by Franca Storm
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Thank You For Reading!
Other Books By Franca Storm
RECKLESS
a BLACK THORNS novel
FRANCA STORM
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
RECKLESS. A Black Thorns Novel.
Copyright © Francesca Julia Gale (2015). All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover Design by Francesca Julia Gale
Cover images provided by:
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The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed”. Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book”.
“You were once wild here. Don’t let them tame you.”
—Isadora Duncan
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my husband - for listening to me going on and on about Ax and Rox for the last few months (pretty much non-stop). And most of all, for being my rock and refusing to let me lose faith even through my worst doubts that this career could work out. I love you.
To Eve Newton - for the advice you gave me about this book. We’ve been through some shit this last year and a half and having you there made all the difference. Thank you for your friendship; it means so much to me.
To my biggest supporters: Chris W, Sue, Cathy R and RES Tidmore - every FB like when no one else was there inspired me to continue on fighting to get my books out there.
To Zack K - thank you for the call that helped me to get back up and keep fighting.
To Kimie and the wonderful ladies of Pussycat Promotions (Sharee T, Kimmy, Sharee B) - you ladies are awesome. You went above and beyond for me and made me feel like part of the family. Thank you so much for getting this book out there. There’s no way I could’ve done it without you!
To all the Bloggers and the amazing FB Pages/Groups (especially, Mary Orr) - thank you for sharing RECKLESS and spreading the word. I truly appreciate it.
To all my amazing fans - thank you for reading. You guys rock!
Chapter 1
~Roxana~
The place is trashed. Tables overturned. Food all over the floor. Plates and glasses shattered behind the counter forming a dangerous carpet of jagged glass and china. Sarah’s sobs just serve to fuel my already seething anger. My fingers instinctively brush the butt of the glock holstered at my right hip, concealed beneath my leather jacket. It’s an instinctive stress reaction. I always do it when something riles me up. It helps to ground me; to bring me out of that haze of red and back to the immediate situation.
I drop my hand after a few seconds and cross to the cash register. The drawer is hanging open at an abnormal angle, telling me that it’s another thing those fuckers broke. As I peer inside, sure enough, it’s bare. Greedy bastards. It’s not like they need the money. This was just the work of a temper tantrum.
Fucking bikers.
The Devil’s Mavericks, to be more precise.
“Rox!” Sarah cries, rushing over to me and throwing her arms around me.
Sarah Hughes is the owner of this diner; a local hot spot in this part of the City of Brockford. She’s about my age—early thirties. When she’d first set foot in Brockford a few years ago, she was in a bad state. She’d just escaped a bad situation with her abusive ex and she’d come here to start over. But just like most naïve young things that come to this city, she got desperate really fast when the small amount of savings that she had started to dry up after a few weeks. I was on my way through one of the seedy strip clubs around here to shake down the asshole owner when I spotted her. She was there to start her first shift. I recognized that terror in her eyes; borne from being forced into a bad situation in order to survive. I’d stopped her and helped her open this diner. Turned out she had some mad skills in the kitchen. The place has been a huge success since.
And now it’s trashed.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, rubbing her back to comfort her. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course,” she murmurs.
“We’ll fix this.”
“‘Til the next time,” a deep, gritty voice booms through the empty diner.
What the hell? I break from Sarah and spin around to see some asshole I don’t recognize walking in. He’s scanning the diner with intense interest, like he’s inspecting the place or something.
“Go upstairs to your apartment,” I tell Sarah.
She doesn’t argue. She recognizes my tone of voice instantly—no room for argument—and hurries away through the back.
I glare at the guy. “Who the fuck are you?”
The corner of his mouth turns up, like he’s amused by my question.
He’s built; all muscle and he has at least a foot on my five foot and change height. He takes long strides towards me with a confident swagger. As he gets closer I can make out the outline of his abs through the thin material of his black t-shirt. Wow. Solid muscle. My gaze dips a little lower to his jeans that look as though they’re straining to contain those muscled legs of his—and other things.
I cringe as I take in his leather cut. I see the 3-piece patch there, identifying him as a member of a MC. The name of the city on the bottom rocker lets me know which club right off the bat. REIRDON FALLS. Their territory—the town next door to my city. I take in the crest—thorns wrapping around a dagger—the crest of the Black Thorns MC, a club I’m unfortunately more than a little familiar with. The V. President signifier doesn’t escape my notice either.
His silky black hair is a little overgrown; perhaps a few months’ old crew cut that he couldn’t be bothered to maintain. And his eyes are a deep blue, just like mine. He’s young—younger than I’d imagined a VP would be. He can’t be more than thirty.
