by Alyssa Breck
Dangerous Affiliations
KNIGHTS OF WAR MC
Book 1
Alyssa Breck
Copyright © 2019 Alyssa Breck
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Synopsis
One more term paper and Holly Farris will have her graduate degree in journalism. Her research lands her in a seedy bar in an industrial area of Dallas where she crosses paths with a mysterious ex-Army Ranger-turned-enforcer for an outlaw motorcycle club.
His gruff attitude has her on guard, but she can’t deny the instant attraction.
Hunter McKay doesn’t like reporters nosing around his club, but he’s drawn to the petite blonde with the big attitude. Layers of secrets are peeled back, and Hunter starts to feel something he hasn’t felt in a long time.
When Holly’s unwitting involvement in an FBI investigation provokes a prison gang to put a hit out on her, Hunter must decide how far he’s willing to fall to save her.
Chapter ONE
Holly
The moment after she walked into the bar, Holly figured it hadn’t been her brightest idea. Smoke hung heavy in the air, and she cleared her throat. A woman across the bar stood beside a pool table and suggestively slid her hand up and down the cue stick. Her jeans were too tight, and her boobs were squished together by a paisley-patterned corset. Who dressed like that in a bar? Her hair was messy, and the ghastly shade of red was nothing God had created, that shit had come straight out of a bottle.
At the rear of the club, another woman spun around on a pole. She wore nothing but a neon pink G-string and white platform heels. Her brown hair was pulled up in pigtails. A group of men sat at the two tables in front of the stage. She came close to the edge and slid down to the floor. She sat on her ass and lifted her legs up then spread them open. One of the men threw a balled up dollar bill that landed between her thighs. She smiled and winked at him before crawling back toward the pole.
The men in the bar all had one thing in common. They wore the cut. The leather vest of the Knights of War. That’s what brought Holly out of the comfort of her small house in Sugar Branch, Texas, to a seedy bar in Dallas on a Saturday night. One last thesis for her sociology class and she’d have her master’s in journalism. A big chunk of the dissertation paper was already written, but she needed a little personal experience to polish it up; a little personal experience with a biker gang.
Holly held her purse close to her side and slid onto a stool at the bar. The thought that she could blend in fled her mind like water down a storm drain. Unless she took off her clothes and joined the chick spinning on the pole or gave a beer bottle a blow job, she stuck out like a sore thumb.
The burly bartender wiped the counter with a white towel. “What can I get you, darlin’?” His T-shirt had a picture of a skull with wings; the same image that adorned the back of the leather vests.
“I’ll have a margarita, please.”
“Sure thing. Blended or on the rocks?” He smiled. A large gap separated his front teeth lending a softness to his kind of scary demeanor.
“On the rocks.” She reached into her purse and slid a ten-dollar bill across the bar.
He set a salt-rimmed glass in front of her and poured an extra shot of Patron on the side. “That’s on the house, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.” Holly licked some salt off the glass and took a sip of the margarita. She choked. It was mostly tequila with a little margarita mix. “Wow. That’s strong.”
“We don’t water down our shit here.” He winked at her and moved down the bar. “Another?” he asked the man sitting a few seats away from Holly.
The man didn’t answer but just nodded, and the bartender tipped a bottle of Maker’s Mark to fill the empty glass.
Closer by Nine Inch Nails started playing and the man turned around in his seat. The volume increased, and a red light lit up the stage where the woman danced. The beat was erotically hypnotic.
Holly downed the shot of tequila and chased it with another sip of the margarita. The stripper walked around the pole, dragging her feet in a seductive march. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around the pole. The same man who’d thrown a dollar at her stood up and hooted. “Fuck, yeah!” The other men laughed and clinked glasses and bottles together.
She wondered why the guy at the bar wasn’t sitting with the rest of his crew. He wore the Knights of War vest along with a solemn expression on his face. Holly studied his profile. His nose was straight and his lips full. He stroked his beard and seemed entranced by the stripper. Tattoos covered the backs of both his hands.
As the song came to a close, he stood and walked toward Holly. Faded jeans hung on his hips. His gait was smooth and unhurried.
She turned around and took another swig of her drink.
He sat down beside her. “Do I know you?”
Holly smiled. “I don’t think so.”
His eyes slid down to her chest, and he stared without apology as if he were entitled to the view.
She pulled her jacket closed.
“What’s your name?” he asked. The ice clinked in his glass as he drained the last of the whiskey.
“Holly.”
He tilted his head. “You’re named after a Christmas plant. How sweet.” Sarcasm laced his words.
She frowned. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“Who said I was nice?” He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.
A stack of index cards sat on her desk back at home. She’d rehearsed the questions she would ask. All that fled her mind as she watched him do nothing more than smoke a damned cigarette.
He wrapped his hand around her arm and spoke low and deliberate. “What are you doing in here?”
She looked at his hand then up to his face. “I’m having a drink in a bar. Why?”
He leaned in close enough that his breath was hot on her cheek. “Don’t bullshit me, little girl. This is not your scene, and we both know it.”
