Koyn

by K. Webster

  “We’re not speaking,” I snap, unable to withhold a shiver.

  He wraps his arm around my middle and buries his nose in my hair. I should be stunned by the way he inhales me in such a familiar, possessive way. Rather than my heart rate spiking with fear, I relax in his hold. His scent is a mixture of some expensive, familiar cologne and cigarette smoke with a hint of hard liquor. It makes me want to twist around and cuddle against his chest.

  “A girl needs her daddy,” he says softly, his words tickling my hair.

  “Not this girl.”

  “And look at all the trouble you got yourself into.”

  “Could have gotten myself out too.”

  He makes a derisive snorting sound. “My daughter thought she was a badass too…” I can hear the smile in his voice and then he tenses all over. “It’s ingrained in a father to protect his daughter.”

  Not my father.

  He let me down when I needed him most of all.

  “I’ll just run away,” I warn. “Wherever you take me, I won’t stay.” That’s great, Hadley, inform the bad guy of your plan.

  His fingers twist around my hair and he tugs, the sting of the hairs pulling from my scalp making my eyes water. “You won’t run away from me.”

  “I will.”

  “Until I pass you back to your father, you’re my responsibility. And you’re really just a dumb kid if you think I’m going to let you out of my sight for a second.”

  “Were you this controlling with your daughter?” I demand, eager to hit him where I can tell it hurts.

  He releases my hair and smooths it down. “Worse.”

  A sick feeling washes over me.

  Did he hurt her?

  What kind of asshole’s arms did I land myself into?

  “We ride out early tomorrow. Sleep,” he orders, his arm tightening around my middle.

  I stay up the rest of the night, staring into the darkness, wondering what the hell I do next.

  The men—bikers from what I now know are the Royal Bastards MC—gather outside of some guy named Animal’s clubhouse. It’s nicer than the Roaring River MCs shithole, but it doesn’t take much to outdo that place.

  I glower at everyone, my eyes flicking to the open truck door. Koyn stands in front of the truck, talking lowly to the guy I’ve determined is his brother. Their similarities are uncanny. The huge difference is Koyn bears a huge, scarred “X” on his face. I could sneak over there, climb in the truck, and haul ass out of there before anyone knew what hit them.

  Then what?

  Outrun an entire club of pissed off bikers?

  And I still don’t know where I’d go.

  I never thought much past Junior.

  “Putnam, hmm?” a deep, dark, and sultry voice practically purrs. “To get involved with a shit like him or his son, you’d have to be quite the girl yourself.”

  I snap my head to meet the green-eyed gaze of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His dark hair is styled in a just-fucked kind of way—for all I know, he probably was just fucked based on his smirk. He quirks his lips up and a dragon tattoo on his neck seems to ripple and move as though it’s alive on his skin. I become fixated on the intricate green and black ink that covers most of his neck. The dragon’s mouth is open, all razor-sharp teeth, and rather than fire, smoke billows out, covering his exposed flesh to his jaw, stopping abruptly. From the jawline down, he’s a total typical biker with leather and black and swagger. His face is straight out of a magazine or a freaking cologne ad.

  “You shouldn’t stare, jailbait,” he says, his smile widening to reveal a perfect set of white teeth.

  Bikers aren’t this hot.

  Hell no.

  They stink and belch and are hairy.

  “Still not done,” the man says, his perfect brow arching up. “Stare all you want, little one, but Prez is going to lose his shit in three, two, one—”

  “Dragon,” Koyn growls. “I need your hog.”

  The purring, seductive dragon man whines, making him less biker and total runway diva. “What? Why?”

  “I need to think. You can ride bitch with Copper.”

  Dragon’s smile becomes predatory. “With jailbait here? Want me to sit her in my lap and keep her safe?”

  Koyn’s jaw ticks and before he can respond, another goddamn beautiful biker steps over to us. Tall, massive, his golden blond hair glistening like the sun.

  “Dragon,” the guy warns. “Prez’ll drag your ass behind your own bike by your hair if you keep that shit up.”

  “Don’t give him any ideas, Filter,” Dragon complains to the golden god of a man.

