by Lynda Bailey
On a Knife’s Edge
by
Lynda Bailey
She was once his sweet salvation…
Lynch Callan has been a dead man walking most of his life—nothing out of the ordinary for a member of the 5th Street biker gang. There was a brief period, though, when she made him believe he could be more. That he could be worthy of her, and her love. To protect her, and keep their relationship from being discovered, he went to prison. Except now the Streeters are in danger. But in order to save his crew, he must first betray them. If caught, he’ll end up dead for sure. It’ll be the mother of all balancing acts—especially with her in the picture. But Lynch will do whatever is necessary to protect the people he loves.
He was once her deepest desire…
Shasta Albright doesn’t break the rules. Not anymore. As an unruly teenager, she defied her family at every turn…even secretly befriending, then dating, then falling in love with a bad boy Streeter. Finally her recklessness caught up with her—with lasting and even dire consequences. Now she leads a pristine existence, always staying within the lines and keeping her secrets hidden. That is until he gets released from prison. Can Shasta hold her perfect world together, or will everything get hurled into chaos?
With young girls going missing, the sleepy town of Stardust, Nevada becomes an unlikely epicenter for an illicit slave trade—with Shasta and Lynch caught in the middle. Amidst the rising body count, they fight to keep their loved ones—and each other—safe. A single slipup could have deadly repercussions. It’s an untenable and treacherous position. Much like walking On a Knife’s Edge…
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
ON A KNIFE’S EDGE
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Lynda Bailey
Published by Lynda Bailey. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.
Contact Information:
[email protected]
Visit us at www.lyndabailey.net
Book Design by The Killion Group/Hot Damn Designs
Publishing History
First Edition, 2016
DEDICATION:
To my husband, Pat…I couldn’t do any of this without your rock-solid support. I love you.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
To Suzanne – the best CP a gal can have!
To Kim and Erin – the best betas a gal can have!
To JJ – thanks for all the tricks and tips about the Nevada State prison system.
To the folks at Scotland Yard Spy Shop – thanks for your help with nanny cams and more!
OTHER WORKS BY LYNDA BAILEY:
Battle-Born Love
Battle-Tested Love
Erotic Escapades of a Married Couple
Naughty Neighborhood
On the Corner of Heartache and Hopeful-MIC
On the Corner of Heartache and Hopeful-KIRA
On the Corner of Heartache and Hopeful-GRACE
Shattered Trust
Wildflower
Chapter One
(Prologue)
May, 2009
HUNKERING BEHIND A clump of lilac bushes, seventeen-year-old Shasta Albright observed her brother climb from his massive, crew cab truck then tramp up the sidewalk toward the courthouse. Once Sheriff Dell Albright crossed the threshold, she counted to fifty to ensure her dear brother was safely established in his basement office then pulled her sweatshirt hood over her ponytail and moved into the open.
Head down and hands in her jacket pockets, she strolled toward the truck, the spare key clasped tightly in her grip. She shivered as the early morning breeze raised goose bumps on her bare legs. Under her cut-off jean shorts and sweatshirt, she wore only her bikini. Today was Ditch Day—when juniors and seniors ditched school for a party trip to Lake Tahoe.
She cast stealth gazes to her left and right. At six forty-five in the morning, Main Street in the miniscule rural town of Stardust, Nevada stood all but deserted. The only people dumb enough to be out this early were commuters heading to Reno or Carson City. And of course her stupid, controlling brother.
Anger seethed her blood. He had no right to take away her truck when she hadn’t done anything wrong. At least not this time.
“It’s for your own good,” Dell had told her while confiscating her keys. “You’re not cutting class to go drinking at the lake. It’s not safe. You’re my responsibility now.”
His responsibility? God…she hated her brother. A smug smile touched her lips. She’d show him…
Behind the F350, she pressed the door open button and the lights blinked along with a single horn toot. She peered around the truck bed to make sure brother dearest didn’t come charging from the courthouse. When the only movement remained the tree branches swaying in the slight wind, she hustled around to the driver’s side and hoisted herself inside.
