Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series

by Melissa Devenport

  He roared his own release out a second later. His body trembled as he held her, pinned her, his muscles quivering and spasming in time with her own. His cock slammed inside of her, going so deep she felt him in her damn stomach. His cock kicked and she felt the hot spurts flooding deep inside of her.

  His breath puffed out in hot spurts against her neck as they came down from the high together. He was still hard and thick inside of her. He kissed her neck gently, moved his way over her jaw, to her lips. He sucked at her mouth and nipped her gently, erotically, staring the burn all over again.

  “I need you,” he rasped. “It’s always been you. My whole life. I still need you. Now. Again.”

  “Yes,” she said thickly, her voice as strangled as his.

  He kissed her gently, erotically, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. “Bedroom?” he said as he pulled away, brow arched.

  “Definitely. Or wherever else you think would work. Couch, counter top, table… the hallway, the floor. I don’t care. I just need you.”

  Damon laughed, low and sexy and deep in her ear. “I wouldn’t mind trying them all.”

  “That sounds like… like a good idea,” she choked out. “You know, I’m not sure why I ever left you that night. All I’ve thought about was this. All I want is this.”

  Damon grinned down at her. “Oh I get it. You’re just using me for sex.”

  She laughed and god, it was good to laugh. It was good to smile again. It was good to have him there with her, his arms wrapped around her. It was so much more than just his body, and he knew it. Even as virtual strangers, she’d felt that pull to him, the connection, the threads that tied them together. She knew he felt it too. So when she smiled up at him and nodded coyly, he knew exactly what it was she really meant.

  Epilogue

  DAMON

  He never imagined that a normal life could be so good. He’d never been able to imagine because he’d never had that. He’d never given himself the opportunity to be a regular person, to take a chance on himself, his heart, his ability to do things other than steal cars and cause trouble and be a part of one club or other.

  He’d never taken a chance because it had never been presented to him. Until Kirstin held out her hand to him, a lifeline in the darkness, and he took it.

  The first rays of dawn stole across the bedroom as she stirred beside him. It was far too early to get up for the day, especially on the weekend, but she opened her eyes anyway. She blinked those long, thick lashes at him.

  “You’re awake,” she said softly. “Doing that creepy thing where you lay there and look at me for hours on end where I make horrible faces in my sleep and snore and drool?”

  “Nothing could be sexier.” He loved watching her sleep. He couldn’t help himself. He’d never been great at sleeping. Some of the guys at one of his old clubs used to joke that he should always be on watch duty, because even when he did rest, it was like he wasn’t truly asleep, like his body just went into some kind of stasis. Years of training as a kid, he guessed, when sleeping wasn’t just unsafe, it made you vulnerable.

  Kirstin reached out and stroked his hair. He’d grown it out longer, since she said she liked it that way. He’d stopped shaving too, a few months back, and had quite the beard going on. Also as per the love of his life’s request.

  “Are you having trouble sleeping again?”

  “Nah.” He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. He was immediately rewarded with the most dazzling smile. “I got a few good hours in. Lying next to you always helps.”

  “Does it?” Kirst’s eyes narrowed. She knew him too well.

  “Of course.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in against his chest. She went easily, tangling her arms around his neck. She ground against him, which sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine. His cock was already so hard it hurt, but the promise of being inside Kirstin made him groan. She giggled in response. She knew exactly what she did to him. All the time. God, it didn’t matter how many times he had her. They’d been living together for two years and he still couldn’t get enough of her. He didn’t just crave her, he needed her like he needed his own heart.

  She wriggled against him and another dark groan ushered from his throat and spilled into the room. “When are you going to make an honest woman out of me?” Her voice was raspy and womanly and thick with desire, but there was also a hint of teasing. The jasmine scent of her hair flooded his noise as she moved her face to nuzzle his nose with hers. The room wasn’t overly cold, but her nose was.

  “Really?”

  She pulled back and stared down at him, her beautiful lips curled up in a private smile that she reserved just for him. “Of course.”

  “You’d actually consider marrying me?”

  “Why not? We live together and we have for years. We don’t hate each other. We’ve been through at least one life or death situation that I know of. You’ve worked so hard to put me through school. I’m going to graduate soon and then it’s your turn. God, I can’t wait until you’re an actual legitimate certified mechanic and you don’t have to work under the table anymore.”

  “I get a paycheck you know.” He feigned hurt and she giggled. He loved the sound of her laugh. God, he’d do anything to be the one to make her happy.

  “Oh, I know. I just mean that the shop won’t have to lie and say you’re certified when you’re not.”

  “I’m the best mechanic they have.”

  “No one would doubt that. I think you’re probably also the only mechanic who could hot-wire a car if a customer lost their key.”

  “I don’t think that’s overly helpful to them. To me, maybe, but once I started it for them, they wouldn’t be able to get it running.”

  Kirstin brushed her knuckles down the side of his face in a loving caress. There was no mistaking the love shining in her eyes. It still humbled and awed him that out of all the men in the world, he was somehow the bastard lucky enough to be the one who went through life with her.

