Contents
Title Page
Rights
Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- EPILOGUE
- DON'T FORGET
- ALSO BY JESSICA GADZIALA
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- STALK HER!
"DUKE"
A Henchmen MC Novel
--
Jessica Gadziala
Copyright © 2016 Jessica Gadziala
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.
"This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental."
Cover image credit: Shutterstock.com/doodko
DEDICATION:
To Eleanor Jenkins- for all she does.
PROLOGUE
Penny
You know how your grandmother always used to tell you that thing about always wearing nice underwear in case you were in an accident or something?
Yeah, I always kind of rolled my eyes at that old-timey logic.
But had I known that things were going to go the way they went that morning, well, I would have put on something that looked decent and not, say, the zebra-striped bra with purple piping and the totally not matching in any shape or form green and white leopard-print panties I had slipped into, being the first two things I grabbed out of my suitcase that I was still living out of.
Still, meaning only about a day and a half.
It would be a miracle really if I managed to unpack within the month.
I was just never the OCD type.
The apartment was, well, it was alright. On a somewhat small budget, it was all I could afford. And being that I bought it after only seeing it in flattering pictures on a website from several states away, well, it definitely could have been a lot worse than it was.
What it was was a fair seven-hundred square foot space with a kitchen/dining combo, a little nook of a living room with some nifty built-in bookshelves, a bedroom that could comfortably fit a full, but could maybe squeeze a queen if you needed the space. I was single and had no plans on changing that status so the full was fine by me. The bathroom was off the bedroom and was long, but narrow, with truly ugly wood-printed linoleum on the floor and an off-white shower, toilet, and sink cabinet. The mirror had aged cracks in the edges that I found a little endearing, giving the entire space a little bit of character. All the walls in the rest of the space were a fresh, eye-aching white. The floors in the living and bed space were cream carpeting that I was trying my best to ignore the stains in. The kitchen had more of the fake-wood linoleum.
Again, not bad.
And again, all I could afford.
Well, that's not entirely true. There was some other apartment building in the area over by Fifth Street that looked like it was one strong gust away from blowing over. But after having seen prostitutes on the corner, yeah, I decided I would fork over the extra three-hundred a month for a place that wasn't a literal stone's throw away from a pimp.
You can never be too safe, as my grandmother would also say.
My grandmother was why I had uprooted my life in Florida and moved back to New Jersey. She had broken her hip at home and hadn't been found for a day and a half when a neighbor dropped by, thinking it was weird that they hadn't seen her. It was a wake-up call for me. My grandmother had been five feet of concrete, wild, stubborn, spry. I had literally never seen her sick or hurt in my life. It was almost easy to forget that she was getting older, that she was, despite what her personality said, fragile. And with my parents living in New York and too selfish to take her in, instead socking her away in some care center where she didn't belong, I decided enough was enough; I had to do something. It would have been different if I thought she genuinely needed to be watched over, if her mind was failing her and it was for her own safety. But to put a loved one in a home just because they were old? Yeah, no. Not on my watch.
Especially given that I had spent every weekend from birth until eighteen at her house. She had had a bigger hand in raising me than my parents did in a way.
Hell, I felt guilty that I had to move away in the first place. But Jersey had proven too expensive for me right out of high school and my parents were no longer willing to give me a 'free ride' as they would call it. So they kicked me out. I might have moved in with my grandmother then, but well, I was eighteen and interested in independence. I didn't want someone breathing down my neck if I came home underaged and buzzed or if I brought a man home with me.
So off to Florida I went, socking as much money away as I could to come up and visit my grandmother on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and her birthday. It wasn't much, but it was all I could afford.
I didn't have the most interesting of lives in Florida either. I had a decent apartment in a decent area where I worked nine-to-five in a hair salon then maybe went out every other Friday with coworkers who I called friends, but they were really just coworkers I occasionally shared a cocktail and bullshit with. I had no family down there, nothing to keep me rooted when I was very much needed elsewhere.
So off to Jersey I went.
By the time I got everything all lined up, my grandmother was out of surgery and already moved into the care center and reaming me out for uprooting my life for her, telling me I was being an alarmist and that she wouldn't have me helicoptering over her like an overprotective parent. She was still my elder, after all.
That was Patty Weber for you.
I liked to think that I maybe got one-tenth of her grit. Though, to be honest, if I said I got a grain of it, that was probably being generous. Not that I was a pushover, but I was just never great at being confrontational and take-no-prisoners.
That explained my somewhat boring life, I guess.
I never took chances so nothing ever happened.