Jesus…this thing was big. Way bigger than the Ford Ranger her dad bought for her sixteenth birthday. Though she’d ridden as a passenger in Dell’s gargantuan truck plenty of times, sitting behind the wheel gave her an entirely different perspective. She could hardly see over the dashboard while her feet were nowhere near the pedals.
Fumbling for the seat control, she managed to heave the bucket seat forward enough so the front of the hood came into view and the tip of her right sneaker reached the gas. She jammed the key into the ignition and turned it.
She ducked down at the thundering roar of the engine. All she needed was to be caught in the act of taking Dell’s truck. If that happened, she’d be grounded until like forever.
She peeked up. No one in sight. After buckling her seatbelt, she wrenched the gearshift into reverse and gently pressed on the gas.
The behemoth vehicle lurched backwards. A startled yelp escaped her lips. She slammed on the brakes and closed her eyes. She inhaled a slow, deep breath. Then another one.
Calmer, she put the truck into drive and rumbled out onto Main Street only to realize she hadn’t adjusted the rearview mirrors. Oh well. No other cars were on the street at this time of morning anyway.
A block and a half away, she felt sufficiently confident—and more than a little cocky—to pull out her cell. She flipped it opened and hit the speed dial for her best friend, Cassie.
“What up, bitch?” she shouted into the phone at Cassie’s groggy hello. “Still in bed? Slacker.”
Cassie groaned. “Yeah I’m in bed cuz it’s like the middle of the night.” She yawned loudly.
“No it’s not. It’s Ditch Day, remember?”
“I remember.” Another yawn. “I also remember neither one of us has wheels.”
Shasta couldn’t contain her giggle. “Not anymore, girlfriend.”
“What? Your brother gave you back your truck? When?”
“He didn’t give me anything. I took it.”
“How? Thought he put all the keys to your Ranger on his ring.”
“He did, but forgot about his truck’s spare key.”
Silence met her statement.
“What the hell…” Cassie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You…stole…Dell’s truck?”
“How is it stealing if he’s my brother?”
“Girl…this is one baaaaaad idea. He will fucking murder you.”
Shasta brushed off Cassie’s concern. “Don’t be such a killjoy. I’m on my way to your house so get ready.”
“Nah, uh. No way, sister.”
Irritation peppered Shasta’s nerves. “Oh, c’mon, Cass. You can’t punk out on me.”
“S
orry, Shay…you’ve really gone off the rails this time.”
A long pause echoed in Shasta’s ear.
“Look, Shay,” Cassie said, “I know things have been rough since your dad died, but—”
“Don’t.” Shasta infused as much fury as possible into her voice. “Don’t talk about my dad.”
“But honey—”
Rather than continue the conversation, Shasta snapped the phone shut. She barely resisted the urge to fling her cell at the windshield. How dare Cassie bring up her dad. It’d been just seven months since he’d shot himself in that freak hunting accident. Seven months since she’d talked to him or seen his smile or heard his laugh. Seven months of hell….
Scrubbing an angry hand at the tears in her eyes, Shasta stiffened her spine. She didn’t need Cassie, loser that she was. She didn’t need anybody—not anymore. In less than sixty miles she’d be basking on a sandy, warm Tahoe beach. That’s all she needed.
She turned right onto Road 314 and headed for the Grab-n-Go just this side of the Grant County line to get beer and snacks. It was a badly kept secret that the minimart owner, Felix, had no problem selling alcohol to high school kids.
Ten minutes later, she maneuvered her brother’s monstrosity of a truck into the tiny parking lot, past the two gas islands and up to the front door. Thankfully no one else was around as she took up almost three spaces. She killed the engine then hopped out of the cab. Retrieving her debit card from her jean pocket, she strode inside. An auto beep announced her arrival.
