Unluckily enough for Big Ted, the guy pissed their Prez off by deciding he was going to ship out. He tried to leave town with his old lady, which was a big no-no. When their Prez, Bone, caught up with them, they didn’t last more than a few minutes. Their truck was riddled full of bullet holes. God knew what happened to their bodies.
The guys who went on the ride rode back into the club and suddenly, he was called in front of Bone himself. After two years he was finally going to patch in and be an official club member, but there was something he needed to do to prove himself.
Kill Big Ted’s daughter.
Every single guy who patched into the club knew it was for life. You didn’t get out unless you were dead. Though generally, family wasn’t part of the deal, Bone had been in a real bad mood over the past few months, compliments of some asshats from a rival club trying to encroach on their territory. The ol’ Prez muttered something about Big Ted leaking information to those rivals, and as such, his family deserved to be punished for his sins.
Big Ted had royally screwed not just himself and his old lady, but he’d also fucked over his daughter.
And she was a beautiful daughter.
Damon had seen Kirstin around the club a few times, here and there, always with her dad. Big Ted kept her in the car, but once, he’d exchanged a few words. She was pretty. Had huge green eyes, thick eyelashes, a waterfall of blonde hair. She was stacked. Nice tits. An even better ass. She was tall, but she still had those lethal curves. She liked to dress in pink. She always had something pink on.
No wonder Big Ted kept her away from the club house and the bunch of them. She was his pride and joy, his only daughter.
Damon liked his life. He fucking valued it. He liked breathing more than he liked just about anything else, which was why he kept shaking his head over what he was about to do.
He wasn’t going to kill Kirstin. Far from it. He had a plan and it didn’t involve laying a finger on her in any way, shape or form. Not rape. Sure as hell not murder. He’d drug her if he had to, but that couldn’t be helped.
His knuckles tightened on the wheel, whitening as he gripped it and took a hard right. The tires squealed on the pavement and a car honked at him. He flew the bird up to the window, though the driver was probably long past seeing. Normally he’d love to tango. Nothing like a bit of good old road rage to get the blood flowing. Not that it wasn’t flowing. His heart was kicking and alive in his chest, adrenaline flooding his bloodstream.
He had to get Kirstin before anyone else decided he was too much of a pussy to get the job done. He’d try to make her see reason, but if that failed, he wasn’t above drugging her, tying her up, and stashing her in the trunk. He’d figure out where the hell he was going to take her when they were far enough away from Bone, but close enough that he could make it back with a believable story about where he’d dumped her body.
God help him if anyone found out he’d lied.
This is crazy. I’m fucking crazy. He glanced at his face in the rear-view mirror. His skin was sallow and pale and his eyes were wider than normal. He inhaled sharply and watched as his nostrils flared. Yes, he liked breathing. Somehow, in life, he’d been good at staying alive, though he’d had piss poor help along the way as a kid. Somehow he’d survived.
Though he’d had a shitty ride along the way, he wouldn’t mind staying on the right side of the ground for a few more years yet.
Chapter 2
KIRSTIN
Bone had her number and that meant her time was up.
Growing up the daughter of a biker, Kirstin Sinclair wasn’t stupid. Her father might have shielded her from the worst of club life, but she’d heard enough from her mother over the years, seen enough, including nights when her father came home covered in blood, to know what would happen to them if they ever tried to get out.
Big Ted, as she’d called her father since she was five years old, always told her that Bone meant business. He wasn’t a guy you fucked with. Her father’s words, not hers. Kirstin didn’t understand how Big Ted thought he could get out. Or why. Or why he’d left her behind.
The night before at six minutes past seven, she’d received a frantic call from her mother. Betsey Anne had just enough time to warn her that they’d tried, and failed to ship out, before the line went dead. Her mother’s scream had been cut short by the sound of gunfire.
That was it. Her entire life, her caring heart, her love of gardening and flowers, her gentle, talented, artist hands, stilled forever.
