Outlaw Seal

by Kate Sheperd

  Copyright 2016 by (Kate Shepherd) - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  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.

  OUTLAW SEAL

  By Kate Shepherd

  Table of Contents

  Outlaw SEAL

  FREE BONUS STORIES

  The Cowboy’s Lover

  Wrangling for the Ranch

  Sealed with a Kiss

  A Feud of Two Clans

  Duchess of Secrets

  Escaping the Prince

  Highland Protector

  Highlander’s Promise

  Loving the Enemy

  Tempted by the Rogue

  The Duke’s Pregnant Peasant

  The Rogue Highlander

  A Bride for the Barkeep

  A Bride’s Calling

  A Young Bride’s Heart

  Anna’s Calling

  Her New Husband’s Secret

  Idle Hands

  Mary’s Memoir

  The Amish Brides New Life

  The Amish Mail Order Bride

  The Bride’s New Life

  The Pregnant Widowed Bride

  The Red Haired Bride

  The Sheriff’s Mail Order Bride

  The Unwelcome Bride

  The Bear’s Den

  Her Alien Protector

  The Bear Minimum

  Alien Prince

  Blood of the Queen

  Lion Protector

  Overbearing Alpha

  Scarlet’s Alien

  The Alien Menage

  Outlaw SEAL

  Chapter 1: Anthony “Razor” Polizziano: [S1]

  I was trained to wait patiently for hours, or even days, watching for the perfect time to strike. When that moment came, I would go in unseen and unheard. I would quickly and efficiently put my prey to death and then slip away. The only evidence that I had even been there would be the dead body that I left behind.

  The party inside the house that I was watching had been raging for hours and I was growing weary of the same heavy bass and screaming guitars of the metal music that had been blaring over the speakers, no doubt keeping the entire neighborhood from sleep. But no one would call the cops to complain about it. Doing that would be suicide. Most of the neighbors had left the area long before, and the few who remained were the type who paid low rent and avoided any human contact, preferring to pass their time in a drug-induced state of delirium.

  Whenever the wind shifted just right, I could smell the sweet, unmistakable scent of marijuana drifting from the party. It was probably the tamest of the illegal substances that were being consumed inside the house. I didn’t care. I wasn’t there to enforce the law.

  The night had been overcast, but the clouds were beginning to clear away and a thin stream of light from the moon was reflecting off of the chrome of a row of motorcycles parked in front of the house. An admirer of motorcycles—the real ones, not the rice-burning imports—I would have liked to stroll among them and examine the different customizing jobs that had been done to each of the different models.

  Noise coming from the front of the house made me tense up and sharpen my senses. The first group of party-goers was spilling out of the house. Loud conversation, laughter, giggles and the occasional howl or squeal, which had, up until that point, been contained inside the walls of the house, were penetrating the night. Though it took several minutes for them to get organized and headed in the right direction, I eventually heard the sound of their bikes turning over and the fading rumble of tuned pipes as they started off down the road. I wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

  For the next hour, the same process was repeated. A small group would stumble from the house, organize themselves, start their bikes and then rumble away down the road. Though no one had turned off the stereo, the party was essentially over. I waited a little bit longer, making certain that there were no more stragglers, and then reached into the pocket of my leather jacket to pull out a pair of driving gloves.

  With the form-fitting gloves in place, I crept forward across the unkempt yard toward the back door of the house. I paused several times as I covered the distance, making certain that I was still undetected, and then moved on, reaching the back door and crouching at the stoop.

  It might have been easier to hear whatever was going on inside the house if the stereo wasn’t continuing to blast away, but I would simply have to do what I needed to do in spite of that. I’d just have to be more cautious. As the breeze shifted slightly, I could make out the rhythmic moans and cries of a female voice as she was, no doubt, giving some lucky bastard a wild ride in one of the bedrooms. I waited a while longer, until those sounds also died out before reaching up to the knob on the door. The arrogant bastards had left it unlocked. I turned the doorknob slowly. Though it was unlikely that any conscious person would be sitting in the room and watching the back door, I pushed it open slowly and then, still crouching, slipped inside and pushed it closed.

  The blaring music would cover whatever sounds I made, but it would also cover the sound of anyone approaching, so I continued to remain disciplined in my movements and kept a close eye on my surroundings. My quarry would be in the middle bedroom on the left side of the hall. I moved out of the kitchen and down the hallway. As I came to the archway that led to the living room and the source of the loud music, I peered around the corner and noticed several passed-out bodies strewn around, like the empty bottles that littered every available surface. But I also heard heavy, rhythmic breathing and soft moans. I froze and then peered cautiously around the corner.

  Lying on her side on the sofa, the nude form of a slender blonde with long, straight hair was taking a pounding from behind. Her hips rolled in the same rhythm of her moans, which eventually became more pronounced and higher pitched as she reached her climax. A few minutes later, what sounded like the grunting of a pig came to my ears, and then the motion that had been slowly rocking her hips stopped. Waiting a few more minutes, I peered around the corner again, taking note that the couple on the couch had finished their entertainment and drifted off to sleep.

