by Debra Kayn
He wasn't going to take a chance on losing her.
"Are you guys going to go on a honeymoon?" asked Iliana.
"No, there's no reason to go somewhere else when we have the cabin to ourselves, the snow all around us, and time to enjoy each other." Katelynn turned and gazed up at Quint. "It's the perfect place."
"We're happy for you both," said Anders.
Quint looked over Katelynn's head toward the edge of the mountaintop. As the girls talked, he stepped away with Anders and walked to where he knew the crosses were buried in the snow.
No matter how he ran a business, dealt with the public, married the woman he loved, a big part of him remained here on the mountain peak. He never wanted to run from his past. He wanted to conquer and take out Jaster.
He wanted to succeed for Joney, Two-crow, Will, and he wanted Anders and Mark by his side.
"Most days, I forget they're not with us." Anders cleared his throat. "I wonder what the hell they're up to and if any trouble came knocking, and then I realize nothing can touch them anymore."
"Same." He inhaled deeply. "I haven't had a chance to talk with Mark yet with everything going on, but I don't want to sit back and wait for Jaster to show his face. I've got Katelynn to take care of and her safety to think about. This last year was rough on her, and I don't want her becoming hardened from life the way I am. The way you are. The way Mark is."
"Iliana's not going to want me to go off on a wild goose chase." Anders took off his glove and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm also not going to leave her alone at the Lair. It doesn't matter how many employees I have around her, I don't trust any of them."
"I hear you." The heaviness chasing him settled on his shoulders. "I've got to tell you, I've got a bad feeling."
He hadn't spoken to Katelynn or the others about his recent worries, but they'd lost two more out of the original six of them in the last two years. Time was running out. One, if not the last three of them would be next unless they figured out a way to get the upper hand on Jaster.
"I hear you." Anders looked at him. "I'm scared."
"Me, too," whispered Quint.
Nothing else needed to be said. They were on the same page. It would take everything in them to keep their head and protect their women.
"Once you have time, we need to get together with Mark. Since losing Will, he's pulled away." Anders turned around. "We need to watch him."
"We won't let him drift." Quint followed him back to the ladies. He went straight to Katelynn and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She turned and frowned. He kissed her lips into softness.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
"Everything is good." He reached down and patted her ass. "We should get going. It's a long way down the mountain."
"Okay." She kissed him, bonking the goggles on her forehead against the bridge of his nose. "Sorry."
She gingerly stepped over to Iliana and gave her a hug, inviting her over to visit soon.
Glad the two women of the group got along, he guided Katelynn back through the deep snow and lifted her up on the seat of the snowmobile. She held on to him, not letting him move.
"I love you." She gazed into her eyes. "You know they're with you." She patted his chest. "In here."
Nobody had to tell him who she was talking about. She had a way of knowing what he needed and giving him just the thing to settle him down.
Swallowing, he kissed her. "I love you, too."
Katelynn straddled the sled and sat. He climbed in front of her and started the snowmobile. Lifting his hand in farewell to Anders and Iliana, he rode around the peak, taking his woman down the mountain.
He had to survive because he wanted to love Katelynn for a long, long time.
Dear readers ~
If you read the first book in the Escape To The Bitterroot Mountains and read the "Dear readers" letter at the back of the book, you've learned that I live in the Bitterroot Mountains on the Idaho side of the Idaho/Montana border. It was during one of my rides up to the peak in my UTV that I spotted an old wooden cross that inspired me to write the Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series. For those of us who live here, the mountains are our backyard. We travel by UTVs and ATVs in the summer, and snowmobiles in the winter. We go from small town to small town by one of the thousands of trails on the side of the mountain range. It's common to meet your neighbor in the wilderness while riding, stop and chitchat while standing on a switchback. The Bitterroot Mountains create a lifestyle that we call home.
Readers have asked me since I announced the first book how many novels would be in the series. I politely refrained from answering, and by now you know why. Mark's book will be the final novel, and I think you'll be pleased when his book releases soon.
If you'd like to keep up on book releases, chat with me, and see pictures of life in the Bitterroot Mountains, I would love to have you follow me on social media. I'm on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and have a website.
Love,
Debra
Author Bio
Debra Kayn is published by Grand Central Publishing, Simon & Schuster Publishing, Carina Press - Harlequin Enterprises Limited, and repped by agent, Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary Management. She has over fifty contemporary novels available worldwide where heroes and heroines come from the most unlikely characters.
She lives with her family in the Bitterroot Mountains of beautiful North Idaho where she enjoys the outdoors, the four seasons, and small-town living.
