted to come and let you know they just called a meeting.” He walks toward the boardroom, not waiting for a response. I stand up quickly, following him into the large office at the end of the corridor.

  Mr. Duncan is sitting at the head of the table. “Good morning. We have a new client coming in this morning. I want him taken to my office as soon as he checks in. This account is high priority. Some of you may be familiar with our local motorcycle club, the Deathstalkers, but I ask you to put aside any prejudices you might have. They have a number of businesses and will bring in a lot of money.” He looks around at each of us. “I’ll need someone running point on this, so make sure to be performing at your best.” He stands up and walks out of the room, all eyes on him. A hushed chatter begins the moment the door closes behind him, everyone thinking the exact same thing as me.

  I want this account.

  Working on a complex account like this is the kind of thing that can get you noticed and advance your career. I have no idea what a motorcycle club entails. I know there’s one in town. It would be hard to miss given the presence of motorbikes in town, bu
t I’ve never spoken to any of the guys. The closest point of reference I have are the books I read, and I don’t know how much of that is realistic. I mean, let’s be honest, those things aren’t real life. Not every girl gets kidnapped, saved by Prince Charming, and ends up married with babies.

  I go back to my desk and Google the club to try and gain some insight. Being prepared is one of the things Mr. Duncan takes very seriously, so the more I can find out, the more opportunity I have to prove to him that I’m the best person to run this account.

  After an hour of searching I still can’t find much, and what little there is I find intimidating.

  The results are mostly articles about crimes they are suspected of. An image search brings up multiple mugshots of known members, none of them looking like the sort of people you’d want to take home to meet your parents. The more I read, the more I wonder why the firm wants to associate with them. They don’t seem like the clientele we would normally accept.

  The elevator dings and I hear the secretary speaking to someone, telling them she’ll page Mr. Duncan.

  It must be the guy.

  I stand up, deciding to welcome our new client and introduce myself. I brush down my skirt and smooth my hair, taking each step toward the desk slowly to try to calm my nerves.

  It’s only saying hello, I say to myself. You can do this. You’re a professional.

  His back is toward me, the leather vest he’s wearing bearing a symbol comprised of a scorpion, a skull, and what seems to be a pair of angel wings, the name Deathstalkers MC stitched into the leather in bold letters. He is tall, much taller than me, and with his hair long up top but buzzed on the sides, he’s quite unlike anyone I’ve seen before.

  “Welcome to Duncan & Shie,” I say, using the most professional voice I can manage.

  When he turns toward me my entire body freezes and my fingers grip the reception desk to keep my knees from buckling. My heart is beating three times its normal pace.

  It can’t be.

  He can’t be here.