by Deja Voss
Above & Below
Mountain Misfits MC Prologue
Deja Voss
Copyright © 2018 by Deja Voss
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
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
Never Coming Down
Shout Outs!
Get in Touch!
Chapter 1
Esther
Sloan:
“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
I am helping Olive curl her long blonde hair into tight rings as she works on gluing the big, thick fake eyelashes to her eyelids. I’d long ago accepted her life as a free spirit and realized the only thing I could do was be the most supportive best friend possible regardless of her life choices.
This situation is a little trickier to wrap my brain around than her previous brilliant ideas, but who am I to judge? I just admitted to the DEA that I conspired to sell heroin to pay my student loans. If they found me innocent, surely I could white-knuckle my way through Olive’s stripper phase.
“I don’t see why not. Rent, car payment and sushi every night for the next month just for showing up and taking off my clothes? Shit, what more could a girl ask for?” She laughs. Her bubblegum pink lipstick matches the tips of her hair, and by the glimmer in her bright blue eyes, I can tell she’s dead serious.
“Well, when you put it like that… why don’t you sign me up for next time? We can double down.”
“Oh shut up, Sloan. You don’t need this. You’re going to be a surgeon.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, grabbing the hairspray to hold the springy ringlets in place. “Cover your eyes.”
“Don’t even maybe me. You’re good now. You’re free. Everyone knows you’re innocent. Clean slate, baby.”
I spray her head down and she finishes off her eyelashes with silver glitter mascara.
“How do I look?” she asks, spinning around on my tile floor.
“Pretty?” I say, not wanting to state the obvious.
Her fringed thong leotard leaves very little to the imagination. Her silver-tipped stilettos look like an accident waiting to happen.
She lets out a loud sigh.
“Ok, seriously, you look beautiful, Olive.” She really does. No matter how much she tries to disguise herself in over-the-top slut gear, she always looks beautiful. She just doesn’t see it like everyone else in the whole entire world does.“Well, thanks. But do I look like a stripper?” she asks, popping her hip dramatically.
“I don’t know. I haven’t spent much time in the clubs. I’ve been meaning to, but by the time I get off work, all the best girls are already busy doing private dances.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“How’d you even get tangled up in this scheme?” I ask. “I thought your bartending job at Cleary’s was going really well.”
“My boss hired his fiancée and my hours got cut in half, so I told him to get bent. This is a much better gig anyway. I work for myself, whatever hours I want, and get to keep all my tips. Rachel hooked me up with this job, but I think after this gig, I’ll make a website or something and start my own business.”
I love her gumption. She makes everything sound so easy. She sees the best in every situation, but sometimes details go over her head.
“Do you have protection?” I ask seriously.
“Like these?” She whips out a strip of cherry-flavored condoms from her makeup bag.
“What the hell do you have those for?” I’m more overwhelmed by the sheer quantity than anything. “I mean like a bodyguard or something. You don’t know what could happen, Ollie. I don’t want you to feel like you’re in a situation that’s out of your control.”
“Aren’t you driving me?”
And that’s a prime example of her lack of attention to detail.
I’m a fit chick and I can hold my own, but I’m fairly certain I don’t have the intimidation factor like some tattooed bodybuilder named Spike might have.
“You can use my gun.”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve spent the last six years of my life resisting the urge to shoot someone in a house full of weapons.”
“Pepper spray?”
“You didn’t really think this out, did ya?”
“Seriously, don’t worry. These are personal clients of Rachel’s. I’m sure they’re fine.”
“Or she’s pawning them off on you.” I shrug.
She slides a pair of cutoff jean shorts on over her leotard and puts on a button-down gingham blouse. She puts on her cowboy hat and downs the last of her beer.
“Yee-haw!” she squeals, and I just shake my head.
I throw a bag of sunflower seeds and a stack of magazines I’d been meaning to read for the last month in my purse. “You ready to do this thing?”
“Here,” she says, tossing me a can of pepper spray.
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“I have a vague idea. Hopefully GPS works out there.”
I feel like some sort of fucked-up pageant mom, touching up her lip liner and giving her an extra coat of hairspray. I’ve learned with Olive it’s better to just cooperate than try and fight. She’s my rock, my best friend for life, my constant support system. Offering her the same in return is the least I can do, even if it means offering her up to a roomful of horny guys. She’s going to do whatever she wants, whether I’m there or not. Might as well be there, just in case.
The GPS on my phone is taking us down some dark back roads. No street lights. No buildings. No traffic. There are tiny camps and cabins every few miles, but the only signs of life I catch are the glowing eyeballs of deer feeding on the side of the road. My geriatric Honda Civic is not exactly thrilled by the terrain.