Website: www.debrakayn.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/DebraKayn
Facebook: www.facebook.com/DebraKaynFanPage
Instagram: www.instagram.com/DebraKayn
Debra Kayn's Backlist
Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series
Every Little Piece of Him
Every Girl Needs a Hero
A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga series
Chief
Jett
Olin
Thorn
Notus Motorcycle Club series
Hard Reality
Hard Mistake
Hard Drifter
Hard Escape
Hard Proof
The Higher You Fly
Ronacks Motorcycle Club series
...or something
Don't Say It
Rather Be Wrong
Can't Stop Fate
Red Light: Silver Girls series
Blow Softly
Touch Slowly
Fall Gently
Moroad Motorcycle Club series
Wrapped Around Him
For Life
His Crime
Time Owed
Falling For Crazy
Chasing Down Changes
Bantorus Motorcycle Club series
Breathing His Air
Aching To Exhale
Soothing His Madness
Grasping for Freedom
Fighting To Ride
Struggling For Justice
Starving For Vengeance
Living A Beautiful War
Melt My Heart - Anthology
Laying Down His Colors – Bantorus Motorcycle Club
A Hard Body Novel series
Archer
Weston
The Chromes and Wheels Gang series
Biker Babe in Black
Ride Free
Healing Trace
Playing For Hearts series
Wildly
Seductively
Conveniently
Secretly
Surprisingly
Modern Love – Anthology
The Sisters of McDougal Ranch series
Chantilly's Cowboy
Val's Rancher
Margot's Lawman
Florentine's Hero
Suite Cowboy
Hijinks
Resurrecting Charlie's Girl
Betraying the Prince
Love Rescued Me
Double Agent
Breaking Fire Code
&nb
sp; Sneak Peek
***
CHIEF
Book 1, A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga series
Available at all retailers
PART 1
Chapter One
CHIEF STOOD OVER THE still body on the bare floor and planted his boot in the middle of the man's forehead. Sanders, the double-crossing motherfucker, should have kept his mouth shut about his deal with Brikken Motorcycle Club.
Now, two men were dead.
The only way to survive and make sure the club's successful business of chopping motorcycles and sending them down to Southern California required him to make sure loose ends were tied.
It only took one rat to squeal to the Feds, who were always monitoring their activities too closely. He needed to keep eyes on his enemies and his MC brothers close.
"Wipe the place down." Chief stepped away and swept his gaze around the small apartment looking for anything of value.
The bare walls yellowed by tobacco smoke gave no insight to the dead man on the floor. No television, no extra pair of boots, no stacks of magazines on the one end table. Only two spoons and a dirty syringe on the arm of the couch showed what kind of existence the man lived.
Chief scattered the junk mail stacked on the kitchen counter. Going by the lack of contents in the place, Sander's cousin probably lived off government assistance and spent all his money he made from stealing on drugs. Unfortunately, listening to Sanders talk bought the fucker a premature death.
His riders conversed in low voices behind him doing their job to clean all evidence away. He walked down a short hallway and swung the first door open. An unmade bed took up most of the floor space. He stepped inside and moved the pile of dirty clothes out of his path with the toe of his boot.
Movement came from the other side of the room. He lowered his gaze to the floor. A mouse ran along the base of the wall and escaped under the closet door. He cocked his head, sensing there was something he was missing in the room.
From all appearances, Sanders' cousin barely existed and he lived alone. Not even a pile of pocket change sat on any surface in the apartment, no empty beer cans beside the bed.
A low crooning came and went. He held his breath and listened. Several seconds passed with no sound. He shifted to leave and spotted the closet door move. That was no damn mouse.
Taking out his knife, he sidestepped closer. His men had checked out the apartment before killing Sander's cousin. He'd received the all-clear and believed the apartment was vacant of anyone else.
A soft putter came from inside the closet. He reached above the bi-folding door and pulled, opening the closet. No clothes or hangers hung on the dowel. He lowered his gaze to the box on the floor of the two by four-foot closet. Shards of cardboard led a trail to the bottom corner where the mouse had already done its work.
The large box moved. He bent down, and using the tip of his knife, flipped the lid open. Bare skin peeked through the opening. His chest tightened, and he reached down with his other hand and propped the other side of the box open.
A thin, gangly girl, curled as tight as a potato bug hid at the bottom of the box. He took her condition in with a glance, scooped the mouse off her bare thigh, and tossed the rodent across the room, splattering it against the wall.
The same soft whine reached his ears at the same time the child's body constricted into a tighter ball. His chest expanded in irritation. The Brikken members who'd cleared the apartment had fucked up.
He grabbed the child's skinny arm and stood her up on her bare feet outside the closet. She stared at his boots without making a move to dart away. That alone surprised him. Kids were meant to run away from danger, a raised hand, a big man, a mouse.
His sons knew about the dangers out in the world and were taught at a young age how to stay aware of their surroundings. He hoped if they were in the same situation with a strange man wielding a knife over them, they'd scream their fucking heads off and run.
He slipped his knife into the sheath at his side. "Look at me."
The girl raised her chin and sniffed. Tear tracks marked her flushed cheeks. She had the lightest brown eyes he'd ever seen, reminding him of gold.
