by Logan Chance
RANSOM
Aces & Eights Motorcycle Club Book 1
Logan Chance
Jacob Chance
Contents
Title Page
Prologue
1. Rory
2. Liam
3. Rory
4. Liam
5. Rory
6. Liam
7. Rory
8. Liam
9. Rory
10. Liam
11. Rory
12. Liam
13. Rory
14. Liam
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2017 by Logan Chance and Jacob Chance
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 noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This novel is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to people either living or deceased, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Any trademark, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
Cover design by Popkitty/Sybil Wilson
This book contains mature content and may have possible triggers.
Prologue
TWELVE YEARS AGO
RORY
“Hi, mom,” I yell, hanging up my coat on one of the hooks just inside the door that leads in from our garage. She doesn’t answer. Only silence greets me, but her car’s in the garage and we had plans to eat lunch together. Even though I still live at home, my work at Old Man McGray’s garage, fixing up old bikes, keeps me from being home as much as my mom likes. I smile as I shift the bag of her favorite takeout to my other arm. She’s going to be pleasantly surprised. I glance down at my watch; one o’clock, I’m right on time.
Heading toward the kitchen, the room she spends the most time in, I call out for her again. “Mom, I’m here.” As I round the corner from the hallway I continue, “I got all your…” The words freeze in my throat. The paper bag with her favorites from Lindo’s Cafe falls to the kitchen floor, takeout containers spilling out in every direction. I stand frozen in shock, watching the pool of blood on the tile expand with every second. It takes a moment for the horror of what I’m seeing to sink in.
“Mom,” I shout, running to her eerily still body lying prone on the kitchen floor. Dropping to my knees beside her, the blood under me forgotten, I gently roll her over to her back. “No. No. No,” I shout. The sunny yellow color of her brand new dress is drenched in horrifying red. Her green eyes are open and lifeless. The same green eyes that looked at all five of my brothers and I with so much love. Those beautiful eyes of hers would reflect every emotion we were feeling back at us. Whether they shared the pain we felt from an injury or the excitement of a hard earned achievement in school.
Wrapping my arms around her I fall to her chest and sob. “No mom. No. Oh God. Mom.”
1
Rory
Full breasts pressed against my back are never a bad thing, especially when they belong to Fallon McCarthy. Riding with her on my Dyna is one of life’s greatest pleasures - an all too infrequent pleasure. It’s also the only time I can’t see the expression of distaste directed at me, and that’s only because she’s behind me.
Navigating us safely through all the traffic on the Vegas Strip with her pussy pressed up against my ass is no small feat. Talk about a fucking distraction, but I’ll take it. I’d take a lot more from her if I had the opportunity, but it’ll never happen. She’s the daughter of our motorcycle club’s president and completely off limits to me and any other guy whose eye she might catch.
Mick’s been running the Aces & Eights MC for the past twenty years, and I’ve known him for the last twelve. He’s a no shit guy, but when it comes to his baby girl, Fallon, he doesn’t fuck around. I’ve beat the piss out of more than one dude on his orders and for a lot less than the liberties I’m enjoying right now with the way she’s wrapped tightly around me. The way she burrows into me speaks volumes about how nervous being on a bike makes her. There’s no way she’d willingly be this close to me under any other circumstance.
Maybe, I should take the long way back to the clubhouse.
As the Sergeant at Arms, I’m Mick’s right hand man. I do whatever he needs, and security is my area of expertise. Three afternoons each week, I’m in charge of picking Fallon up outside her dorm at the University of Las Vegas and delivering her safely to Mick. They eat dinner together, enjoy each other’s company, and then Mick or I will drive her back. She barely ever speaks to me, not even to say thank you. She’s too busy curling her upper lip at me like I’m dog shit on the bottom of her expensive shoes. I don’t react, aside from flashing her a carefree smirk. She’ll never know how I fight the attraction I feel for her. Any chance I had of being with her was over a long time ago.
No woman, her or any other, will ever have that kind of power over me. Caring about someone is a distraction I don’t need. Women make men weak, and I can’t afford to lose my edge.
Maybe, if I come up with enough reasons, I can finally stop thinking about her.
Pulling into the long, winding driveway of our clubhouse, I experience a moment of disappointment, knowing the minute I park this bike Fallon will hop off. Whether she’s just that eager to put some distance between her and this deathtrap, or if it’s to get away from me, I’m not sure. Maybe, it’s a little bit of both. I don’t exactly go out of my way to be nice to her. If anything, I’m a complete asshole. It comes naturally for me. And her hating me makes it easy to keep my distance from her.
Circling around in front of the retaining wall that runs parallel to the Aces & Eights clubhouse, I stop and then walk the bike backward into my designated parking spot. Fallon’s already removed her helmet, and when I’ve barely shut down the bike, she slips off, standing beside me. She shakes out her long mane of light brown hair until it falls in a sexy disarray around her shoulders. As I push the kickstand forward with the toe of my left boot and ease the bike onto it, my eyes trace over the individual strands that wave down covering her mouth watering tits. Visions of her riding my cock, soft hair trailing down over my chest as she connects our mouths in a heated kiss, gives me a semi.