“This looks like some sketchy-ass hillbilly shit, Olive,” I warn. “You sure you still want to do this?”
I accidentally ram my car into a pothole and cringe as I feel the body quake and crunch. It’s not damaged, but the reality of the situation is starting to set in.
“Were you serious about that gun?” I ask her. The last thing I want is to be stranded out here in the sticks with no way to keep us safe from whatever might be bumping around in the night.
“Yeah. We’re good.”
“In one-quarter mile, your destination will be on the right,” the GPS chirps, and I’m half expecting to be greeted by a dilapidated shack filled with killer clowns. It’s just creepy out here, not knowing where you’re going.
“Holy shit,” Olive whispers.
The mansion on the side of the hill lights up the night on the road below. We pull up to a giant wrought iron gate with ornate elk and trees carved into it.
“Hit the buzzer?” she stammers.
I press the button.
“Yeah?” a gruff voice on the other side of an intercom says.
“Ummm… we’re the entertainment,” I say, not sure w
hat the protocol is for things like this.
“What now?” The man sounds confused.
“I have the dancer?” Olive is cracking up in the passenger seat at my awkward attempt to sugarcoat the situation.
“Oh shit, ok.” The gate opens before us and I pull to the other side and stop. A younger guy with a leather vest comes to my window and I roll it down. He’s holding a clipboard. “Which ones are you?”
“I’m filling in for Rachel O’Neil,” Olive says.
“And who are you?” he asks me.
“She’s my bodyguard.”
He looks me up and down, utterly confused, and shakes his head. “Good enough, I guess.” He laughs. We drive up the long winding driveway to the giant house on top of the hill.
“I think I hit the jackpot on this one.”
I pull to the front door and stop.
“Good luck, superstar.”
“You’re not coming in?”
I don’t feel awesome about letting her walk into this place blindly, but I’m watching as people are being frisked at the door, and I’m pretty certain my gun and pepper spray won’t make it through. Curiosity definitely has the best of me, but I don’t need any excitement in my life right now. I’m done with excitement. I’m ready to bury my nose in a magazine full of the top one hundred autumn slow cooker recipes, and if I get bored, maybe I’ll study for a little bit.
“I’ll be right over there.” I point to the nearest parking spot. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Only one way to find out,” she giggles. As she steps out of the car, she wobbles on her high heels, almost tripping.
“Love you, Olive,” I shout. “Knock ’em dead.”
Chapter 2
I park over by the edge of a hill overlooking the town below. It’s a clear, beautiful evening, the sky illuminated by the moon hanging high overhead. The treetops look like they are glowing under the blanket of stars.
I get out of the car. The first warm nights of the summer are upon us, but it’s not humid at all. It is perfect. There’s a big boulder on the side of the hill and I sit down, stretching my legs out. It’s been a long, strange trip to get here, but at this moment, I feel peaceful.
I can hear the music blaring from the party going on behind me, but I don’t care. I feel like I’m in my own little world up here, safe from all my problems down below. I listen as the peep frogs sing their songs of the season, lightning bugs flickering away, lighting up the forest in random spurts.
“It’s awesome up here, isn’t it?” I hear a voice say. I’m startled, snapped out of my solace and smacked with the reality that I’m among strangers.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says. “I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”
I turn around to see who’s talking to me, and my brain turns to mush. He’s gorgeous. Tall and built, with a scruffy black beard covering his chiseled jawline. His eyes are as black as the night sky. Tight jeans, leather cut, one hundred percent trouble waiting to happen. Nothing wrong with a man in uniform, even if that uniform means “I’ll break your heart and steal your wallet.”
I instantly feel self-conscious in my leggings and t-shirt. I was so worried about getting Olive perfectly presentable that I didn’t even think about myself.
“Slow your roll, sister,” I think. I’m in no mental state for even a one-night stand with this big bad wolf. I can still enjoy looking at him, though.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks. “Where’s your old man?”
“In jail!” I want to say. But that’s probably a little too much too soon.
“I don’t have one. I’m actually just waiting for a friend.”
“Oh. Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so.” I stand up and offer him my hand. “I’m Sloan.”
Bad move. Now we’re touching. Olive is wrong. My lady parts are not broken at all. Now I’m just being crazy. I don’t even know this person. For all I know, he could be a murderer, or even worse, married. My mind is screaming run away, but my legs won’t move.
“I’ll get out of here,” I say.
“You should stay.” He sits down on the rock and motions for me to join him. “I’m Gavin, by the way.”
Fuck. Even his name is sexy. It could be Ted Bundy or Charles Manson; as long as it’s attached to him it would still be hot.
