Dangerous
By
Tory Richards
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2018 Tory Richards
All Rights Reserved.
Published by Tory Richards
Tory Richards: http://www.toryrichards.com
Email: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, 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.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Editor: Alisha Corsi
Cover Artist: Madelene Martin
‘Author’s note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.’
Chapter 1
Luna
I stared at myself in the mirror that hung on the bathroom door, seeing a free woman for the first time in ten years. Free, but at what cost? I knew that if Seth found me he’d hurt me, or worse, force me to go back to him. It would have been easy to dwell on that thought right now, considering that I’d only escaped his clutches less than a week ago, but I’d promised myself that if I ever got away from him I would learn to live again. I’d promised myself, and my parents, and I deserved that.
My new life had started with a drive from Key West that ended in Lake George, a small town in New York in the Adirondack Mountains. I’d known exactly where I was going when I’d set out. My grandfather had passed away a long time ago, leaving to my parents an old trailer in a fish camp that was located in Lake George. My dad had used it once or twice over the years, but he enjoyed deep sea fishing more than lake fishing. So the trailer had just sat empty, left to the elements.
I intended to make it my new home, but when I'd arrived early on Friday morning it was plain to see that I had my work cut out for me before the trailer could begin to be called a home. It was smaller than I’d expected, a tiny 1963 Shasta travel trailer, the top half white, the bottom half red. With the exception of a shower, it had all of the comforts of home, but needed a serious cleaning.
The one positive was that the gas was working, thanks to my parents, who had hired someone to take care of it before I arrived. At least I would be able to use the kitchen appliances and the bathroom. I’d have to make do with sponge bathes until I figured something out with the shower. Considering my circumstances, it could have been worse. That had become my new mantra.
My first cleaning project was the tiny sleeping space at the front of the kitchen near the door, which also doubled as a sofa. It pulled out to make a double bed, but I was small enough to sleep comfortably without the hassle. I'd had to rip out and toss the nasty cushions away before scrubbing and disinfecting everything down. A quick trip to the local Walmart I found a pair or new, firmer cushions for sleeping, a couple of throw pillows, and curtains for the windows.
The tiny bathroom, which consisted of nothing more than a toilet with a shelf over it, had come next. I’d scrubbed the toilet down before moving on to the walls and the floor. There wasn’t much that could be done to make it pretty, but the new rug and towel set had made it feel homier. Later, I would add a couple of pictures, but for now the vase of wildflowers I’d set on the shelf over the toilet added some needed color against the drab, tan walls.
Right now, I was standing naked in the kitchen, giving myself a sponge bath before I walked down to the camp tavern for lunch. It was a rundown-looking building that sat right on the water, and they served up the best seafood and fresh fish around. I already knew the folks who ran it, having eaten there every day since I’d arrived. Bob and Judy were the sweet, elderly couple who owned the tavern, and they had two waitresses, Karla and Barbara, who also happened to be sisters.
I dried myself off and slipped into my clothes, pulled my long hair up into a high ponytail to get it off the back of my neck, and then slipped my feet into a pair of flip flops. Before leaving my little home, I checked my pockets to make sure that I had some money and then took off walking to the tavern. It was only a two minute walk, and sometimes I encountered other campers on my walk over, which was nice, knowing that I wasn’t completely alone at the camp.
The nights there were dark and slightly scary.
Further down the road was a motorcycle club. They'd taken over an entire campground area that included a restaurant, which I'd later found out had been turned into their clubhouse. A number of the cabins had been converted into homes for their members for the summer months. Because there was only once entrance to the campground, they'd driven by on their bikes many times since I’d arrived. I'd even seen a few in the tavern, but most of the time they stayed to themselves at their end of the lake.
I wasn't sure how I felt about their presence, but I was thankful that they didn’t come around my side of the lake. I didn't know much about motorcycle clubs, other than the little I'd heard on the news. From what I’d heard, most of them operated like gangs and were involved in illegal activities. Still, I wasn't usually one to judge. I liked to draw my own conclusions about people.
When I was about a minute into my walk to the tavern I stopped short at the sight of a large dog running toward me. A few barks were met with a sharp command from his owner to come back, but the dog ignored the order. Right before the tail wagging golden retriever reached me, the woman yelled out, “He won’t hurt you!”
I laughed, because the dog had already thrown his weight against me in a friendly, overzealous action that made me stumble back before I could brace myself. As I bent to pat his head, he jumped up and began to lick the side of my face.
“Down, Samson! I’m so sorry,” the young woman said once she’d reached us. She pulled Samson back by his collar.
“No worries,” I smiled. “I love animals." Growing up, I'd had my share of dogs, cats, birds, and hamsters, but Seth hadn't liked animals so there hadn't been any in my life the last few years. "He’s beautiful.”
“He’s a pest,” she said, still struggling with the active, tail-wagging pooch. “I’m Casey, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Luna.”