  I moved past the archway and down the hall to the room that held my quarry. Crouched in front of the door, I paused to listen. Other than the music, I detected no other sounds in the house. I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open enough to peer through. Trained to make use of even the tiniest amount of ambient light, I studied the room and its two occupants. I was certain that the larger of the two bodies lying on the bed was my prey.

  Patience and waiting were often the greatest assets of my craft, but when the moment to make that final move came, it had to be swift and decisive. I slipped through the door in a crouch, closed it behind me, stood and listened one more time. Satisfied that I’d been undetected, I unzipped my leather jacket, reached inside and pulled out a small, razor-sharp knife.

  I glanced briefly at the nude body of the girl lying on the bed beside my quarry, making certain that she was asleep, and then moved to the head of the bed on the near side. Without further hesitation, and in one swift movement, I placed the knife to the sleeping man’s throat and my hand over his mouth.

  The man’s eyes snapped open and a slight grunt came from him, but the feel of the knife against his neck ma
de him freeze. Whatever substances he’d consumed to cloud his mind earlier dissipated instantly as he looked up into the eyes of his killer, felt the sharp blade move through the skin of his neck and then began to feel his life passing away.

  I reached into my jacket pocket again, exchanging the knife for a playing card, which I placed on the man’s chest, then moved silently to the door. I pulled it open, listened, and looked up and down the hall. Satisfied that no one would detect me, I moved down the hall, paused at the archway, and moved quickly past it into the kitchen and out the back door.

  As I crossed the yard toward the grove of elms where I had passed the night waiting, I heard Metallica’s Enter Sandman coming from the stereo. Chuckling softly at the irony, I slipped through the trees, swung a leg over his Harley, kicked the starter and heard the low rumble of the chrome pipes come to life. Shifting it into gear, I flexed my wrist on the throttle and the bike let out a low, steady growl as I disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 2: Kelly[S2] “Sunshine” Pearson

  Bad boys had always been my weakness. I liked their rugged demeanor, their devil-may-care attitude, their proud arrogance and the smell of leather. From the first moment that I had first discovered how liberating the open road on the back of a Harley could be, I had started to hang out with bikers. The badder the better.

  I had started off by just hanging around the clubs where I saw bikes lined up out front and got my first taste of the wild life that the guys inside them led. I learned the meaning behind the leather jackets, their patches and insignias, becoming a virtual encyclopedia of knowledge concerning the different clubs, which ones were allies and which ones were bitter enemies.

  Needless to say, the wild parties, booze, drugs and sex had also had their appeal. I’d gone well beyond limits that I had previously held to in all of those areas, even taking part in my first gangbang in celebration of my twenty-first birthday.

  I considered myself attractive, with red hair and pale, freckled skin. I had filled out well and looked fantastic in a pair of body-hugging leather pants. I had advanced rapidly up the ladder among what some called “biker groupies” and had become trusted among the leaders of a MC club that called themselves the Lost Disciples. One person in particular had taken a special interest in me, a man by the name of Viktor Svetleachni. Of course, since nobody could pronounce his name, they all called him Sabre. Sabre was a powerful and dangerous man, something that had both frightened and thrilled me in the beginning.

  What I had discovered about Sabre, whom I dared to call Viktor, though nobody else would, was that there was a softer and gentler side to him once I had been allowed into his confidence. Whenever the group traveled, I was seated on the back of Sabre’s bike. To all of the members of the Lost Disciples, as well as anyone who was aware of who Viktor Svetleachni was, I was known as Sabre’s bitch. I had worn that label with pride for more than a year. Truthfully, Viktor had been my first extended relationship of any sort, even before I dropped out of high school.

  It hadn’t been all bad being with Viktor. I lived a lifestyle that few people ever experience. I could have pretty much anything I wanted, go anywhere I wanted to go and do anything I desired. I was safe, I was provided for and I had seen nearly half of the United States from the back of a Harley before I’d turned 22.

  But the freedom of the road and that lifestyle had its drawbacks. By the time I had turned 22, I’d also seen people raped, murdered, beaten nearly to death and barely escaped being blown to pieces in a meth lab explosion. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Sabre was gentle and harmless, but hidden in that other one percent of his nature was a violent streak that terrified me. It was when that violent streak turned toward me, and I awakened after being beaten unconscious on bathroom floor in Sabre’s house, that I decided I’d had enough.

  I had escaped by calling a friend, who waited for me in her Matrix on the other side of the grove of elm trees outside the back door of Viktor’s house. I had silently sprinted from an open window in the early hours before dawn. From that point forward, I had spent most of my time looking over my shoulder, hiding out or avoiding any place where I might be recognized.

  Destiny didn’t just rescue me, She also took me in to her apartment on the opposite side of town from Viktor’s house while I started to try to figure out how to live a normal life.

