Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Gabriel
By
Daniela Jackson
Salvation Ghosts MC
*******
A Paranormal MC Romance
Copyright © 2018 by Daniela Jackson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Description
I never loved.
Until I saw her.
I need her love, her touch, her smile.
I am an archangel.
She is…
Defiant Love MC Biker Saga Book 1. Standalone.
Explicit content. Obscene language. Violence. For adult audiences only. An Older Man/Younger Woman Romance.
Chapter 1
Gabriel
Three cops stretch yellow tape around the crime scene and it rustles like autumnal leaves in the wind. I see Detective Evelyn Smith talking to one of the prosecutor’s men and then to the forensic officer, Adam Atkinson. They’re standing by an external metal staircase that needs repairing. In places, it looks like a rusty skeleton of a tree after a fire.
The conversation drifts to my ears—another dead man with his throat ripped out. My eyes travel to the body. It’s lying on the grass by an old oak tree while three investigators are gathering forensic evidence around it.
Torches cast streaks of light that mingle with the blue pulses emitted from four police vehicles, which gives two wheelie bins and the back red bricked wall of a small grocery shop a grim appearance. Yep, like some fucking horror movie. A block of flats behind the building looms over the scene like a giant specter.
A group of ten humans tries to invade the crime scene—eight local men and two news reporters, but the cops are unyielding.
The motherfucker has killed five men so far, and I can’t find him. Or her. It looks a vampire’s job, but the humans think it’s a case of a serial killer.
I keep eavesdropping on the detective, using my perfect hearing sense.
“Third corpse this month,” Detective Evelyn says.
“The ragged edges of the wound look like an animal has attacked him,” Adam pronounces. “All the blood’s been drained out. Looks like the rest of them.”
“Like some fucking vampire,” Tony, one of the investigators, says as he joins Evelyn and Adam. His voice is coated with humour. “We need wooden stakes and a string of garlic.”
A sense of humour is necessary when one wants to remain sane, working as a police investigator. Some doctors are like this too. I was once a cop. I was once a doctor. I enjoyed being a cop more.
“I’d say like some fucking wolf,” Adam says.
A female cop stands in front of me. “Sir, please move back. This is a crime scene.”
I raise my hands in a warding gesture and step back.
A camera flashes. A cop growls. A black body bag rustles. Darkness brushes against the back of my neck, and I sense one of the demonic motherfuckers—his evil dense aura. He doesn’t cross my path, as always. The humans feel uneasy, but they don’t know why. They shouldn’t know why. My world is not their world. They should be oblivious.
Anyway, none of my business these days.
A gust of wind smacks my face, and three fat drops of rain settle on my forehead. A cloud of vapour leaves my mouth. The smell of soil steeped with rainwater circles around me. It rained yesterday. It will rain at any moment.
I sweep my eyes over the dirty white wall of a cheap hotel that stands next to the grocery shop and then my glance travels in the opposite direction across the road. I step back as I notice a petite girl. She’s standing on the asphalt pavement. The light of a street lamp, the greyness of dusk, and the dance of drizzle create a magical reality around her. Separate her from the whole world.
My heart leaps.
The long red tendrils of her hair cling to her face as the wet fabric of her white dress makes her breasts visible. A cloud of vapour leaves her mouth.
I pull forward as my feet carry me towards her like there’s a magnetic force between us. “Hey.”
There’s something off about her appearance. And there isn’t. I don’t know. Something is wrong. Something is very right.
I cross the road, wiping the raindrops away from my face with the back of my hand.
The girl’s full lips curl into a delicate smile. Her eyes shine blue. As cold and blue as the sky above the Arctic. Her skin is as white as snow, but I notice dark circles under her eyes as though she doesn’t sleep well at night.
She is cute. No, not cute—beautiful and delicate. I think of snowflakes, of butterflies. Of red flames. She’s an ethereal mix, a mystery that intrigues me and enchants me.
“Hey,” I repeat.
A bigger cloud of vapour leaves my mouth. It’s cold as hell, but the girl is wearing only a white summer dress, and her feet are bare. Covered with soil and three autumnal leaves.
She moves back and flings herself behind a wall of greenery that stretches from the side of a barbershop. I sprint towards where she just disappeared, but I can’t see anybody. Like she’s some fucking ghost.
I clench my hands on the back of my neck and inhale deeply. A tantalising smell settles in my nostrils—jasmine, female musk, and an aromatic exhale from the forest. Soil after the rain, resins, moss.
I shake my head, turn around, and walk towards my bike that’s parked across the road. I jump on it and start the engine.
I’m old and rusty. Maybe this is some kind of dementia. Maybe I’m tired. Yes, I have the right to be tired. I have the right to be crazy.
I roar forward.