No, not stilled. Taken.
Her parents were dead. Their lives taken by Bone and the MC, by men her father once called his brothers.
Kirstin knew they’d be coming for her.
She should have set out blindly after the call, but she knew that the bastards from the MC probably checked the call log. They would have known her mother tried to warn her. She couldn’t just take off into the night, running scared. She had to have a plan or she’d die the same way her parents did.
It took her far longer than it should, over twenty-four hours, to get her shit together. She withdrew all her cash from her bank account. Six thousand dollars was enough to take her somewhere safe and then she’d recalibrate. She ditched her car and bought a shitty beater and hidden it a mile away from her house. She got her things together, her passport and her valuables, a few clothes, jewelry, her gun and her knives.
She was the daughter of a man who was VP of a dangerous MC. She didn’t do shit halfway. And yes, she knew how to use those weapons.
Adrenaline spiked through Kirstin’s veins and her stomach cramped as she zipped up her duffel bag. She kept the house pitch black and she’d dumped her cell the night before, just in case. She had a burner phone and she was packed. Dressed in black, she tied up her blond hair into a tight knot at the back of her head. She pulled her black toque over her hair. It might have been the middle of summer and even in Detroit, it was hot, but hell, no one was going to see her anyway.
She shouldered her duffel and tucked her gun into the back of her black jeans. She had a black tank top underneath a black hoodie.
And of course, she had a distraction planned.
Kirstin crept silently to the front window. She cracked a finger through the blinds and peered out. She wasn’t going to leave that way, but she couldn’t resist one last look at the neighborhood she’d called home for six years. She wasn’t sentimental about the house. She’d do what she had to do to keep herself alive. She’d have time to grieve for her parents and allow emotion and fear to creep in, but not now. Not while she was still in danger.
Anger rose up hot and sharp inside of her when a car she didn’t recognize crept to a stop thirty feet down the street. She watched the German made sedan park between a min-van she knew belonged to the McGregors and a brand-new hatchback that Addi Malone got for her sixteenth birthday the month before.
Kirstin froze. I’m probably just being paranoid. She backed away from the window and flattened herself up against the wall. Her heart hammered violently, but she forced herself to take a few steadying breaths. She watched discreetly from the side of the window.
Fuck.
Though he was dressed in street clothes, jeans and a black t-shirt, the dragon tattoos snaking down his massive arms, arms that were thicker than her damn thighs, were obvious. Damon Campbell.
He was there for her.
Kirstin knew why he’d been sent. He’d been a prospect for two years. For two years he’d put up with all the shit the club had to throw at him. For two years he’d been the low man on the pole. Those guys used and abused him, like they did any prospect. Bone sent him to prove himself.
Dispose of her, patch in. It was as simple as that.
Kirstin didn’t quiver or shake. She didn’t break down into a weepy, wilted mass of simpering female tears. Not when she was in her own house. She steeled her spine as she reached down and drew a wicked looking blade from the sheath strapped to the outside of her pants. She’d have the element of surp
rise. Best of all, Bone clearly underestimated her. To him, she was probably some blonde bimbo of no consequence. He sent one man to take her out.
And Damon was… nice. Nicer than most of the beasts and bastards at the MC. She’d been able to talk to him a few times and the guy was actually capable of stringing together a coherent sentence. He wasn’t an ape like most of the fuckers there. He was actually quite mellow.
If there was one guy sent to kill her, she was glad it was him. Anyone else, she doubted she could kill. Damon, on the other hand, walked right up to the front door and knocked.
What an idiot. Right. Like I’d fall for that. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and assumed a casual stance. Like he’d come by to sell her fucking cookies or something for a good cause, not put a bullet in her brain and skull fuck her and dump her body in the nearest woods for the animals to eat.
Rage sizzled through her blood. Her body grew hot and as she crept to the front door, her desire for vengeance nearly overtook her good sense. She couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. Damon probably hadn’t killed her parents. That would have been a right reserved for Bone.