  Filter smirks. “It’s my job to give him ideas.”

  Koyn holds out his hand and Dragon tosses his keys to him with a grumble.

  “Hadley’s with me,” Koyn tells them, surprising the hell out of his guys based on the widening of their eyes.

  “You’re gonna put this young bitch on the back of my bike and haul her around like she’s your old lady?” Dragon asks, bursting into a fit of laughter.

  Koyn grabs Dragon by the front of his shirt and drags him until they’re face-to-face. Dragon’s hand is already around a knife at his belt, but he makes no moves to stab his prez.

  “I’ll never have an old lady,” Koyn rumbles. “Stop fucking with me.”

  Dragon relents. “I know, Prez. Sorry, man.”

  Koyn releases the grip on his shirt and then clutches Dragon’s shoulder in a brotherly way that has me confused as hell. Two seconds ago, I was sure someone would get slashed to death. Now they’re looking at each other like they’re best fucking friends.

  “Get her a helmet,” Koyn barks out to Filter. “A jacket too.”

  A cacophony of rumbles vibrates me to my bones as I stand beside Koyn on the nice, new Harley he pretty much stole from Dragon. I’m supposed to be looking for escape options, not noticing how domineering he looks straddling the big, noisy piece of metal. His thighs strain against the blood-stained denim, showcasing the solid muscle beneath. Everything about Koyn is huge and hardened. To some outside girl, he’d be terrifying.

  Especially to some girl whose boyfriend he killed.

  But I’m no outside girl.

  I’m embedded so deeply in the MC world, I will never get out. Outside of the protection of the lawless, I’ll be thrust back into society. Been there, done that. Not doing it again.

  So, rather than be terrified of Koyn, I pull on my helmet and straddle the bike behind him. It’s a smaller bike, meant for a guy like Dragon, so I feel as though I’m perched on a tiny piece of leather real estate. I’m forced to lean in, pressing my tits against this man, and spreading my legs for him just so I don’t slip off the back and become sexy-ass roadkill.

  He grips my wrist, pulling my body closer, and then molds my arm to his body. I mimic the action with my other arm until I’m hugging him like a koala on a tree. His body radiates warmth that soothes the shivering parts deep inside me. I hate admitting it, but he does provide a sense of comfort for some insane reason I don’t want to mentally examine right now.

  The crux of the matter is…I have daddy issues.

  And Koyn is one hundred percent a daddy.

  He takes off, kicking up gravel in his wake, and speeds down the driveway. The roar of the bikes behind us makes me relax. So often, I’d lose myself to daydreams on the back of Junior’s bike. He’d ride me around everywhere, taking me to eat and to see cool shit. Sometimes we’d even fuck on his bike. All those moments are gone. I’ll never get them back. Tears burn at my eyes and I close them. I don’t want to see the Arkansas trees—all brilliant with orange and brown and red and yellow leaves—whizzing by. I don’t want to appreciate their beauty.

  It seems unfair that I’m having to hold on to my boyfriend’s killer.

  Hold on to him or die.

  Like I’m forced to choose him over myself.

  I don’t get fucked-up Magna vibes off Koyn. I’m fairly sure he’s not going to drag me all the
way back to his clubhouse just to torture me or kill me or fuck me. He would’ve done any of those already if it were on his villain agenda.

  But something lurks within him.

  A calmness that is felt before a catastrophe. Dark. Sinister. Foreboding. It seems to vibrate through him. As if it is magnetic energy making all the hairs on my arms stand on end. I can feel it through every molecule in my body. Buzzing. Humming. Warning.

  Dad was that way.

  A series of calms and storms. Whipping and thrashing. A constant back and forth like on a boat in choppy waters until I was damn near seasick from it all.

  Dad’s storms weren’t ones I could ride like a wave until I hit the shore.

  He tried to drown me.

  It makes me wonder what sort of storm Koyn is. A powerful hurricane like my father? A tornado like Magna? Or something more cataclysmic. Something earth changing. A violent volcano, rumbling the very foundation I stand on.

  His palm covers my thigh and he squeezes it in a reassuring way. The simple, brief gesture has my heart tightening in my chest. I don’t like the way he can silence my fears with a touch.