“Morning, Felix.”
The forty-something owner looked up from his newspaper. “Shasta? Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Not today.” She headed toward the refrigerated section. “It’s Ditch Day.” She pulled out a twelve-pack of St. Pauli Girl, juggled it under one arm and snatched two huge bags of tortilla chips along with a handful of power bars on her way to the register.
Felix stood with his arms crossed, frowning. “You know I can’t sell you beer.”
She placed her items on the counter. “Why not? You sell it to everyone else at school.”
“Not everyone else is the sheriff’s sister.” He shook his head. “Sorry. No can do. If I get caught again, I’m gonna lose my liquor license and probably go to jail.”
She tapped her debit card against her opposite palm and squinted. “I’ll make you a deal. Sell me this and I promise to tell you if I hear anything about Dell setting up another underage sting.”
Felix twisted his lips.
“Please,” she entreated with a small side-to-side sway. The slight movement gave her a certain innocence. Older men were suckers for that. “C’mon, Felix…it’s Ditch Day. Pretty, pretty, pretty please.” She batted her eyelashes with her finest beseeching look.
She knew the second his resolve collapsed. His face crumpled like he smelled rotten fish. “Fine, but not the imported stuff.”
She turned, the German beer in her hands. “No problem.”
“And make it light beer—and only a six-pack.”
Rolling her eyes, she walked down the aisle as the door beeped again, announcing another customer.
She’d just grabbed two sixers of a high-end domestic light beer—no way was she leaving with a single six-pack—when a man opened the glass door on her right.
Shasta immediately recognized the guy’s jacket—and him. Lynch Callan of the 5th Streeters.
Holy shit.
Her stomach did a flip-flop. Everyone in Stardust knew about the 5th Street “motorcycle club,” as they called themselves. Motorcycle club sounded less disreputable, less infamous than biker gang. But they were hoodlums. Criminals. A blight on society, or so her father used to say. Did this guy have a gun? Was he planning to rob Felix?
Her insecurity dissolved. No way would he try anything like that, not with her in the store. After all, she was the sheriff’s sister. Sometimes that fact came in handy.
Out the corner of her eye, she watched Lynch reach for a carton of milk. What kind of a badass bad guy drinks milk? He shut the refrigerator door with a thump and walked behind her to the far aisle. She closed her own door and stared at his reflection in the glass.
Disheveled dark blond hair stuck out from under his half-helmet while a scruffy beard covered his cheeks and chin. With his sunglasses on he looked hard and menacing. And sexy as hell…
She slowly headed back to the register, her gaze fixed on Lynch. He now stood in front of the shelf of cereals. Milk and cereal? That seemed so…normal for a thug. Wouldn’t cold pizza be his typical breakfast? And where was the hard liquor, or at least the beer? Lost in thought, she placed the beer on the counter.
“I told you a six-pack.” Felix’s statement whipped her around. He situated one sixer off to the side, a stern scowl on his face.
She opened her mouth, but her protest died when a container of two percent, a box of honey bran cereal and a package chocolate chip cookies appeared next to her alcohol. Heat infused her body at the Streeter’s close proximity.
“Gimme five bucks on pump three, when you get the chance.”
Lynch’s low, rolling voice percolated shivers up her arms. He didn’t shop like a notorious gang member…and he didn’t sound like one either.
Felix nodded while ringing up her purchases. She handed over her debit card, trying her damnedest to act cool. She glanced over.
Still wearing his sunglasses, Lynch rubbed a hand across his neck, his head bowed. He looked tired. Exhausted even.
Late night breaking the law?
Shasta bit her tongue to keep the snarky comment locked in her mouth. She might be the sheriff’s sister, but she wasn’t a total imbecile.
She punched in her pin number as Felix bagged her chips and power bags. Purchases in hand, she moved toward the entrance, putting an extra swing in her hips in case Lynch checked out her ass.