I was hoping that maybe moving back to Jersey would help that. My grandmother's care center, Blue Horizons (lame, I know), was located a town over from where I set down roots in a place called Navesink Bank, seeing as there were no actual apartment buildings in her town, just strip malls and gas stations and convenience stores. Not that I planned on getting wild and crazy. I already had interviews in all the local hiring salons and I was sure I would eventually fall into old patterns, except that the nights I used to spend with coworkers, I would likely end up spending with my grandmother in her center.
But, who knew. I figured maybe I would make some real friends at work. And possibly, though unlikely, I might find a decent guy in my apartment building or visiting a family member at the center.
You never knew.
Anything was possible.
Yeah, anything was possible took on a whole new meaning my second day in Navesink
Bank.
And who I met wasn't exactly the run of the mill definition of a decent guy.
But my life stopped being so boring, I guess.
And that underwear thing, yeah, that was some sage advice, let me tell ya'.
ONE
Duke
If there was one task that got pretty fuckin' old after almost seven years, it was walking the damn perimeter. It was an essential, necessary task that we generally left to the probates. But we found ourselves wholly out of such members suddenly. So the task fell back on all of us. Renny took the nights still, letting me finally get back on a more normal schedule, leaving me to pull the afternoons. Shredder and some of the old-timers filled in the blanks.
"Satan's fucking armpit," Shredder said as he walked up to where I was standing at the gates, holding out a beer to me.
Shredder was a constant at the compound, never settling down, never moving to work at one of the newly legit businesses The Henchmen branched out into to distract the overly interested new lawmen in the area. Gone were the good old days when the criminal enterprises could get away with damn near anything they wished.
Shred was tall and so lean that he was almost gaunt, with a face all cheekbone hollows and strong brows over his almost see-through gray eyes. He kept his brown hair long and usually down whereas I kept my long blond hair in a bun at the crown of my head. He, like just about all of the bikers, was obsessed with tattoos, having them over just about every inch of his body.
"Only gonna get hotter," I said with a shrug. It wasn't that bad. Summer in Jersey was hot and humid, but not overly oppressive. He wanted to feel heat, he should have visited some of the places I had lived.
"Yeah, but... oh now wait a minute," he stopped mid-sentence, face breaking into a wicked smile.
I followed his line of vision and saw what he saw.
Who.
I saw who he saw.
And, yeah, she was worth a break in conversation.
She was on the short side, no way anything over five-four with a healthy body that wasn't exactly short on hips or ass, though maybe a little lacking in the rack department. Not flat, but not obnoxiously large either. Her long blonde hair was tied into a braid down her shoulder, the ends caught underneath the material of her pink tank top, like she had forgotten to pull it out when she had gotten dressed. She had on a white skirt of some filmy material that danced around her legs and fell to about knee-length. Her feet were in flat white and pink sandals. Her head was ducked for a long minute, her light brows drawn together like something wasn't making sense. Then she looked up and, damn. She had one of those soft faces, all cheekbones and pouty lips and big light-blue eyes. She had a little pink lipstick on those pouty lips of hers and I had a sudden urge to smear it all over her pretty face. Her lashes were darkened from what had to be a natural blonde to a black, making her light eyes pop. But that was it. Simple. Almost natural.
She stopped mid-stride, brows still together, looking to both her sides. Then she turned in a circle, holding both her arms out in a very 'what the fuck' kind of way.
Lost.
She was lost.
Well, it just so happened that I had lived in Navesink Bank long enough to know not only where every store was located, but half of the God damn populations' home addresses.
Before I could open my mouth to offer assistance, though, Shredder took the opportunity, never the one to miss out on a pretty skirt if he could help it.
"Baby, you need some directions?" he called, making her turn in our direction. Her eyes looked us both over in a way that said she understood exactly what kind of trouble we were. Her gaze drifted to the clubhouse and the fences around it, then over her shoulder as if looking for someone, anyone else who could help her. But we were all she had.
She seemed to accept that fact, taking a deep breath, nodding a little, and moving toward us. She stopped a good five feet from either of us, definitely out of arms reach in case we got any ideas.
"Yeah, actually. That would be great. I'm new here," she said with a hesitant little smile, like she was embarrassed that she didn't already know the area.
"Welcome to Navesink Bank, honey. I'm Shredder. This is Duke," he said, jerking his head in my direction and her eyes followed. She had glanced me over before, seeing mostly the leather cut and black clothes, and writing me off as bad news. But she hadn't really looked me over.
She was looking me over then, though, her big blue eyes taking in my face, my chest and shoulders, then lower briefly, before moving back up.