  Nothing was better than falling asleep with her and holding her through the night. He’d never known a greater joy than waking beside her each and every morning. It wasn’t just that they meshed well chemistry wise. They did. God, did they ever. It was more than that. It had always been more than that. That thread that bound them up and tied them together was tighter than it had ever been.

  “You really think you’d be willing to let me put a ring on your finger and call you my wife? Your friends might think it a little off putting that your husband has this whole skill set that isn’t exactly… vanilla.”

  She stared back at him, eyes smoldering. “My friends better not learn anything about your vanilla skill set.”

  He jabbed her lightly in the ribs, where he knew she was most ticklish. “That’s not what I was talking about and you know it. Those skills are all yours. I was talking about what you mentioned. Hot wiring cars, lifting shit, riding a bike, all the shit I’ve done to survive. That’s not a skill set that most people develop.”

  “I’m not ashamed of you.” Kirstin rolled her hips against his, purposely tempting him. “I wasn’t ashamed of my parents. They lived in that world, the same world you did. My dad was rough and crusty and I’m sure to the outside world, my mom was just some biker old lady. To me, they were always just my parents. No matter what my dad did. No matter what people thought of them. They were mom and dad. Two people I loved.”

  Damon frowned as sadness entered Kirstin’s eyes. “I’m sorry that they won’t be there for you. I’m sorry that- that we were never able to- to make their deaths mean anything.”

  “You mean by killing Bone?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t have to kill Bone. I don’t have to avenge their deaths. I know that one day Bone will eat a bullet and it’s going to come from the inside. Men who lead like he does- they make their own destructive beds and they lie in them. He’ll be put to ground soon
enough, I’m sure.”

  Damon shuddered. “I’m not sure how we got from talking about finally getting married, to Bone. I’m sorry. I guess I brought it up and the last thing I wanted to do was upset you.”

  “You didn’t,” she assured him, a little too quickly. “My past is my past. Your past is your past. We can’t help what we did to survive or how we were raised. It brought us together. What Bone did brought us together. My dad lived a hard and fast life and violence was a part of it. My mother always understood that. I guess I was probably the one who didn’t really get it. I mean, until it was almost too late. I’ve made my peace with my grief. It will always hurt, but I know that one day justice will be served.”

  Damon tangled his fingers in Kirstin’s. He squeezed her hand hard in reassurance. “I know we said we won’t look to the past. We’ll find each other here and now. That’s my vow. If you want to get married, we’ll go and do it. However you want. A big thing or we’ll just sign the papers. I’ve only been asking you to be my wife for the past year. I’m glad to hear you’ve finally come around.”

  “Maybe you convinced me.”

  “How did I do that? Like this?” He flexed his hips wickedly, driving his hard cock against her stomach. Kirstin let out a rush of air and he grinned wickedly.

  “That’s only part of it.” She brushed the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip. “I happen to like other things as well. You’re handy around the house. You’re great at cards. You can drink anyone under the table. There isn’t a car you couldn’t lift if we were ever stuck. You’re also just… really damn supportive of everything I do. You’re always there for me. You always have open arms and an open mind. There is nothing I can tell you that would shock you or make you hate me.”

  “Mostly because I’ve already heard worse, no matter what it is you’ve done.”

  She smacked him lightly in the chest and he pretended to grimace in pain. “Asshole. I’m trying to tell you that I love you. That I’ll always love you. That I’m so fucking glad you had an ex club member track me down and that you stalked me and begged me to reconsider my decision about not being with you.”

  “Put that way, I was pretty creepy and desperate.”

  Kirstin grinned. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him hard, breathless, until he saw fucking stars and they were the best stars he’d ever seen. “Maybe I like creepy and desperate.”

  “I’m glad.” He rolled her over and enjoyed her gasp of shock and pleasure as he pawed at her pajama bottoms. He wasn’t sure why she ever bothered with them when they always ended up on the floor. He kissed her breathless. “I’m really, really glad. You are my entire life. My heart. My soul. And I love you.”

  Just like Kirstin usually did, she gripped his face and gave him her answer, her promise, her vow, in a scalding, heart stopping kiss.

  The End

  TRACE

  LONELY RIDER MC 5

  Chapter 1

  TRACE

  The dull smack of flesh hitting flesh echoed through basement hallway and up the narrow set of concrete steps. It was followed up by a dull moan, the kind that rattled up from the chest and bubbled out along with lines of blood tinged spittle.

  The club’s basement went deep. It was dug down into the cold, hard Detroit earth over five decades ago. It was grungy, dingy, dank and dark. Every spring, it flooded. It smelled terrible, like mold and mildew. It was closed in, the air dank. The only light source came from bare bulbs hung from scraggly wires in the rooms. The walls were cement. The floors were cement.

  It was the perfect place for some good old fashioned torture.

  Trace’s shit-kickers finished off the stairs and hit the floor. It was freshly dry, given as the rains seemed to have petered the fuck off and the snow was long gone. July. It should have been a month of promise, of ridges, of fucking sunshine and goddamn rainbows. Instead, the acrid coppery scent of blood reached Trace’s nostrils.