She squeezed her eyes shut and refused to think about what had been done to them. If they’d suffered. Where their bodies were. She couldn’t fall down that pit. Not when her life counted on her keeping a level head.
The knock sounded again, like the bastard assumed that she’d just let him walk right in.
That was the last thing he’d ever assume, because she was going to be the victor. She’d take care of Damon, then she’d be gone. She’d slip into the night. She’d escape Bone and his thugs and one day, she’d find a way to make them pay for what they’d done to her parents.
First things first.
Kirstin stood to the side of the door. She breathed in and out, steady, solid. Her hand gripped the handle of the knife her father bought her for her sweet sixteen. While other girls got pretty dresses and jewelry or even a car, he’d given her the best present of all. A knife and a gun and he’d taught her how to use both.
Boys didn’t need to fear her daddy. She always made them fear her first.
At twenty-four, she hadn’t exactly been out on as many dates as the next girl.
Kirstin flattened herself against the wall. Her right hand gripped the knife. Her left slowly, painfully slowly, took hold of the lock. She slid the gold deadbolt back. The scream of the lock clicking open was audible throughout the house. And on the other side of the door.
It turned out Damon Campbell wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, because he took it as an open invitation to open that door and take a step into the house like he owned the place. That would be the last thing he’d ever fucking do.
Kirstin moved as swift and smooth as a shadow. She soundlessly raised her hand and plunged her knife in a wide arc through the air.
Right into Damon’s shoulder.
Fuck!
She felt the skin and bone give way beneath the knife. She drove hard, with all her weight behind it, but he was fast and strong, and he must have suspected something, because that knife should have landed in the center of his face, not in his shoulder.
He made a muffled sound, nothing more than the rush of air leaving his lungs. He didn’t cry out. She might as well have thrown a goddamn toy at him.
The door slammed shut behind him. He whirled, as swift and soundless as she was. Swifter. She tried to step back, to go for the gun tucked into the waistband of her pants, but she wasn’t fast enough. Damon’s hand shot out and gripped her by her hair. Her scalp screamed in protest, pain, and fear as strands were ripped free from the bun at the nape of her neck. His hold was like iron, but it was nothing compared to the savage arm that swung out and clamped around her shoulders.
She kicked and fought, thrashed wildly. She elbowed him and tried to bite.
She’d had one chance and she missed. In the game she was playing for her life, she was the loser.
But she was Kirstin Sinclair, and she wasn’t going down without a fight.
Chapter 3
DAMON
“Would you stop fucking fighting me!” Damon hissed in Kirstin’s ear. The fucking witch was like a banshee in his arms. She fought and thrashed. Clawed and elbowed and bit.
And she’d stabbed him.
Every single movement she made sent rivers of pain flooding out from the goddamn knife sticking out of his shoulder. He wasn’t a betting man, but if he was, he wouldn’t have put money on springing out like a dark shadowed demon and plunging a knife into him the second he walked through the door.
There must seriously be something wrong with him, because all that thrashing, Kirstin’s tight, shapely ass grinding right into his pelvis, her little gasps of fear, anger, and outrage in his ear, her wild feral bearing, it was all turning him the fuck on. Stabbing and all. His cock was so fucking hard, it was probably bruised by his fucking zipper.
“Stop it!” Damon planted his hands on Kirstin’s shoulders and shook her so hard he actually heard her teeth knock together. “I didn’t come to kill you!” He gave that a second to sink in. Her huge green eyes went wide. Even in the dark he could see how dilated her pupils were, eating up the irises in fear and adrenaline. “Well- okay, I did come to kill you, but it’s not what you think. I’m not going to do it. I came to get you out of here.”
Kirstin’s lush peach hued lips parted. He thought she was actually going to say something complimentary, maybe a thank you, maybe an ‘I’m sorry I stabbed you,’ but no. Her brow furrowed into a tight frown and her lips thinned out into a snarl.