“Ax,” he says, stopping in front of me. Right in front of me.
He’s too close, but I can’t step back. That would be a sign of weakness. His eyes wander over me, taking their sweet ass time to evaluate every inch of me. My tank top and jeans. My steel-toe boots. He lingers a little longer on my leather jacket and his eyes flash briefly. He’s obviously
registered that I’m packing.
“What’s a little thing like you doing with that?”
Little thing? “Keep talking like that and I’ll show you how good I am with it.”
He smirks and lifts the right side of his cut, giving me a glimpse of a Desert Eagle there. “You show me yours, I show you mine.”
“Overcompensating, are you?” I ask, commenting on the size of the damn thing versus my glock.
He leans down, his eyes burning into mine as he growls, “You asking for a demonstration?”
Does this dickhead really think he can intimidate me? I’m used to dealing with guys like him sporting major macho complexes. “You won’t be able to handle me, biker boy.”
His mouth twitches and he steps back. “You’ve got some attitude, woman.”
“Yeah, guys like you bring it out in me.”
“Guys like me?”
I screw up my face with distaste. “Bikers.”
He narrows his eyes. “That right?”
I brush past him roughly, putting my elbow into it for good measure. But it has no effect on him. Damn, it’s like he’s made of hard steel or something. I manage to extricate myself and I pull out my phone. “Yeah,” I mutter over my shoulder as I start keying in notes on my Task List app of what needs fixing as I walk around the diner surveying the damage. “Now, turn around and get out. As you can see, this place isn’t in any condition to serve anyone right now. Hop back on your bike, ride back to your clubhouse and command one of your women to feed you. That’s what they’re there for, right? To serve you—your stomach and your dick.”
“Wow.”
“Go,” I reiterate. “In case you’re even dumber than I already took you for, I’ll spell it out. I’m busy here. Get out and leave me to it.”
“That’s gonna be a problem.”
Shit! He’s right behind me! He moves like a damn ghost. Quite a feat for such a beast of a man.
Thankfully, my body doesn’t betray me by flinching or anything. I’m not gonna turn around either. He’s already had too much of my attention.
I take a step away. He grabs me. His strong hand traps my shoulder in a vise-grip. My reaction is instantaneous. I move quickly, sweeping my leg at the back of his knee to destabilize him. His grip loosens in an automatic response and I take the opportunity to twist away, breaking his hold on me.
He holds up his hands quickly. “Calm down.”
“Calm down? You put your hands on me!”
“Sorry.”
Sorry? Since when do guys like him apologize? Like I care. “Apology not accepted. Now get out.”
“I’m looking for someone.”
God, how persistent is this guy? “Good for you.”
His jaw ticks and his body tenses at my rude dismissal. “Just to be clear, this shit here…” he gestures around the diner. “Ain’t got nothing to do with my club.”
“I’m well aware. The Devil’s Mavericks are responsible for this shit show.”
“It’s why I’m here.”
“What?” I snap.
“To put an end to this bullshit. So, instead of giving me grief, you might wanna start talking, babe. Help you and your partner out here?”
“My partner?”
“The girl who ran upstairs?”
“This is her diner, not mine.”
“Fine. Whatever,” he says, blowing out a breath. “The person I’m looking for is RJ. You know where he’s at?”
Adrenaline spikes through my body, putting me on high alert instantly.
“What do you want with him?
“Like I said; I’m here to help.”
“Your help isn’t needed.”
“Afraid it is, babe.”
“Run on home and tell Trigger to keep his nose out of my business,” I seethe.
Realization flashes in his eyes.
“That’s right. RJ is me. Roxana James. I go by Rox.”
“You know Trig? He never mentioned nothing.”
“Guess he was too ashamed.” Just referencing that controlling prick gets my blood boiling. I take an aggressive step forward, glaring up at him. “Or, maybe he just likes to keep his errand boys on a need-to-know. Either way, I don’t care.”
“Errand boy?” he seethes. “I’m VP.”
“Congratulations on that accomplishment,” I snicker.
He glares at me, pissed.
I’m done with this bullshit. “Look, I hate bikers. I hate your club almost as much as I hate the Mavs. There’s no way I would even consider doing business with you guys. Not after last time.”
“Last time?”
“Just go.”
“You need my help, woman.”
“The hell I do.”
I move away from him. I can’t stand another second being just a foot from him. Worryingly, it’s not just because I hate what he is. It’s…he affected me. When he touched me it was electric. It’d sparked a fire in places that it shouldn’t have. Just a split second thing, but enough to unsettle me. And that kind of reaction to a biker, of all people, is the last thing I need. The sooner I get him out of here, the better.