We shared a smile, and then both turned when we heard the sound of thundering motorcycles on the road. There were four men riding our way, none of whom were wearing helmets, and I immediately identified them as members of the club down the road. Their attire was identical. From the waist down, they wore jeans and black boots, and from the waist up they wore black t-shirts beneath leather vests with various patches. I also noticed chains hanging from their belts to their pockets. They all had long hair, tattoos, and some degree of facial hair.
The other thing that I noticed they had in common was that they were all brutes, and it was obvious they either worked out or that whatever they did for a living kept them in shape. It was easy to see that they were all tall and appealing in their own rights. However, it was the man in the lead with the bulging biceps and the ropes of veins lining his defined forearms that held my interest. He had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen, the kind that seemed to cut right through you while not missing a thing. His hardened face, tanned by the sun, was attractive if you were into the rugged, square-jawed look.
Everything about him checked all of the boxes for a woman who was in the market for a dangerous bad boy, which I wasn't. Hell, the last thing I needed was a man. His silent perusal unnerved me though, because I had a feeling that he was dissecting me, that he could see all my secrets. It left me feeli
ng raw and vulnerable, and I'd had enough of that particular feeling. I glanced away from him to relay my indifference.
As Casey and I stood together I thought that the bikers would continue past us, but they surprised me by pulling up next to us and stopping. When one of the men jumped off his bike, Casey let go of Samson and jumped into his arms with a girlish squeal.
“Jim!” she cried with a wide smile on her face. "I didn't know you were coming back today!"
“Hey, baby.” His tone was gruff in an expression that matched Casey's. It was clear that there was something special between them.
They hugged and kissed for several seconds, making enough noise that it became uncomfortable to watch. I glanced away, meeting the eyes of the biker who'd pulled up next to Jim. He was greeting Samson, but his eyes were on me. There was a twinkle in his blue eyes, as if he sensed my embarrassment at the public display, and he winked at me. Not wanting to seem rude, I smiled, but then looked away.
“Hey, sweetness, you with Casey?” one of the other bikers asked. He had red hair, a full red beard and a crinkle at the corners of his green eyes that showed that he had some age on him. If I had to guess, I’d have said he was close to fifty.
“No, we just met,” I explained.
“You staying here in camp?” a blonde God asked, showing a row of even white teeth behind his scruff. He was without a doubt the handsomest man I’d ever met, and young, maybe even younger than my twenty-eight years. The twinkle in his green eyes warned me that he was dangerous, but only to a woman’s heart.
“I live here.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized that I probably shouldn’t have admitted it, but if they were going to be around for a while they’d have figured it out sooner or later. Since Casey and Jim were involved and oblivious to their surroundings, I decided to continue my walk to the tavern. “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way.” I started to walk around them, proud of myself for managing to avoid looking at the rugged brute that had made me feel uncomfortable, uncomfortable with the way that he affected my lady bits.
“What’s the hurry, darlin'?” This came from the biker that I'd been hoping to avoid. Samson had moved away, and the man's hands were resting on top of his thick thighs as he balanced his bulk on his bike.
He was wearing biker gloves, the half-finger kind. As I glanced over the patches on his vest, I noticed that he had one on that said “Nomad”, while the other bikers’ patches revealed that they were in the Wreckers MC. His muscular bulk, the bulging muscles that I'd already noticed in his arms, revealed that he was a powerful man. He was nowhere near as handsome as the blonde God, but there was something about him that made him appealing, too appealing for my peace of mind. His square jaw and strong, firm mouth was sensual. Even though his eyes reflected friendliness, I got the impression that this man was dangerous and someone to be careful around.
“I’m hungry,” I finally said, as if that explained everything. I ignored the chuckles of two of his friends, mesmerized by the steel blue of his eyes as they dropped down my body in a lazy assessment that stole my breath.
“Me too,” he returned, his gaze roaming back up my body. "And you're just my type."
Instant heat flushed through me. He was teasing me, and I didn't like the quirk on his mouth. The way he was looking at me made me feel naked in my jean cutoffs and clinging t-shirt. As I felt my nipples betray me by hardening beneath his stare, I took a breath and forced myself to walk away.
"Sounds like your problem," I said indifferently.
There was no way I was getting involved with an obvious bad ass when I’d just gotten rid of one.
Well, one who’d thought he was, anyway.
Chapter 2
Jace
Damn, she was fucking hot! For a blonde. I'd never been attracted to blondes. I couldn’t tell you why. Hell, I'd come across quite a few blonde beauties in my travels, from the bottle and all natural, but if they were in a room full of redheads and brunettes I went for the brunette every time. Redheads were my second choice. And, to be honest, if there were no other options and I was horny enough, I'd do a blonde. I may have been picky, but my dick didn't give a fuck.
The blonde walking away from me now had a ton of silky hair that made me wonder how it would feel wrapped around my hand. Hair like that was good for holding on to, which led me to think about other things. My dick jerked, reminding me that we needed relief. It had been too damned long since I'd felt a woman wrapped around me, her mouth doing all kinds of wondrous shit to my dick. Yeah, I said wondrous.
