Knuckle Down (The Cursed Ravens MC Series Book 2)

by Chantal Fernando

  I’d only had one conversation with Gage, Erin’s biological father and the Cursed Ravens MC president, but I like him already. He has a twinkle in his eyes when he looks at Erin, and I can tell how much he loves her.

  “Prez didn’t even know he had a kid, so yeah, huge shock is an understatement,” he says, shaking his head and chuckling. “And Erin just walked into the clubhouse like she owned it. Fuck, I’ll never forget that night.”

  I didn’t know that had been her plan, and I wish she’d told me that’s what she was going to do, because I would have insisted I go with her.

  “She’s crazy sometimes,” I mutter under my breath, picturing her storming up to a clubhouse and inviting herself in, then telling everyone she’s their leader’s daughter. You can’t make this shit up.

  “Aren’t we all?” is his enigmatic reply. “How far away is this place? I probably should have asked you that before we left.”

  “About forty-five minutes,” I tell him. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “No,” he says quickly.

  A little too quickly.

  My eyes narrow to slits. “Did Erin tell you that I’m a bad driver? Because she doesn’t even drive, so I don’t think she’s qualified to make that assumption.”

  At least that’s what I tell her whenever she complains about my driving, which is pretty much every time she gets in my car.

  “I heard it took you six times to pass your driving test,” he points out, making a tsk-tsk sound of disapproval. “How does that happen to an overachiever?”

  I gasp. “I’m going to kill Erin. That was secret information, and everyone can’t be perfect at everything. We’re all allowed a few flaws.”

  I’m better at the bookwork, theory side of things, and working with my brain. Practical things can sometimes be a bit of a struggle for me. I’m terrible at trying to piece together furniture, or fix anything. That doesn’t mean I don’t try though. But I usually just pay a handyman now because I don’t have the time.

  “And when I took my driving test, I was a teenager. I’m now a woman with years of driving experience,” I feel the need to also point out.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” he replies cheerfully. “But you are not driving my new car, no matter how nice your legs are.”

  “Fine,” I say, dragging out the word. I turn the music up, starting to sing along to a Taylor Swift song.

  He joins in.

  I never thought I’d see the day when I’m sitting in the car with a biker, singing Tay Tay on my way to the beach.

  Just goes to show, you never know where life will take you.

  6

  “How beautiful is this?” I ask, slowly taking in the breathtaking scenery. “Most people travel the world looking for something like this, but we have it in our own backyard.”

  “It’s amazing,” he agrees, but when I look up he’s looking at me instead of the ocean. “You come here often then?”

  “I used to,” I tell him. “Do you want me to help you carry anything?”

  “Nope, I’ve got it,” he says, putting on the large backpack that he’s managed to fit everything into, cooler in his hands.

  “You’re a stubborn man, aren’t you?”

  “Did you mean to say gentleman?” he asks, gesturing for me to go before him. “After you, beautiful.”

  I walk down the sandy pathway that leads to the beach, Knuckles behind me, carrying enough supplies that it looks like he never plans on leaving. I appreciate his organizational skills though; it feels good not to be the one who does all of that for a change. People usually rely on me for that sort of thing. I stop and bend down to remove my flip-flops, and I hear a muted groan from behind me. I turn my head to see his eyes on my ass, and I wait there, frozen, until he looks me in the eye.

  “What? Can you blame me?” he asks, shrugging. “You’re beautiful. And . . . yeah. Fuck.”

  “How eloquent, friend,” I reply, rolling my eyes and turning back around, walking quicker this time. He really has no filter whatsoever, and I don’t know whether to be annoyed at his . . . I can’t even call it lack of chivalry. He’s always opening doors for me and whatnot, but he also then says things like that, the unfiltered compliments I don’t know how to take. I feel beautiful around him—I can’t deny that—and I also feel safe. I know in my gut he wouldn’t do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. Does he say those things to get a reaction out of me? Maybe I should stop giving him one. He comes to stand next to me as soon as the path widens.

  “There’s hardly anyone here,” he notices, scanning the beach from left to right.

  “It’s a secret spot,” I tell him. “I don’t think it even has a name.”

  “Well, now I feel special that you brought me here,” he says, and I don’t miss the way his lip twitches as he says it.

  “You should be,” I reply. “You could have gone your whole life without seeing the beauty of this place.”

  “This is true,” he agrees with a nod. “Apparently showing up unannounced at a beautiful woman’s house pays off.” He pauses, and then mutters, “Okay, I didn’t mean for that to be as creepy as it sounded.”

  I laugh under my breath. “You do many unannounced drop-ins?”

  “Not usually,” he murmurs. “Actually, unless it’s one of the other men from the MC, pretty much never.”

  “What changed this morning?” I ask him.

  “I don’t know,” he replies, shrugging again. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were all right after last night’s antics, and in person, and was just hopeful you wouldn’t slam the door in my face.”

  I doubt any woman has ever slammed a door in his face in his life.

  “Guess you got lucky then,” I say, glancing around for a good place to sit.

  “I guess so.”