Outside, she tossed the items onto the truck’s back seat then clambered behind the wheel. She clicked her seatbelt, started the truck and put it in reverse. She turned the wheel, but still hadn’t fixed the mirrors. The horrible crunch of metal reverberated. She slammed on the brakes, rocking the truck to an abrupt halt. Several moments of deafening quiet surrounded her before…
“What the fuck…my bike…”
Her door swung open, and she stared at an infuriated Lynch Callan. With arms akimbo, wide stance and his mouth bowed into a vicious frown, she’d never seen anyone look so angry—not even her brother.
“Get out,” he commanded.
She recovered enough to scoff. “What? No freakin’ way.”
If anything, he looked more furious. He stepped onto the truck’s running board, reached over the steering column and twisted the key from the ignition. In one smooth move, he unfastened her belt and jumped to the ground. “I said out.”
“And I said no.”
He wrapped his large hand around her arm and none too gently dragged her from the cab.
She yanked away. “Let me go.”
He tightened his hold and lugged her to the ass end of the truck.
She stumbled behind him. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Yup.” He didn’t even slow down. “You’re the idiot who just backed into my bike.”
He whirled her around. Her sandal caught on his boot and the asphalt quickly rose up. Only his grip on her arm kept it from meeting her face. She swiped flyaway strands of hair from her eyes, ready to set him on fire with her best scathing glare.
But his sunglasses were now tucked into his t-shirt’s neckline. And he glowered at her with the most enthralling blue eyes. They were a pristine, crystal blue, like the water at Lake Tahoe. If Shasta thought him sexy and ominous before, he positively oozed sensuality—and danger—now. Any attempt at being scornful died.
He pointed to a giant Harley lying on its side next to his bag from Felix’s store. “Look.”
She gave the scene a cursory glimpse and hitched her shoulder. “Sorry.”
His eyebrows lifted a
s his jaw dropped. “Sorry? You’re sorry?” He crossed his arms. “You’re paying any damages.”
“Damages? What damages? I barely tapped it.”
Now he scoffed. “Barely tapped it…you toppled it over.” He waved his hand at the downed bike. “The left mirror’s busted and the paint’s scraped. And that’s just what I can see. You’re paying for that and anything else you wrecked.”
She faced him square, her fists on her hips. “How do I know those things didn’t happen before today? You could just be trying to extort money. That’s what people like you do, isn’t it?”
His eyes became shards of ice. “People like me?” An unspoken warning clear in his tone.
“Uh, excuse me.”
Felix’s hesitant voice turned both their heads. “What?” they demanded in unison.
The store owner’s gaze rifled between Shasta and Lynch. He held up a police scanner radio. “Just heard there’s a BOLO out for the sheriff’s truck. They say it’s been stolen.”
Air thickened in Shasta’s throat. She’d hoped to be on a beach before Dell realized his precious ride was missing. And she never expected him to put out an all points bulletin. Maybe Cassie had been right about this being a bad idea.
Shit.
She stared at the ground, thinking. Maybe she could put the F350 back without Dell knowing she took it. That was a motherfucking-big maybe. Still…she should at least try.
“I gotta call it in, Shasta.”
Her head snapped up. “What? Why?”
“This isn’t selling beer to minors. I could get charged as an accessory to grand theft.”
“That’s ridiculous. Dell would never—”
“Yes he would and you know it. In any case, I can’t take that chance.” Felix turned to go back into the store. “I’m sorry.”
“But, Fe-lix,” she whined. “You can’t do that to me.”
Lynch stepped forward. “Hang on, man,” he said to Felix. He looked at her. “You stole the sheriff’s truck?”
She threw her hands in the air. “It’s not stealing if he’s my brother.”
Lynch blinked, his eyebrows squished together like he didn’t quite understand her words. Then his face split into an enormous grin that showed off perfectly straight and blindingly white teeth. She thought only lifeguards and male models had such flawless teeth.