"Don't worry. We look meaner than we are," Shredder went on and only I knew what a lie that was. He sounded convincing, the smooth bastard. "What's your name, honey?"
She gave him another small smile. "Penny."
"Where can we steer you, Penny?"
"I, ah," she started, looking down at the paper in her hands. "I have an appointment at Bella's Beauty," she admitted, cheeks coloring a little at the ridiculous name. "It's a hair salon."
"Why? Your hair is perfect as it is," Shredder went on, laying it on thick.
It was then that one of her light brows raised, arching perfectly in a way that said she had his number and he was damn sure not getting hers.
"It's an interview," she added, voice a sight more cool than it had been a moment before.
Finding I liked that kind of spirit, I broke in, giving her a chance to make it to her appointment in time and not end up delayed by Shredder's very insistent brand of flirting.
"Bella's is down the next left then the first right. First building on the right. Trust me, doll, you can't miss it," I said with a smirk.
"Gee," she said, giving me a small smile and, if I wasn't completely mistaken, it was the slightest bit flirtatious, "that doesn't sound good."
"Let's just say that Bella isn't exactly of the discreet or understated mindset," I added, leaving out the fact that the front of Bella's was an obnoxious hot pink with a giant flashing neon sign. The inside was no better, with pink and purple fuckin' everything. I couldn't see this girl with her minimal makeup and sensible clothes working anywhere like that.
She nodded with an exhale and a sort-of resigned nod. "Well, as long as she provides a steady paycheck, I think I can keep my opinions of her fashion faux-pas to myself. Thanks, Duke and..." I tried to ignore how the way she rolled my name around on that tongue of hers shot straight to my dick, figuring it had probably been too long since I got laid, as her eyes drifted. "Shredder."
"Honey, anytime you need anything," Shredder went on, clearly not taking the dismissiveness in her tone as a goodbye.
"She's got an appointment," I reminded him as she shot me a thankful smile and shuffled off.
"Good luck, sugar," he called after her and she had the good sense not to look back as she followed my instructions and disappeared.
"You fuck," Shredder said, shoving into my shoulder hard when she was out of sight.
"What'd I do?" I asked, tipping up my beer and draining it.
"Always stealing the chicks with that handsome fucking mug of yours. Don't even have to flirt with them."
"Stealing the chicks?" I asked, making a show of looking around us. "I don't see any chicks, do you?"
"Oh, fuck off. The second you started talking to her, she forgot I existed."
"Maybe because I was giving her what she needed, not trying to get into her pants."
"Fuck, man, though," he said, putting his hands into prayer position and looking up at the sky. "If I could only get into the pants of a girl like that..."
"Stick to the clubwhores," I said, shaking my head at him. "Leave the poor innocent ones alone."
"Oh, but the innocent vibe is the best. See that white skirt and the confused little pouting mouth? Fuck if she wouldn't look sweet with it wrapped around my cock."
"Thanks for that visual," I said with a head shake. "I'm gonna need a gallon of vodka to get that shit out of my head."
"You coulda had her though. You know that, right? One sentence sho
wing interest, and she would have been all over your dick."
I huffed out a laugh. "She had an appointment."
"You know, I just don't get you, man. All those good looks for fucking nothing. If I had that fucking hulking body and that face, I'd be drowning in fucking pussy. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, then two snacks of snatch in between."
"Shred, I've never known the clubwhores to not be ready and willing to suck or fuck you anytime you crook a finger."
"Yeah, man," he said, shaking his head and looking out at the street. "But sometimes that's too easy, y'know? Sometimes you want the chase."
Yeah, well, I couldn't exactly say I disagreed.
Sometimes you just needed a fuck to get the energy out of your system. In those instances, it was nice to know there were half-naked women one room away who would let you take them any way you wanted with no strings.
But, in general, that shit was unsatisfying at best.
Shredder was right; it was too easy.
That being said, girls like that Penny chick with her doll-like face didn't deserve to get herself wrapped up with the likes of us. First, because save for some of the older members like Reign, Cash, Wolf, and Repo, none of us were the settling down sort. And girls like that, even if they were into the idea of a fuck, generally wanted more than that from a man. Second, because we would corrupt whatever way she might have looked at the world.
I'd seen and been involved with enough ugliness and filth in the world to want to protect whatever pretty and clean I could find.
Penny was pretty and clean.
And no matter what my dick thought about it, I was going to let her stay that way.
Even if the idea of her pretty mouth around my cock quickly replaced the image Shredder put into my head.
It wasn't going to happen.
TWO
Duke
Duke (The Henchmen MC Book 5) Page 1