  I choose a spot away from the few other people who are here and take out my round towel from my beach bag and lay it down on the sand while Knuckles starts unpacking everything. I remove my kaftan, leaving me in my one-piece and board shorts, and sit down on the watermelon-printed towel.

  “Want me to do anything?” I ask him, eyeing the very tempting crystal-blue waters. My head isn’t hurting as much anymore, the heat soaking into my skin, and I can’t wait to be in the icy water.

  “Nope, got it under control,” he replies, sinking the umbrella into the sand and placing down his own towel. “Soda or a beer?”

  “Soda, please,” I reply, the thought of alcohol making me want to curl up and die.

  He hands me a cold can, still standing.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, then lifts his shirt off and lets it fall onto the towel. He then removes his jeans, and he’s already wearing a blue pair of board shorts underneath them.

  “You really did come prepared,” I murmur, my eyes going back to his abs, his chest, lightly splattered with dark hair, and his ripped biceps.

  “Wow,” I mutter under my breath, and going by his deep chuckle, he hears me loud and clear.

  He sits down on the towel, spreading his large body out, muscles rippling with each movement. I know it’s rude to stare, but I can’t seem to look away.

  I place my drink down and roll over onto my stomach. “Should we test the water?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He stands and offers me his hand to pull me up. We both stop for a moment, just looking at each other. I want to reach out and touch his skin, his chest, anything, but instead I nod toward the water, flash him a sassy smile, and then run. He chases after me but doesn’t touch me or get too into my personal space, which I appreciate. The water is colder than I anticipated, and I hate the feminine squeal that leaves my mouth as I run in up to my waist, then dive right in. When I resurface Knuckles is underwater, and I lower myself so the water is up to my shoulders as I wait for him. He makes me jump as he comes up just in front of me.

  “I think this might be the most amazing beach I’ve ever been to.”

 
“It’s definitely up there,” I reply, dipping my head back into the water, floating on my back. “So what’s your real name, Knuckles? Or is that confidential information?”

  “Jack. Jack Chester, although no one ever calls me that. I’m surprised you haven’t asked how I got my road name yet.”

  “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know, you tell me,” he challenges, splashing water at me.

  “I’ve seen the scars on your knuckles. You either used to fight a lot, or still do,” I say, being bluntly honest with him. He has no filter, and so I get to return the favor.

  “And yet you’re still here with me, practically alone in the middle of nowhere,” he points out, studying me.

  “Are you judging me?” I ask him, bursting out into laughter. “For being here with you?”

  “Maybe,” he replies, smirking.

  “You’d never hurt me,” I say with confidence. “You’re Erin’s bestie, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “I also don’t think you’re as mean and terrible as you like to think you are,” I say with a serious face. “You’ve been nothing but nice to me, and that is what counts.”

  I splash him, right in the face.

  He wipes his face, then wades through the water after me. I dive, swimming away, but I’m not fast enough because he grabs my leg and pulls me back toward him. I refuse to give up so easily, so I kick at him, trying to get him to let me go. Coming up for air, I turn my body to face him. He holds on to my ankle still, but isn’t doing anything else, so I float in the water and flash him the most charming, sweet smile I can muster.

  “So, what snacks did you bring?” I ask, only for him to laugh at me.

  “Hungry already?”

  “Always hungry. On the plus side, I don’t feel so hungover anymore,” I say, lifting my face to the sunlight. “You have some great ideas, Knuckles.”

  “I think you’re the first person to ever say that,” he says, tone amused. “And I brought fruit, chips, sandwiches, and muffins.”

  “Who made them?” I ask him, curious. I don’t like the idea of a woman making them for him. Stupid, I know, considering I know that in the MC women tend to take care of everything in the kitchen.

  “I did,” he replies, looking proud. “I’m not too shabby in the kitchen. Why, who did you think made them?”

  “I thought maybe you just bought them,” I lie, sliding my ankle out of his hold as I stand up and move closer to him. “I can’t picture you in the kitchen.”

  “Guess you’ll have to see it firsthand when I cook you dinner tonight,” he adds smoothly, smiling down at me. “Whatever your favorite meal is, I’ll make it for you, and it will be the best you’ve ever tasted.”

  My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Your cockiness knows no bounds, does it? You can’t just make claims like that; you don’t even know what my favorite meal is. What if it’s something you’ve never even heard of?”

  “I like a good challenge.”

  And that right there is why I think he’s still coming after me, just as I had suspected.

  “I’ll bet,” I reply, pursing my lips. “And I never agreed to dinner tonight, but then again, you already knew that.”

  “Come on, let’s go feed you,” he replies, infuriating me further. How does Erin like him so much? He’s going to drive me insane, I just know it. I’m still asking myself why I agreed to come here with him today when I’m suddenly thrown up and over a muscled shoulder.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I scream out. “Someone help!”

  There’s no one in listening distance, and we know it. Yeah, there are a few people in sight, but they’re so far away they’re practically dots. I squirm around and slap his bare back, but he doesn’t let me go. With a sigh, I decide to become deadweight and just wait for him to walk to shore.