Smoothly climbing off my bike, years of practice making it automatic, my hazel eyes focus on Fallon.
“You’re welcome,” I say with a grin. I know she won’t answer, and it’s better if she doesn’t. We’ve barely spoken a word for the past year and a half, but that’s on me.
Even her voice is sexy. Especially in my dreams, when I hear her moaning my name.
She flicks me a glance out of the corner of her eye before walking toward the main entrance of the club. The way her curvy little ass swings from side to side is mesmerizing, especially wrapped in such tight jeans. I bet it would take some effort to get those pants down. I’d be up for the challenge.
Fuck. Reaching down, I adjust my dick. One look at her ass and I’m hard as a fucking rock. It’s the same thing every fucking time.
I shake my head in disgust. Unfastening the chin strap on my brain bucket, I hang it from
a handlebar. I need to stop thinking about Fallon. Nothing can ever happen between us, and if it did, Mick would murder me in my sleep.
I run my fingers through my hair, raking it back, while I stride into the main entrance of the clubhouse. Pushing my aviators up on my head, I pause, my eyes sweeping the space for any sign of my brothers. I need a drink and some laughs, and the Fox brothers never disappoint.
There are six of us, Liam, Rory, Patrick, Colin, Finn, and Keegan. God bless my mother for the hell we put her through. God rest her soul for passing way too young. She’s been gone twelve years now, and thinking about her murder still causes an ache in the middle of my chest.
They never caught the bastard who killed her.
I’ll never forget coming home to the sight of her lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of her own blood. She’d been stabbed six times. Six knife wounds. Six sons. You don’t need to be a cop to see there could be a correlation between the two. Unfortunately, the police didn’t want to hear anything we had to say. They called it “the action of a lone madman,” and labeled it “an isolated incident.”
The extreme feeling of helplessness we experienced wondering who would have wanted to harm our mother swept through the entire family, turning to ice cold fear. All six of us worried the madman would come back for more bloodshed
Our mother’s death was the catalyst for my older brother Liam and I joining the Aces & Eights Motorcycle Club. I was only nineteen at the time. If local law enforcement couldn’t get the job done, then we wanted to be the type of men who helped others see justice met. We didn’t want to sit around like scared little pussies any longer.
Liam and I approached Mick, the president of Aces & Eights about two weeks after our mother had been murdered. Both of us wanted to do something to avenge her death.
“You both want in?” Mick asked. “Once you’re in, you’re in for life.”
I looked over at Liam and he nodded in agreement.
“There is no life anymore,” I tell Mick. “Only retribution.”
While we haven’t been able to dole out any outlaw biker style justice to the person who stole our mother from us, there have been plenty of other people we’ve helped in recent years. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not some white knight do gooders helping old ladies cross the street each day.
We do a lot of questionable things - things that would turn lesser men’s stomachs. We’re the guys who dirty our hands so you don’t have to, and we even find a perverse pleasure in it. Breaking some dude’s fingers because he owes our club money can be a lot of fun, especially if it’s Liam and I together. We’re Irish twins and amateur comedians. If there’s some humor to be found in a situation, we’ll find it and beat it until it’s fucking dead. Gallows humor and fucking people up are our specialties. Two for the price of one.
It’s no surprise to find at least one of the Fox brothers sitting at the bar in the main room of the clubhouse. But, when you have five brothers and you’re Irish, the odds are always in your favor. Keegan, my youngest brother is sprawled out, leaning on the bar. He has eight empty shot glasses in front of him and a voluptuous blonde standing between his legs. I’ve never seen her before, but she has the same look as all the girls who hang out here - ridden hard and put away wet.
I slide onto the stool next to his. “Hey, bro.” My eyes take in his disheveled appearance. He’s been at this for a while now. What’s he drowning his sorrows about this time?
Blondie sidles up to me. “Hey there.”
I signal Six, our resident bartender and one of the fully patched in members, for a beer before answering, “Hi.” I keep my answer short and curt. I’m not in the mood to deal with one of the sinkholes to keep me company. “What’s going on?” I direct the question to my brother.
“Nothing, man. Just having a little fun with…what did you say your name was sweetheart?”
I laugh. Keegan never changes.
She pouts her red painted lips and runs a hand down his chest, letting it slide all the way down to his stomach.
Keegan sits up straighter. She has his attention now. “My name’s Jasmine, like the flower.”
“I bet you smell like a flower all over,” he growls against her neck.
She giggles. “So, I’ve been told. Play your cards right and you can find out.”
I bet a lot of guys know what her pussy smells like. I grimace and run my hand over my beard.
My eyes roam around the open space in search of the one person they never tire of watching— Fallon. She’s seated at a table in the corner talking animatedly with Mick. I shake my head. Her sexy lips are so quick to smile at anyone other than me.