  A healthy dose of fear has been what’s kept me alive this long.

  I don’t need someone silencing my inner warning sirens, because who the hell knows what sort of trouble would sneak up on me then.

  I’ve had enough trouble for one lifetime.

  I need to always be ready for it.

  Koyn

  I stand inside the open truck door with my hands on the top of the frame as I lean in to talk to Dragon and Copper, my cigarette dangling from my lips. Bermuda took the girl to the restroom. He looks the most like a good ol’ boy. Dragon and I stand out as possible psychopathic kidnappers to the normal public. Definitely a good idea Bermuda took lead on this stop.

  “Anything yet?” I ask my brother, nodding at his phone as he scrolls. I blow out a plume of smoke over the top of his truck and then flick my cigarette across the truck into the gravel.

  “Nah. When we get back, I’ll get on the computer and run through all my channels. Putnam is off the grid.” Copper scrubs at his face with his palm.

  “I’ll stay on Junior’s social media and check to see if I can pick up any clues there,” Dragon offers. “Putnam was a ghost, but we found him. We’ll find him again.”

  I glance over at the McDonald’s and wonder what the fuck is taking them so long. If she tried to run off, I’m going to make good on my promise to whip her ass.

  “What about Hadley? Anything on her?” I arch a brow at my brother.

  “Without a last name, it’s difficult. I’ll run a search on all the missing person reports with that name, but you’d probably get further than me on this.”

  I’ll find out where this little girl came from and send her back, even if I have to spank the answers out of her. I’ve done a lot worse in my lifetime. This is a cakewalk.

  As though I have a sixth sense, I feel Hadley when she exits the restaurant. Bermuda is beside her, grinning. He may be wearing a leather cut, but his worn baseball cap, holey jeans, and shit kickers make him look like the Oklahoma boy next door. In an alternate reality, those two could be siblings maybe. I track her with just my gaze, watching her every moment.

  The dart of her eyes to the tree line past the parking lot.

  The fake smile.

  The tensing of her muscles.

  The slowing in her gait.

  “Fuck,” I grumble. “She’s gonna run.”

  I no sooner get the words out of my mouth when she takes off. The girl is tall and skinny, her long legs eating up the distance before Bermuda even realizes she bolted. Without another word, I tear off after her. I may be a lot older than her, but I’m not some fat-ass biker. I’m in shape and I can catch a little runaway like it ain’t shit.

  Her brown hair billows out behind her as she seems to fly with inhuman speed. My boots kick up gravel behind me on my chase. I can hear Gibson and Bizzy laughing while Dragon catcalls me. Fucking bastards.

  Hadley never makes it to the tree line.

  I snag her by her hair, jerking her to a stop. She screeches, but I don’t relent. I drag her flailing body to my chest and bring my mouth to her ear. Her chest rises and falls with each ragged pant of breath.

  “Stupid, child.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  “You are.”

  “I hate you.”

  I laugh, twisting my grip in her hair so my knuckles are against her scalp. “Fucking hate me. I don’t give a shit. You’re mine to look after and I told you running away wasn’t going to work for me, goddammit.”

  “I’m not yours,” she says fiercely, emotion in her voice. “I’m no one’s. You made sure of that when you killed Junior.”

  Here we go again.

  I’m tired of hearing about that dumbass punk.

  “You’re going to stop this shit right now. We’re going to hold hands like you’re my fucking girl and then we’re going to leave. You fight me on this and I’ll make your life miserable when we get back. Feel me?”

  Her body trembles. “I won’t be your slave.”

  I roll my eyes. Girl watches too many fucking movies. “You will if I demand it.”

  My threat has its intended effect because she submits. Good girl. Her body relaxes as she mutters out an “okay.”

  Releasing her hair, I grab her shoulders and twist her to face me. Her eyes are watery but no tears have fallen. In the sunlight, she has a few visible freckles on her nose and cheeks. It’s cute. Dark lashes bat against her apple cheeks and her plump lips are pursed together in a pout.

  Blaire.

  My sweet Blaire.

  I’m struck by how similar they are. Dark brown eyes. Pale skin. Pert nose. My palms cradle her sweet face and I lean in so I can memorize every detail.