“Vice President, huh?” I ask, reading the patch on his vest. “Sounds pretty important.” I’d heard of the Mountain Misfits MC before, just like everyone else in town. Nobody knew much about these guys, but rumor had it they were the worst of the worst outlaws, living out their days high up in the mountains to avoid prosecution from society below.
The only crime this guy is committing is on my ability to act sensibly. I’m not afraid of bad boys. I am, however, a sucker for bulging biceps covered in ink and crisp white t-shirts.
Chapter 3
Gavin:
I can tell why she’d want to keep her distance. She definitely doesn’t belong here. It’s not in how she dresses or how she talks, but more in the way that she’s staring out into the tree line, like she’s looking for something far beyond this mountain.
Something about her makes me want to pull her in close, though. She’s definitely sad. Beautiful, but sad. If I had a girl like her, I’d probably spend the rest of my life doing everything I could to see her happy.
I pull out a flask of moonshine from my pocket and take a pull. I offer it to her and she shakes her head.
“Normally, yes, but I’m driving,” she says.
I’d be more than happy to accommodate her for the evening, but I’m not getting that vibe from her.
“You live around here?” she asks.
“Actually, I live here.”
“Nice house,” she says. “I would’ve never guessed it was up here.”
“That’s what we’re going for. Actually, it’s the clubhouse.”
“Oh, so you’re like in a gang?”
She doesn’t seem judgmental in the way she says it, just casual, as if it’s a perfectly normal concept to her.
“I mean if you want to call it that. More like a family of men who love motorcycles and the mountains.”
“And strippers?” She laughs.
“Only the best for my little brother’s high school graduation.”
“Oh, Lord,” she giggles. “That’s what this is?”
“Who the hell are you, Sloan? What are you doing here?”
“Honestly, my free-spirited best friend decided she was going to give exotic dancing a whirl. I got roped into driving her. I’m supposed to be her bodyguard, too.”
We both start laughing at the ridiculousness of this. Her smile is so genuine and soft. In the moonlight, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. In the moonlight, she looks like the woman who’s going to be my wife someday.
“Did you see her in there by any chance?” she asks. “Bleached blonde with big fake boobs?”
“Could you narrow it down a little bit? Why aren’t you in there dancing, too?”
Her face turns bright red. It’s so adorable, it’s driving me insane.
“Trust me, nobody wants to see that.”
I do. I’m seeing it right now. But not on some pole. Not in front of my brothers. Only for me. This girl isn’t like the rest of the dirty birdies, as we so affectionately call the typical club sluts, but I don’t want her to be. I want her for my own personal use. My own private plaything.
“So what do you do then?” I need to change the subject before I let my imagination get away from me.
“Technically, I’m in school still.”
“Are you going to be like a doctor or something?” It’s not that she looks old by any means, but I’d peg her for a woman closer to my age than someone who’s just starting off their college career.
“Well….” she trails off.
“Well, what?”
“Technically, I am a doctor. I’m going to be
a surgeon. If everything goes as planned, that is. I am working on my fellowship at the hospital right now. I have about a year and a half left.”
Whoa. She just went from out of my league to a whole different planet. I’m surprised we even speak the same language. I don’t think any amount of mountain man charm could lessen the rift between the two of us.
“Now you think I’m some sort of snobby nerd, I’m sure.” She’s staring at her shoes, looking ashamed.
“No. Not at all. I just don’t know any surgeons. Now that I know you’re super smart I’m going to have to rethink my strategy for tricking you into getting in bed with me,” I tease. I was just trying to lighten the mood, but I definitely got her attention in the process.
“Trick me, huh?” she says, staring me right in the eyes. “Have you considered just asking me politely?”
“Well, now I’m going to have to question your intelligence.” The way she’s got her finger to her lips, her head cocked to the side like she thinks she’s got me right where she wants me, the rift between us is closing quickly by the second thanks to my rock-hard dick. “Do you have any idea what kind of game you’re trying to play here?”
I close in on her, my breath hot on her neck. I’m trying to make her uncomfortable. I want to see her squirm. The best worst decisions tend to come from moments like these.
“You want polite, Sloan? I’ll have you saying ‘please’ in languages you didn’t even know you could speak by the time I’m done with you,” I growl in her ear.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she giggles. I’m about to lose it.
I pull her on my lap, her legs straddling my waist as our lips touch for the first time. Passionate, needy, I push my tongue in her mouth without hesitation. I want her to know how badly I want to be inside her. I don’t normally kiss girls I fuck, but Sloan’s not a girl I fuck. She’s a girl I get fucked by. She’s the kind of girl who rips your heart out and burns your house down while you watch with a smile on your face, knowing whatever happens in the next ten minutes is worth a lifetime of hurt.