As I make my way to the door, ready to send him on his merry way, he calls out:
“Skinner.”
I stop in my tracks. An awful chill runs through me. It takes me a moment to get a grip and when I finally do manage it, my words come out as a pitiful squeak, “What about him?”
“I got intel that says he’s moving in here. Needs confirming and that’s why I’m here. But if he is, this mess here is the least of your problems.” He walks over to me. “You want my help now?”
Shit. This is bad, really bad. I take a breath and glare up at Ax. Dammit. I can’t believe I’m about to do what I am. But I need to know what this guy knows about Skinner supposedly coming here. I can’t let that happen, so I need to do anything I can to prevent it.
“Well?” he presses impatiently.
I nod. “Let’s talk, biker boy.”
Chapter 2
~Ax~
Sitting on the couch, I scan her place quickly—a gut reaction in my line of work. Knowing shit ‘round you can mean the difference between staying alive and taking a bullet between the eyes.
When we’d first pulled up here, I’d figured she’d taken me to some sort of safe house. But now I’ve checked out the place, it looks like it’s her actual home. It ain’t barebones like most safe houses. It’s fully furnished. Decorated. And there’s a bunch of personal stuff lying ‘bout like the shoes and coats by the front door as well as photos and shit hanging on the walls.
She sits on the arm of the leather couch opposite me and folds her arms across her chest, a defensive action if I ever saw one. “So, talk, biker boy,” she orders.
Biker boy? That’s pissing me the fuck off. “Ax,” I seethe.
“A nickname. What’s your real name?”
Fair question seeing as though she told me hers. But hell if I’m gonna tell her mine. Telling me hers is her mistake. No one outside the club needs to know any personal stuff ‘bout me. And definitely not this ball-busting bitch. “Ax,” I repeat.
She glares at me for a second, before going on, “You’re new to the VP role. You weren’t around a couple of years ago.”
How’s she know that? And how the fuck she know Trig? Way she reacted to his name seemed like she ain’t a fan and he’s pissed her off somehow. Why didn’t the bastard tell me he had a history with her before he sent me down here? If there’s one thing I hate, it ain’t knowing shit ‘bout people I gotta deal with. And this bitch knowing shit don’t sit well with me.
I just nod. I ain’t gonna get into it with her. Ain’t her fucking business.
“They brought you in during the shakeup, huh? Got rid of that sick bastard before you, so you guys could start your whole legitimate vision?”
What the fuck? Bitch knows way too much.
Guess she sees it on my face, cuz she tells me, “Know your enemies.”
Speaking of,
I been struggling to get a read on her. Showed me she’s a professional at the diner and seemed she knew what she’s doing. But then she brings me here, to her damn home? Don’t add up. Why’d she risk it? Says Thorns is her enemy and who brings their enemy into their fucking home?
“What’s your damage, woman?”
“What?” she snaps.
“You stupid? That it? Bringing a guy you dunno to your home? A guy who’s VP of a MC you call your enemy and shit?”
She smirks. “I have my reasons. Why? Are you planning on roughing me up?”
Roughing her up? If anyone else spouted the shit she’s been, disrespecting me and the club like that, wouldn’t be a question ‘bout it. Woulda been roughed up good. A done deal. But I don’t beat on women. Some of the brothers might not respect that line, but I do. Ain’t never laid my hands on a woman that way and I ain’t never gonna. Ain’t my father.
But I do wanna lay my hands on her in another way. The second she started mouthing off to me earlier, I was down for that. Had a permanent hard on since she threatened to pull her gun on me.
Talk ‘bout throwing me through a loop. Such a demented response. Know she meant business, but my dick was in the driving seat. If it’d come down to it, I probably woulda let her pull the damn thing just for the sick thrill of seeing a sight like it.
I ain’t used to women like her. In the club, they know their fucking place and shit. But this bitch ain’t nothing like them. Been messing with me all over the place since I walked into that diner. That smart mouth of hers should piss me off big time. It does, but that ain’t the end of the story. It fucking turns me on too. Fucking hot shit.
It don’t help that she’s such a fine piece of ass. Tight little body. Perky tits that’d make a sweet handful. Her silky dark brown hair that I wanna fist my hands in and tug on hard. And those deep blue eyes of hers? Fucking sexy as sin.
Yeah, she hates bikers. But I ain’t never let hatred get in the way of a good fuck. And while I’m stuck in this hell hole of a city on club business, I got time to play.