“Why should I believe you?” she panted. “If you didn’t come here to kill me, you probably came to take me so you could do it in front of Bone just to prove you did. Or maybe he wants to torture me first. Have the entire club rape me? Use me as an example.”
“No. Look.” He shook her hard again and was a little more satisfied than he should have been when her neck snapped back and forth. She glared at him. Obviously she didn’t appreciate the whiplash. “Fucking listen to me. You have no other choice. I’m your way out of here, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to have to trust me. I can’t kill you. I don’t want to join the club to go around murdering innocent women. I don’t want to murder anyone.”
“You’re in the wrong fucking line of work then, sweetheart.” She threw his words back at him as she struggled to twist away.
“I’m going to let you go. You need to calm the fuck down and listen to me unless you really do want to wind up dead. Judging by that knife you put in my shoulder, I’m guessing that’s a hard no.”
“Fuck you.”
Damon chuckled. “If you want, but not here and not now.” Lord, it was tempting. Kirstin was a beautiful woman on a regular day. Dressed all in black, fighting mad, the fact that she’d actually stabbed him, she was- there wasn’t even a word in the English language that could do her justice. She looked like some wet dream sex kitten with her blonde hair a mess, her eyes wide, nostrils flaring in anger, lips curled up like she wanted to bite him.
“I should kick you in the balls for that,” Kirstin spat. One look at her shit kicker boots and he had no doubt she’d do some damage.
He gave her another shake to get her under control. “I’m done fucking around. Get your goddamn shit and let's go before someone else decides to show up here. I can guarantee, they won’t have second thoughts about putting both of us to ground.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Yes, you are. Now get your shit. I’m assuming you have something packed. Get it now. No more arguing. You can fight with me all you want when we’re out of this fucking city.” She stood there, still debating with herself about whether she was going to trust him or not. “Now!” Damon barked. “I’m going to let you go and give you one fucking minute before I drug you like I had planned and haul your ass out of here over my shoulder. If you want to save us both the headache, literally for you, get your fucking shit and get the
hell out to my car. I’m going to take you out of here, take you somewhere safe. I’ll say that I did it, that I dumped your body.”
When he loosened his hold, Kirstin spun away from him. She actually had the nerve to plant her hands on her hips and glare at him. “Aren’t you forgetting something? If you actually disposed of me, there would be blood.”
“I’m not forgetting anything. I have a bag of meat scraps from the butcher. There should be enough blood in there by now to be convincing. Now hurry it up. Get your shit and let’s go. I have to go back to the car for it.”
“You have this all planned out, don’t you?” She raised a brow cockily. “Do you have some sort of savior complex or something?”
He ground his teeth as his hand settled on the knife in his shoulder. Fortunately most of the blade was still sticking out. The thing was straight and had a wicked tip and was deadly sharp, or she wouldn’t have been able to drive it into him at all.
He grunted as he pulled it out. A spurt of blood sprayed form his shoulder and Kirstin visibly blanched. Apparently practicing stabbings was one thing. Using that knife on a living human being was another.
“On second thought, maybe this will do.” He turned towards the wall and let the geyser of blood rocket from his shoulder, spattering the entrance and spraying the floor.
“Look at that. Two birds, one stone,” Kirstin said dryly.
God, that tongue. That mouth. The things I could do to that fucking mouth. He gave himself a shake. There would be plenty of time for that later. Right now he couldn’t worry about punishment and lessons, he had to worry about keeping them the fuck alive.
“We’re going to be two dead birds right away if you don’t stop fucking around and get your stuff. We have to leave. Now. Or do you want to end up like your parents?” That finally seemed to get through to her. Though rage glistened in her eyes, he saw straight through it to the raw pain below.
He couldn’t worry about that at the moment. She couldn’t let it slow them down.
Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series Page 41