Our gazes lock, and, for a moment, the rest of the world around us disappears. Everything goes silent but the pounding of my heart and the blood roaring to my dick.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow night?” Keegan asks, snapping me back in the moment. I narrow my eyes at him. We never discuss business in front of sinkholes. They’re good for one thing only, and even that’s questionable. I prefer to get my pussy outside of the club where it can’t come back to haunt me on a daily basis.
“We’ll talk later,” my eyes flick to the blonde and then back to Keegan, “when we’re alone,” I tell him, my tone sharp.
I take a much needed sip of the beer Six slid down the bar toward me.
I’m not one to mince words or worry about hurting people’s feelings. If blondie doesn’t like it, that’s too fucking bad. If she wanted to be treated like a lady, this isn’t the place she’d be.
My eyes wander to Fallon again. Watching the way her blue eyes sparkle with humor toward Mick, I find myself smiling. I want to be the one making her laugh. I want to see that humorous expression in her eyes when she looks at me, instead of the disgust that seems to have taken up permanent residence.
My lips press against the glass rim of the bottle as I take a small sip of my cold beer, nursing it. This is the only one I’ll be having for now. I’m not sure if I’ll be the one driving Fallon back to school later or if Mick will. I’m torn between wanting the sweet torture of her body pressed against mine and wanting to forget she exists.
2
Liam
“Who wants to suck my dick?” I shout as I enter the clubhouse bar. A few sinkhole’s ears perk up, and my brothers laugh at their eagerness.
They’re eager all right, because, thing is, the sinkholes have one job, to satisfy club members. Hell, none of them ever come close to doing their job for me. They’re the whores of the Aces and Eights, but I’ve never fucked one. I’ll let them suck me off, but that’s it. None will ever get anywhere near the real Liam. But, a show is needed, and to all these fuckers in here…I’m Liam, the pussy eater and lady pleaser.
Right away I spot my younger brother, Rory, nursing a beer at the bar.
“What’s your problem, Knuckles?” I glance over to where his eyes are focused and see Fallon sitting with her father.
Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know my brother has it bad for the girl. Pussy whipped without ever even tasting it, that’s bad.
“Nothing, where you been?” he says, turning his gaze on me.
“Out.” I glance around at all the sinkholes and none of them peek my interest. They never do. Signaling to Six for a beer, I sit next to Rory.
Keegan is damn near passed out, and I laugh when I see him try to suck on the tit right next to his mouth. The blonde bimbo needs to move on, Keegan is out for the count. I can see why she’s after him though. He’s the pretty boy out of all of us. We nicknamed him Hollywood for just that reason.
I grab my beer from Six and gesture to Keegan. “How long’s he been at this?”
“No clue, I just got here. I picked up Fallon.” Rory’s eyes glaze over as they fixate back on her.
“Bro, when are you finally going to fuck her and forget her?” I take a long pull from my beer and lean back against the bar, surveying all the sinkholes and determining which one I’m going to allow to suck my coc
k tonight.
“Yeah, right. I’m sure her dad would love that. Besides, you’re one to talk. Still thinking about Audrey every time you shoot your load down some girl’s throat?”
He’s right. I’m not one to talk. Audrey Hannigan is an old flame. Hell, we were just kids the first time I snuck out of the house to pick her up.
Her and I were each other’s first for many things, but after my mother died, I couldn’t handle being happy.
I pushed her away faster than I joined this club. And, I’ve never looked back. I’m the VP, and I love running guns.
“Here, here.” I clink the neck of my beer bottle with his. “Maybe one day I can shoot my load and think about Fallon’s fine ass instead.”
His face reddens with anger, and I laugh. Little brother knows I’m kidding. I don’t play with fire like he does.
To me, pussy is pussy, and I’m not going to jeopardize my standing in this club for the pres’s daughter. Besides, Rory’s right, it’s still Audrey’s face I see every time.
Her long dark hair, her amber-colored eyes. She’s like a trashy magazine model and good girl librarian all rolled into one.
But, she’s ancient history. So, I swing my eyes around the clubhouse one more time, hoping one of the sinkholes is more attractive than five minutes ago, when I last looked. They aren’t.
James “Crawl” Grant sits in a lounge chair in the back of the club. Nicknamed for the fact he gets so trashed and usually ends up crawling home. He’s a big, burly man with a shaved head. Kind of reminds me of Mr. Clean but he doesn’t like when I tell him that.
Crawl has a redheaded minx sitting on his lap, grinding her tight spandex covered pussy all over him. She’ll do.
“Did we get the route figured out for tomorrow’s run, Lo?” Rory questions, removing his jacket. The jacket with our club patch on the back. He swings it over the stool next to him. The one Keegan has now vacated. They call me Lo, for my extremely low, deep voice, and low ride. My bike’s a custom chopper and sits low to the ground. Which the ladies love, but that’s not why I chose it…it’s just my style.