  Another low moan echoed off the concrete walls. A laugh resounded after. Lord, Tommy loved his job far too much. The guy was what they called an enforcer. As in, he enforced the club’s fucking rules. Snitches ended up in ditches and Tommy was the one to put them there. Not before he got whatever information he wanted out of them first. He was very, very good at his job.

  Trace shuddered to think what was happening to the guy beyond those walls. He was about to get a first-hand view. Not that he really wanted to be down there, but Bone wanted to know if the punk had talked yet. Bone, the sick bastard that he was, was beyond going down to the basement himself. Ol’ Prez liked his hands dirty, but not quite that dirty apparently.

  Instead he’d sent Trace. After several years with the club, he’d worked his way up as other men either died off, or more correctly, were killed. No one fucking died off around this place.

  Not under Bone’s rule, which was becoming increasingly violent and erratic. The summer before, he’d had his VP and his old lady executed. Fucking chased down and gunned down, on the vague notion that Big Ted crossed him. It was bullshit. Big Ted took the fucking Serpents and Scythes serious. They were his lifeblood. He would have died for them.

  And he did.

  Just not in the way he would have wanted to go down. Bone branded his VP a traitor because he didn’t agree with the guy on some shit. That and he was a little too popular around the place for Bone’s comfort. His men would have strung their own Prez up if they’d found out that the line about Big Ted being a rat wasn’t true.

  Trace didn’t know that it wasn’t. He just suspected.

  He couldn’t do a fuck about his suspicions.

  Bone would kill Trace if he knew what he’d done a year ago.

  Which was why he was never going to fucking find out.

  Trace stalked into the last room, a large open place where all sorts of gore and mayhem had gone down. There were various devices set up around the place. Tools laid out. Tables with all sorts of goodies. Like a fucking playground for the sick kid that Tommy was.

  God, the guy probably committed his first murder at age five. Probably started torturing people at three. He came by it honestly. The guy was the son of Billy, their previous executioner, until the bastard was unlucky enough to get himself stabbed in a fucking knife fight outside a bar. Unrelated club businesses over a piece of ass. Just like his father, Tommy was amazing when it came to torture. Smart at anything else? Not so much.

  Tommy was barely twenty and he’d been patched in for years already. Bone didn’t exactly have age restrictions, not when it came to men like Tommy and not when the guy’s father had been a loyal club member.

  “Tommy.” Trace inclined his head and his dark hair slipped into his face. He brushed it back and straightened. He tried not to inhale. The scent of copper and vomit, and something indefinable, was rank in the air. Fucking eye watering.

  The guy whirled. He was a big man. Over six feet of solid steely muscle. His blue eyes were cold and dead. He had long blonde hair, freakishly long, past his waist long, probably because he believed it was the source of his power or some shit. Currently it was stained pink and dark brown in several fucking spots. He was shirtless, since he didn’t see the point in dirtying good clothes. His black pants soaked up whatever blood he’d spilled.

  Judging from the look of the poor fucker strapped down to the chair right above the damn floor drain, a lot of blood had been let.

  “Has he said anything?”

  Tommy grinned. It was absolutely terrifying. Almost bone chilling. “Not fucking yet. Not anything of use anyway.”

  Trace rolled his eyes just so Tommy couldn’t tell how unnerved he was. Fuck, he hated the damn basement. Fucking Bone. Sending him down there. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “Yeah?” Trace walked slowly around the man. The guy used to be good looking. Real hot shit with the ladies. Dark hair. Bright blue eyes. Straight white teeth. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. He was tall and trim, worked out.

  He was also a fucking rat.

  Not their ra
t. Nope. But he’d fucked shit up. He knew about the stolen shipment of coke. A whole fucking truck load. Not a pick-up truck either. A motherfucking semi trailer’s worth had gone missing.

  Which left them up shit fucking creek. It left room for Anders and his boys to make a move on their territory and John Anders didn’t miss a damn heartbeat. The guy didn’t exactly run a club, but he had his own force. It was well known that he had some sort of underworld connections and that he didn’t piss around. He wanted to make a move on their territory for a long time. It didn’t take a fucking genius to figure out who was responsible for the missing product. Anders. But how?

  Apparently the unfortunate shithead on the chair was somehow mixed up in it. Or at least Bone thought he was and what Bone said was law. If he took a guy and told Tommy to torture him for information about their missing drugs, then that’s what Tommy did. No questions asked.

  Trace almost pitied the guy. No, if that twisting in his gut was any indication, he did. He thought he was a machine. Track men down for the club. Get on the scent of the bastard. Serve up club justice. That was his shit. His deal. He never actually killed anyone. Ever. Not once in his life, which was akin to a fucking miracle, given his line of work. Bone knew he didn’t have the stomach for it. They all knew, and Trace was seriously out of fucks to give. He did the tracking. He was fucking good at it, hence his name. Trace. As in, Trace that fucker, and we’ll finish him. He had a name once. A real name. He’d long ago forgotten it.

  He had just as much blood on his hands as fucking Mr. Tickles to his left.

  As Trace bent lower to the guy’s face, the fucker let out a moan, like he was some kind of angel there to save him. Wrong. Think again. All out of good deeds today I’m afraid.

  “So. You know his name?”