I tried not to turn and watch her walk away, but found myself being drawn to her reflection in my rearview mirror. I didn’t need trouble right now, and that little girl spelled big trouble. Still, I couldn’t resist watching that curvy ass bounce with each of her steps. There was something about her that told me that she didn’t belong there. Despite her casual clothes, she looked pampered, too soft. I’d have bet anything that she was running away from something, slumming it for the first time in her life.
Yeah, my dick might not have agreed, but I didn’t need trouble in the form of a pert little bundle of curves with enough fucking hair we could both get tangled up in. I took a breath, ordering my libido to behave. There were plenty of women around in the Wreckers' clubhouse to give me what I needed. No need to chase trouble, even if she did have the kind of curves that my hands craved. I released a resigned breath as her shapely little ass disappeared into the tavern.
"Like to tap that, brother?" Roy had apparently noticed my interest in the woman. I turned to him to see a smirk on his bearded face and shrugged. "Thought you didn't like blondes."
Grinning, I said, "When you've been as long as I have without pussy, you tend to overlook the color of a woman's hair."
"And why is that, man?" Dober joined in. "Our clubhouse has plenty of free pussy."
I snorted. "Yeah, and all the good ones are claimed." I thought about Raze, Wolfman, and Reaper's old ladies, Rosa, Bee, and Marie. Lucky fuckers. How they'd managed to get hold of prime pussy like those three beauties was beyond me. Christ, Raze was a hot-tempered bastard, Wolfman looked like the fucking wolfman, and Reaper was all scarred up.
"CC's been dying to get hold of your dick."
I gave Roy a nod of acknowledgement. Yeah, that'd been obvious from the start. I'd been going to the Wreckers' MC and had done a few jobs for them for about seven years. CC had always made it known that she was available, but I wasn't feeling it for the long-time club whore. In fact, none of the club women interested me. Twenty years ago I would have been all over them, and wouldn’t have given a fuck that they spread their legs for anyone. At forty-four, I'd reached an age where I was a little more selective.
"What about Toya?" Dober suggested. "That girl knows how to suck dick. I'm telling ya, man, you'll think you've got a vacuum going down on you," he laughed lewdly, grabbing the front of his pants.
His description was less than appealing to me. "Let me worry about my dick," I suggested, hoping that it would put an end to the conversation. I was eager to get to the clubhouse for a drink, and maybe something to eat. Jim and Casey were still going ga ga over each other, and my patience was wearing thin. "Hey, look, I'm going to head on. See you back at the clubhouse."
I didn't wait for their responses. We'd just returned from a run, and I was damned tired. I’d gone along just for the hell of it, and now I was ready to kick back and relax. And who knew, maybe by the end of the evening one of the girls would manage to interest me. I revved my engine and took off, reaching the clubhouse in less than five minutes. It was located on the same road, on the lake, and at the entrance to the cabins beyond. Once a fishing camp, the Wreckers had purchased it and converted for their use.
The fact that there was only one road in and out and the building was protected by the lake on one side and the mountains on the other made for the perfect setup for an active MC with rivals. There had only been one time that another MC had tried to infiltrate the Wreckers' club
house by lake access, right after Raze had kidnapped Rosa and brought her to the club. I'd happened to be there to discuss business with Reaper when the trouble had gone down.
I backed my bike into a spot in front of the restaurant and dismounted. A couple of brothers stumbled out when I opened the door to go inside. They were drunker than skunks and clinging to the shoulders of their women. It was hard to distinguish if they were old ladies or club whores from the way that they were dressed. I exchanged chin nods with the men as we passed one another. I couldn't help but smile as I caught the disgusted mumblings of the women as they helped them walk.
As soon as I stepped inside I was swallowed up by the club life of brothers, old ladies, and club whores. I was a nomad by choice, and that meant that I didn't belong to any MC. I was friends with many, even clubs that were rivals with each other, and I did shit for all of them as long as they paid me. The jobs I took were dangerous, and usually involved finding someone who didn't want to be found, and sometimes killing. When I was hired for a hit, I made sure that the intended victim deserved to die, especially if they were civilians.
I was a killer, but I had a fucking conscious.
"Hi, Jace." I felt her breath against the back of my neck before she slithered around to my front, making sure that her body rolled solidly against me. "I'm on a break. Feel like some company?"
I couldn't help but grin into the face of CC's obvious invitation. Looking a little tired and worn, she was still a beautiful woman. I knew that she'd been with the Wreckers for a long time, long enough that if a brother was going to make her an old lady he would have done it by now. Still, she stuck around and held out hope. Word was that she'd worked her way through the club, trying to sink her hooks into any brother with an officer's patch. Gradually, one by one, they had all found old ladies, and none of them had been her.
Dangerous (Nomad Outlaws Trilogy Book 2) Page 1