  “Well?” Destiny asked. “What would you study?”

  “God, Des,” I replied. “I don’t know, really. I’ve always sort of liked fixing people’s hair or nails. God knows I haven’t had a chance to do that in a while, though.”

  “They have a program in cosmetology at Williams Community College,” Destiny told me. “I can take you there and you can find out what it takes to get started and what it costs. You’re probably going to have to get a job to pay for it, but you can wait tables in a restaurant or something…”

  “Or at a strip club,” I laughed. Destiny wasn’t nearly as independent minded as I was, and it was always fun to toss in a joke like that to stir her up a bit.

  “Jesus, Kelly, you’re so bad!” It was pretty much the same reaction that Destiny always had.

  “Hey, I’ve heard it’s good money,” I laughed. It sounded crazy, but at age 22, I had never had a job before. I wouldn’t have had any problem with taking off my clothes for money, and the idea of rolling in cash quickly and living the lifestyle that I was used to was tempting. However, since I wanted to stay away from the outlaw side of things and avoid bumping into Sabre or anyone who might know him, it probably wasn’t a good job choice.

  “You could put in applications at, like, Applebee’s, Red Lobster, Chili’s, you know the sort of places where families hang out instead of bikers.” I had told Destiny that I would have to steer clear of places where I might be recognized by someone who knew Viktor, because I was afraid of what he might do to me for running away.

  Destiny and I had carried out my plan. I had gotten the information I needed from the Community College, discovered that I qualified for a partial scholarship that took care of a nice portion of my tuition and fees, and that I could start with the next class that was going to start in three more weeks if I could get all of my paperwork for financial aid and my first down payment of $173.38 in a week before the class started.

  I went through the process of filling out several applications at upper-end, franchised restaurants and been told that they would need someone in a few weeks, but that they were fully staffed. A streak of luck finally hit after I threatened Destiny with applying at a strip club, but that luck came for probably the same reason that I would have been hired as a stripper.

  “You are perfect for the job,” Louis, the manager of Le Paris told me. He had scanned my body from head to toe in sort of a creepy way, evidently liking what he saw, because he barely even glanced at my application.

  As I was given a tour of the restaurant, it became very obvious that the place catered to a higher-end clientele. It also became obvious to me the reason that my “look” was perfect for the job. Though they were dressed in a much more sophisticated way than the girls at Hooters, it was obvious that Ed liked to see plenty of flesh pushing up out of the uniform tops and lots of long slender leg extending below the skirts.

  “On weeknights, you’ll pull down close to $200 in tips and on Friday and Saturday night, you’ll double that,” Ed had told me at one point during the tour.

  It was pretty much a no brainer for me. I took the job as a waitress at Le Paris, accepted the uniforms and received my training and first week’s schedule written on the back of Ed’s business card. With a sigh of relief, I was ready to start my new life.

  Chapter 3: Viktor “Sabre” Svetleachni

  Some fucking bitch screaming and running down the hall was the first thing I heard on Saturday morning after one hell of a party the night before.

  “What the fuck?” I roared as I shot up out of bed and reached in the nightstand drawer for the .357 that I kept there.

  The girl’s scre
aming had penetrated throughout the house in spite of the fact that the stereo was still hammering out tunes, though, to be fair, it was a ballad that was playing instead of something hardcore, otherwise I might not have paid any attention to the sound.

  Fuming at having been brought out of sleep in such a way, I stood up, making my way toward the bedroom door with the pistol leveled in front of me. The two girls who had joined me for a ménage à trois during the party sat peering at me, wide-eyed, through the mess of hair covering their faces. “Don’t move,” I ordered.

  Not bothering to clothe myself, I opened the bedroom door and started down the hall. There were other people in the house who had been awakened and reacted in the same way, one of whom had already arrived in the doorway of the middle room down the hall.

  “Oh fuck!” he exclaimed turning his head toward me. “It’s Clap.”

  The expression on Gonzo’s face wasn’t a new one to me, and I knew what it meant. Gonzo, standing naked with his revolver hanging at his side, didn’t enter the room. He just turned his head and stared.

  “Jesus, Gonz,” I said as I came to the doorway and started to lower my pistol. “Go put on some fucking shorts.”

  Gonzo backed away and let me enter the room. It didn’t take a forensic specialist to tell me that the massive pool of blood staining the sheets under and next to Jeffery “Clap” Clapton’s neck meant that he was dead. Without touching anything in the room, I moved up closer to the victim and took a look at the fatal wound. It was a very precise cut that was intended to bleed the victim out quickly, but without the arterial spray. Whoever had done it knew exactly what he was doing. That’s when I also noticed the ace of spades lying on his chest.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed and then called out. “Gonzo!”

  “I’m right here,” Gonzo responded quietly from behind me. Instead of going to put on some shorts, he had followed me a couple of steps into the room.