  He doesn’t even miss a step as we leave the water. “You go to the gym, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes,” he replies as he starts to run with me, then lays me down on my towel.

  “Okay, that was just showing off,” I grumble.

  He brings out all the food while I just watch him. The sandwiches and muffins look really good, and I’m still reeling that he made them all himself. He must have gotten up pretty early, unlike me, who slept until I was too hungry and my body wouldn’t let me anymore.

  “Help yourself,” he says, sitting back and staring at the spread before us. “Not bad for a last-minute decision.”

  “Not bad at all,” I have to agree. I help myself to a muffin, the banana-chocolate flavor making me moan. “Dude, these are amazing.”

  “Told you.”

  He did.

  I wonder what else he’s going to be right about.

  7

  After eating we lounge around for about half an hour before going back into the water. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this relaxed.

  “Did you always want to be a biker?” I ask as I sit on my knees, the water up to my breasts. “I mean, it’s not exactly a career choice.”

  He throws his head back and laughs, and I watch the muscles work in his throat as he does.

  “No, I guess it’s not, although it is lucrative. I’ve always loved riding bikes, but I just did it in my spare time. I was in the army, and when I came back I guess I was kind of lost, and ran into Prez at a biker bar. We got chatting, had a beer together. When I was leaving, I saw him out front surrounded by three men. When the first one went to hit him, I knew I had to do something. Three against one? That’s fuckin’ bullshit. So I stepped in, and the two of us took all the men down. I guess you can say that the rest is history.”

  “That’s a pretty great story,” I reply, smiling. “So being a biker found you, and not the other way around.”

  I think this says a lot about him. He’s obviously an honorable man, and I have even more respect for him now. He served our country, he has honor, he’s a gentleman, and he seems like a great father.

  And he’s sexier than I’d like to admit.

  Why am I resisting him again?

  “Something like that,” he says, droplets of water running down his beard. “How about you? Always wanted to be a journalist?”

  “I’ve always wanted to tell stories, to show everyone a part of the community they might not know about,” I explain. “I love sharing news, observations, and updating everyone on what’s going on in our city. I don’t just love the writing—I also love the chase, searching for the next story. I was always good at English and knew I wanted to do something in that field. At first, I wanted to teach English overseas, but later I changed my mind and went with journalism.”

  “You’re very intelligent and good at what you do. I read some of your articles, remember,” he says.

  “What can I say? I’m more than a pretty face,” I reply with a head tilt and cheeky look. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he murmurs, splashing some water over his shoulders. “Meanwhile, I didn’t even finish high school.”

  “There are different kinds of intellects,” I reply, shrugging. “Not being book smart doesn’t make you any less smart, or maybe you are and just didn’t stick it out. Either way, I can tell you’re smart just by having a conversation with you.”

  He smiles and ducks his head. “Never said I wasn’t, just that I didn’t finish high school.”

  “Oh.”

  I should probably just shut up from now on.

  He laughs. “I’m just fucking with you, I know what you mean, Celina.”

  “Oh, good,” I whisper, feeling a little awkward.

  He gently grabs my waist and pulls me closer to him, his touch sending sparks straight to my nipples, which instantly pebble.

  “I tease; don’t take me seriously,” he says in a gruff tone. “I could listen to you talk all day, you know that? You have the sweetest voice, but you never know what words are going to come out of that mo
uth.”

  “Probably not great considering my line of work,” I say, blinking slowly.

  “You have sass,” he states.

  “You’re saying that like it’s a good thing,” I reply, moving out of his reach.

  “It is,” he says, smirking. “Sweetheart, a man like me needs a strong woman. One who knows exactly who she is and isn’t afraid to show it.”

  “I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” I sniff. “I don’t have any friends to hook you up with. My best friend, Akeira, is married, Erin is with Ace, and I don’t really have any other people I’d call friends.”

  “Stop playing, Celina,” he commands, looking me dead in the eye. “Why are you fighting this?”

  “Why do I need a reason?” I ask him, scowling. “You’re just so used to getting what and who you want that you don’t know what to do now that I’ve told you there will be nothing more than friendship here. Never been friend-zoned before?”

  “You’re in serious denial, you know that?” he says in a gentle way that doesn’t make me defensive, just a little sad.

  “It’s where I need to be right now,” I say, being both honest and vague. I lay back in the shallow water, half floating half sinking. I know I have issues. I’m being weak because I’m not willing to give this man a chance. I’m . . . scared. There, I said it.

  I’m fucking scared.

  I don’t want to get hurt, I don’t want to feel vulnerable, and I don’t want to look stupid by trusting the wrong person again. I’ve been let down by every male who has come into my life. What’s going to make this one any different?

  “Dinner isn’t the end of the world,” he grumbles, sighing. “You’re really difficult, aren’t you?”

  “Do you know how to make chicken biryani?” I ask him, sitting back up in the water, thinking of something I could never even make myself. “It’s Indian food.”

  I sincerely doubt he knows how to make it.

  “I know what it is,” he says, sounding smug. “I can make that. How much chili can you handle?”