The ride to the clubhouse is going to take me only an hour, so I decide to turn into a narrow road that leads me into the forest. I stop by a metal gate of a light green colour, jump off my bike, and immerse myself into the quiet density that brings peace to my mind. I inhale the humidity of the soil, the life of vegetation, the past storms and winters. Death and life always together. The echoes of the past visitor
s mingle with the growls of animals from far away. My eyes absorb the darkness of all shades of green. It’s home. It’s escaping if only for a moment.
I saw this forest being born. I saw it burn. I saw it being reborn. Many winters, many summers, a few murders, many couples fucking.
Stars twinkle in the sky, so I go back to jump on my bike and carry on my ride to the clubhouse. The engine roars with fury, but it’s music to me. I’ve had five bikes so far and I always choose the same manufacturer. I keep them until they fall apart. Yes, I’m kind of sentimental. I always name them. The one I’m riding is called Vera.
I slow down and turn into the cobblestone road. I reach the parking lot and park my bike between Michael’s antique one and Cael’s state-of-the art one. To my left are parked four cars that belong to our bartender, cook, and waitresses. The light of two antique street lamps illuminates them. I huff out as my eyes slide over the façade of the Victorian building that accommodates our clubhouse. It once belonged to a count, but the motherfucker was an alcoholic and a gambler. He died of a heart attack, and Raphael bought the estate at auction. I huff out again and step into the bar, shaking the rainwater off my short brown hair. Growls and laughter envelop me as the smell of liquor promises a moment of forgetfulness.
I drop onto the leather black sofa and Shelley, our waitress, hurries to serve me. She’s a sea nymph.
Fire dances in the metal fireplace to my right and the warmth emitted from it licks my face.
“A glass of beer,” I say to Shelley.
“Sure.” She rushes back to the bar.
The big wall clock between the liquor cabinets shows 10:45 p.m.
Michael sits down beside me and threads his fingers through his shoulder-length blond hair adorned with three dreadlocks. He always wears his cut on his bare chest, looking a bit like a tribesman.
“Another corpse?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “No smell, no trace of energy. Nothing.”
Nothing except a hallucination, but he doesn’t need to know about this.
“We’ve never encountered anything like this.” His blue eyes turn icy cold.
I nod. “I’ll find the motherfucker.”
Shelley puts a glass on the table and flashes me a flirty smile. She twines her fingers in her long hair the colour of pebbles on the beach as her eyes shine blue-green. Seductively blue-green. I like her. She’s kind and hardworking. We’ve fucked once, and it was fun.
The mysterious girl’s face courses through my mind. I see her sinfully beautiful lips, her mesmerising eyes, her large breasts. Hard nipples exposed by the wet fabric of her dress. The red flame of her hair.
“Gabriel.” Shelley lays her hand on my shoulder.
I raise my eyes to hers. Her forehead wrinkles.
“You okay?” she asks, her voice coated with concern.
“Just bring me a bottle of vodka,” I say.
Michael’s right eyebrow crooks up. “You just drifted away, man. You know this? For ten minutes.”
“Really?”
Lydia jumps onto Michael’s lap and throws her arms around his neck. She’s a forest nymph with long hair the colour of soil and freckles on her olive cheeks. I’ve fucked her twice. She’s sweet and funny, but I’m not interested in having her for the third time.
Michael shoves Lydia down and she sits on her heels between his splayed knees. Her tiny hands free his dick and she starts working him with her mouth.
I grab the bottle Shelley just delivered, and I rise to my feet. As I move away from the sofa, Tia, a mountain nymph with short white hair and grey eyes, stands in front of me.
“Gabriel,” she says as her hands rest against the front of my jeans. She strokes my dick through the fabric but he’s dead as fuck. “Not in the mood?” She slides her hand under my jeans as her fingers close around my shaft. Disappointment sharpens her face as my dick remains lifeless. “Come on. It’s always nice, isn’t it?” She strokes me, but no, my dick is even deader.
Maybe I should be embarrassed by my dead dick, or something, but the truth is that I don’t give a fuck. My mind is occupied, no, flooded by the images of my mysterious redhead.
I take Tia’s hand off my dick, and she steps back. Her eyes widen.
“Not in the mood?” she asks.
“Not in the mood.”
She sucks in a breath, and I know she wants to say something else, but I walk over to the metal staircase, climb it, and enter my room. Slamming the bottle on the desk between two bookcases, I shake off my cut. The boys are going to party—I’m not in the mood.
I want to be alone. No, I want something, but I can’t name that desire.
I have a shower and sit at the desk. My eyes travel to three books that lie by the antique lamp. It gives a dim red light, so I keep it only because it’s always been in this room. I open the bottle and take a long pull of vodka. It burns down my throat and promises an escape.