She couldn't be more than ten years old, probably younger than his youngest son. All skin and bones and knobby knees.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Her full bottom lip trembled, but she kept her eyes on his face the way he'd told her. The voices of the others in the front room grew louder. Within minutes, they'd need to leave the building.
And, they couldn't leave a witness behind.
He shook her arm. "Answer me."
"Johanna," she whispered. "Johanna Marie Koller."
"How old are you?"
She stared at his beard. "Eight."
"The man who lives here. What's his name?"
She turned her head slightly without looking away from him. "Don't know."
Silas. Sanders' cousin. He already knew the man's name. He shook her again. "He your daddy, girl?"
The tears started again. "Don't know."
"Where's your mom?"
Johanna shrugged and dropped her gaze. He studied the spit of a girl. Her shoulders thrown forward, her neck arched, and her brown hair a ratted mess he couldn't tell if she had curls or needed a good brushing.
Under the circumstances, her reaction seemed more miserable than scared. A little girl had no reason for sorrow unless she'd lost her parents. He had a feeling her lack of running away came from the sense she had no idea where to run. She looked lost.
"Your momma gone?"
The slight nod was the only answer he needed. He let her go and walked out of the room. Only D-Con remained in the room with the dead guy on the floor.
"Cover him up," said Chief. "Get a blanket or coat or something to put over his body. Then, move the couch across the room and keep him out of sight."
"Chief, if I move stuff, the police will know something is up." D-Con eyed the small room.
Brikken Motorcycle Club would need to take a gamble and later figure out how they screwed up a routine crime. "There's someone in the bedroom. I'm taking her to the club with me. I don't need her seeing anything on her way out the door. You've got about thirty seconds to make sure that doesn't happen."
He returned to the bedroom. The child stood in the same spot he'd left her. She appeared even more neglected than he'd originally thought. Wearing a pair of jeans that looked like a castoff going by the way they dragged the ground, she was skinnier than he'd originally thought but it could be the skimpy girl top with flowers barely covered her belly button, and she had no little kid belly the way his boys had at that age.
He looked around the room. There were no young girl clothes or toys or stuffed animals.
Disgusted, he shucked off his vest and removed his shirt. Johanna stared up at him. He chuckled at the obvious interest the girl gave him. She'd gotten over the shock of him showing up in the bedroom and the mouse touching her. Her wise eyes tried to make sense of all the tattoos on his upper body.
She reached out and trailed her small finger over his heart. He didn't have to look to know what caught her attention.
"Jett, Olin, and Thorn. Those are the names of my sons." He pointed to his ribs. "You know what that is?"
She leaned forward. "A bike?"
"Close." He motioned with his chin. "Put your arms up, bug."
She lifted her hands in the air without taking her gaze off his chest. He slipped the T-shirt on her and rolled up the sleeves past her elbows. Only when he put his vest back on had she broken her fascination with him.
Johanna's attention went to balancing on one foot and holding up the hem of his shirt. She'd quickly forgotten about being scared and used his shirt for entertainment.
"Do you know how to ride a bicycle?"
She stumbled, caught herself, and looked up at him. "Uh huh."
At least she had that going for her. He picked her up, and she wrapped her arms around his neck with na
ry a second thought. Amused, he looked into her eyes, finally seeing her up close. She took that moment to stick her fingers in his beard and tug. Her slim body wiggled. Little shit thought he was funny looking.
"All right, bug. I'm going to carry you out of this place and take you for a ride on my big bike. Can you be good for me?" He wrapped his arm around the back of her thighs.
She sat on his forearm as he lifted her slight frame off the floor. A case of beer weighed more than her.
She brought her other hand forward and stuck all her fingers in his beard. He chuckled softly. Ready or not, he needed to get out of here before one of the neighbors in the apartment complex got curious and spotted him carrying a child out in the middle of the night.
He strode out of the room, cupping the back of the child's head to keep her from looking in the front room. Johanna used that opportunity to giggle at the way his beard tickled her face and wrapped her arms around his neck as if she liked the sensation.
Right then, she'd sealed her fate.
He'd take her back to the club, put her up with one of his women, and make damn sure the child had a life fitting for a little girl. Then, he'd come back after he figured out how she was connected to Silas, and do what he needed to do to make sure nobody reported the kid missing.
Outside in the parking lot, he strode to his motorcycle and glanced down the block. His crew waited for him to ride out. As president, only he would give the signal to ride.
He set Johanna on the motorcycle, and she refused to let go of him. Her little ass slid off the seat, and he picked her back up and looked at her and then studied his Harley. She was too damn little to ride behind him.
"You're going to have to keep holding on to me, Johanna." He threw his leg over the seat. "Tuck yourself right against me."
As if she sat on a biker's lap every day, she scooted close, moved her hands, wrapping her arms around his chest underneath his vest and her legs around his waist. He started the engine and grunted in approval, knowing the only person who heard him was the young package plastered to the front of him.