  “W-What are you doing?” she whispers.

  “Lookin’ at you, kid.”

  “Why?”

  “I like what I see.”

  “You trying to make me your old lady?”

  Her words jar me from my selfish little fantasy of where she’s Blaire and I’m her daddy and all is fucking safe and right in the world.

  “What?” I hiss. “Fuck no.”

  My words seem to wound her because she flinches. “Oh.”

  The moment is gone. I don’t see Blaire. Hadley’s eyebrows are different. One brow is naturally arched in a way that seems as though she’s always giving you a challenging look. Her lips are redder, fuller—the focal point on her face. Even the shape of her face is longer whereas Blaire’s was rounder. Hadley has a harder edge to her—a more womanly aspect that my baby girl never had. Blaire was innocent.

  Hadley is not innocent.

  I clear my throat and step away. My thumb brushes along her soft cheek before I release her. Her brows furrow together as she studies me. I take her hand and thread it with mine.

  “Smile and try to act as though we belong together,” I grumble.

  She lets out an annoyed huff. “I took drama. I know how to act. In fact, that’s how I won Miss—oh. Doesn’t matter where. I won.”

  This girl is slick.

  “You were a pageant girl?”

  “Junior and them called me Beauty Queen,” she says in a regal tone before flinching. “You can call me Hadley.”

  “Pageant Girl fits you better than Beauty Queen.”

  “It makes me sound like I’m a kid.”

  “You are a kid.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  I smirk and shrug. “Takes one to know one, PG.”

  “Ugh,” she groans. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Too late,” I say, letting go of her hand to swat her ass. I address my group of grinning brothers. “PG is ready to play nice now.”

  “PG?” Gibson asks, scratching at his beard.

  “Pageant Girl.”

  Dragon whistles, half hanging out of Copper’s truck. “You gonna put on a show for us, PG?”

  She p
uts her hand on her hip, cocking it out to the side, her eyes flaring with attitude. “You couldn’t handle my show.”

  “Prez,” he argues. “I can handle the girl. Tell her. Let me handle it. Please let me handle it.”

  I shake my head. “You’re not touching her.” Then I pin her with a narrowed stare. “And you won’t be showing these guys anything.”

  She shoots a challenging glare my way. “We’ll see, Daddy.”

  I grit my teeth, staring after her.

  “Oh, fuck,” Filter groans. “We’re in trouble with this little shit.”

  “I’ll keep her in line,” I grind out. “You let me worry about her.”

  “All yours, Prez. All fucking yours.”

  Satisfaction slides through my veins.

  Until we find her real daddy, she is mine.

  Clouds darken the sky, warning of nasty storms, but I’m not worried. We’re pulling up to my compound and soon we’ll be safe from the rain. The drive up my gravel road is long. I love being nestled in the woods away from everyone. One day, it’s our hope to grow our chapter to fifty or sixty good, loyal brothers. Right now, there are ten of us. Not many compared to others like Animal’s chapter. But that’s okay. When I took on this gig, it was because I had a plan. I wanted nothing but loyalty, even if I had to breed it myself. Never again would I be caught with my pants down. I’m always prepared, and my brothers have my back, even if some of them can be total shitheads.

  When I built my massive home, I did so considering the future of my MC. It’s built much like a hotel—plenty of suite-like bedrooms and lots of gathering rooms. We drink and cause a ruckus like the rest of the bikers out there, but we do so in style. Our beer is craft and local, none of this cheap QuikTrip shit. The place smells like motherfucking oranges thanks to Stormy’s wickless candle crap she spreads around the house. And we have a pool. Whenever we visit the other clubhouses, I see it in my guys’ eyes. They’re fuckin’ snobs just like me. I’ve given them a silver spoon and they won’t eat with anything else. The MC gives them a brotherhood, and I give them everything else.

  I pull Dragon’s hog into the garage beside mine and then shut off the engine. The sound is deafening, echoing off the concrete as all the guys pull in around me. I pat Hadley’s thigh, indicating for her to get off the bike. Once she’s standing beside me, I climb off and then grab her wrist.