I’ve been drinking a lot recently. I don’t know why. It’s like there’s some fucking hollowness inside me, hollowness that needs more and more vodka.
I lean back in the armchair. My eyes grow heavy. I’ve never needed much sleep, but tonight I’m fucking tired. I allow myself to have a nap.
Chapter 2
Gabriel
I wake up as the day is about to dawn. Weird, I must have been asleep for at least six hours.
I put my elbows on the desk and take a few deep breaths. The air is cold, suffused with the delicate smell of ash. The fire in the fireplace must have died a couple of hours ago. I open one of the books and start reading. A German monk wrote it five centuries ago, and I must admit the guy knew a lot but didn’t know anything about the motherfucker I want to catch and eliminate. Marinka, a river nymph, delivers breakfast as silent as a ghost. Her hair is light blue as her eyes shine cobalt. She is our cook.
She reanimates the fire and picks up the half-empty bottle of vodka. The twigs crackle as warmth touches the back of my neck. Marinka flashes me a pale smile and walks off. I finish reading the book and grab a fork. The meal smells delicious—eggs, tomatoes, three slices of toast and four sausages. I open another book. A philosopher wrote it—he lived in the Roman Empire while it was blooming. I hate reading books written in Latin, but the job must be done, so I’m eating while I’m reading, and three fat drops stain the pages. The philosopher’s descriptions of the vampire lore are very detailed, but there’s nothing useful about my scumbag.
Eight hours later, I go downstairs and drop onto the sofa. Marinka delivers dinner to my table as Tia perches on the armrest. Her red leather skirt shows off her slim thighs.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
“Gabriel, listen.” She sighs as her forehead wrinkles. “Maybe… we could… I don’t know, have this dinner together?”
I want her to go away. She’s pissing me off for some mysterious reason. Her hand travels to my head, and she sinks her fingers into my hair.
I grab her wrist and take her hand off. “I’m busy, Tia. Sorry.”
Anger blazes in my chest. I fucking want to be alone. Or with my hallucination. Yeah, my hallucination would do me good.
“If you wanted to talk or something, I’m here for you,” Tia says.
“I don’t need to talk to anyone,” I say.
Tia drops her head and walks off. Why are they all circling me like flies? I’m fucking not in the mood. I just want to do my job and get drunk.
I feel like I have needles beneath my feet. The hairs on my back rise. My heart starts racing. Coldness brushes against my cheek.
My eyes travel to the front door of the bar. Heat rushes up my chest as I see my mysterious redhead standing in the doorway, all drenched and trembling. Her little fists are white with a delicate greyish tinge and her lips are pale.
I rise to my feet, pushing the table. It scrapes against the stone floor. I stride towards my girl and stop in front of her. Her eyes rise to mine as her lower lip quivers. Pleads for my mouth to kiss it unti
l it regains colour.
“Help me,” she says in a breathy voice. “Please.” She trembles even more and her teeth chatter together.
I lean towards her and scoop her tiny form into my arms. “I’ve got you, baby.” I kiss her wet, cold forehead. “You’re safe.”
She feels so weightless, so fragile against me. I stride across the bar and turn into the arched passage, and then climb the metal stairs and walk along the corridor. Five Victorian wall lanterns give it a dim magic aura like we’re in a medieval castle as my boots thump against the stone floor. Thin streams of water mark my way.
“Did you fall into a pool?” I say.
Her teeth chatter together even louder in response, and something squeezes my heart.
With my elbow pressing against the ornate door handle, I open the door and enter my room. I lay the cute little thing on my four-poster bed and perch on the mattress. The girl sits on her heels as the black bed throw wrinkles around her. I hear her sweet gasps and sighs.
“Cold, huh?” I say.
She bobs her head at me and shakes even more.
My eyes sweep over her breasts visible through the wet fabric of her dress; her nipples are so sinfully erect, so in need of my mouth. I want to caress them, bite them, lick them. My dick grows hard. My eyes meet hers. Her face is so innocent, her eyes as pristine as a mountain stream.
“You need to take that drenched dress off, sweetheart,” I say gently, “or you’ll end up with a very bad cold.”
She pulls at her dress, and removes it, and then passes it to me. My jaw drops open. My eyes roam over her perfect naked body. She’s really tiny and slim but has a round ass and beautiful tits. She’s a perfect little thing. My every dream personified.
I reach back for the blanket with my hand and throw it over her back, covering her tempting curves.
“I’ll get you a hot drink,” I say.
“Stay, Gabriel.”
“How do you know my name?”
She shrugs. My hand travels to her head, and I stroke her drenched hair. It’s thick and sleek to touch. Wonderful. So fucking mine. The girl chuckles as her hand rises and her tiny fingers trail a line down my cheek. She touches the tip of my nose and giggles. Fucking hell. She’s adorable. The cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
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