Straightening her spine, she said, “Take your hand off me, please.”
“Are you a cop?”
Holly laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“No, I’m not a cop.” She pulled her arm away, and he let go.
Up close, his brown eyes held a softness that his a
ctions hid. But interrogating a woman in a bar seemed to come second nature to him.
“If you’re not a cop, then you’re just plain stupid. This is no place for a pretty, little thing like you to be hanging out alone.”
“I can take care of myself.” Holly put her hand into her purse and touched the leather pouch that held the pepper spray her mother had bought her for her birthday.
“Take a good look around here, sweetheart. You’re a lamb sitting in the wolves’ den. I don’t know what you’re stroking in your purse, but I’m betting it’s nothing that could stop someone from snapping you in half.”
The hostility wasn’t something she was used to. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to warn her or if he was just a jerk. “Are you always this mean?”
“No. Sometimes I’m meaner.” He nodded toward her empty glass. “What are you drinking?”
“Margarita. On the rocks.”
He rapped on the bar and pointed to her. In less than a minute, a fresh drink sat in front of her, and his glass was refilled.
“Thank you.” She looked at his vest to see if his name was on it somewhere. Sgt. at Arms was embroidered on a patch on his right and Master Reapers on the left. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Hunter.”
“I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, but you’re kind of an asshole.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. His smile was a little crooked, but it suited him. “And you’re kind of feisty. I like that.”
Holly smirked. “I think it’s liquid courage.” As she sipped her second drink, she silently reminded herself that she had planned to have only one drink. This was work. Observation.
The stripper left the stage, and the party of men began to scatter inside the bar. One of them grabbed the redhead by the pool table and backed her up to the wall. She let the pool stick fall to the ground and wrapped her tattooed arms around his neck.
Hunter crushed out his cigarette and lit another one.
Holly pointed to the pack of Camels. “May I?”
He pushed them toward her. “Social smoker?” The lighting was dim in the bar, but he looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors. His skin was sun-kissed.
“Yeah. When I drink.” She shook one out, and he flipped open a silver Zippo to light it for her.
There was no DJ or jukebox, but the music was pretty loud. An old song came on that she remembered hearing as a kid, and she moved her head a little bit to the beat. Black speakers were mounted on the corners near the ceiling.
A hulking blond guy with tattoos up and down his arms and on his neck reached between Hunter and Holly to grab the same pack of cigarettes. “Who’s your friend, Hunt?”
“Holly, meet Maddox. Maddox. Holly.”
He glanced down at her cleavage and smiled. “Howdy.” The patch on his chest read “V. President.”
“Hi.” She took a hard drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke upward. There wasn’t much left in her glass, and she swigged the last of it.
“Do you want another one?” Hunter asked.
“No. I shouldn’t. I have to drive home still.”
“Where’s home?”
“Sugar Branch.”
The light glinted off the silver rings on his left hand. “You’re quite a ways from home. What brings you to Dallas?” He flicked an ash into the glass bowl on the bar. Bits of gray weaved through his brown hair and more so in his beard. He probably had ten years on her.
“Business.”
“And what kind of business brings you to a bar like this?” Hunter licked his lips, and she lost her train of thought. Bearded bikers weren’t her type in general, but he was growing on her. Fast.
Before she could answer, the door to the bar opened, and a group of men filed inside. They wore cuts like Hunter’s but were from another club. The patches were different. Glorious Bastards MC. Both Hunter and Maddox stood.
Holly steeled herself for a bar fight like she’d seen in the movies. Instead, Hunter stuck out his hand and shook hands with a squatty man sporting a sizeable beer belly. He clapped Hunter on the shoulder.
The music was too loud for her to hear their conversation, but the men convened toward the back of the bar. Hunter didn’t give her another glance.
After two margaritas and two shots of tequila, she had to pee. She caught the eye of the bartender. “Where’s the restroom?”
He pointed toward the now empty stage. “Back there. In that hallway to the left.”
“Thanks.” She hung her purse on her shoulder. The hallway was narrow and dark. The first door had a stick figure of a man. There were no speakers in the corridor, and it was much quieter. The heels of her boots clicked over the concrete floor. The ladies’ room was close to the fire exit. She ducked inside. It didn’t have stalls, just a toilet, sink, and mirror but at least it was clean. She half expected to walk in and find one of those bar bimbos snorting a line of coke off the back of the toilet or something.
There were no toilet seat covers, so she quickly employed her hover method, relieved herself and washed her hands. The lights in bathrooms were always so harsh, and her face looked pale in the cracked mirror. She put on some lip balm and straightened her jacket. She was a little dizzy from the booze and figured after another hour, or so she’d be cool to drive back home. It was almost eleven now. At midnight, she’d bail.
She pulled the door open and ran smack into the chest of a man. She hadn’t seen him in the bar earlier, but he wore the same leather vest as Hunter. The Master Reaper patch was on the left side, and there were slash marks embroidered below it like he was keeping score of something.
“Oh, man. You startled me.” Holly laughed and touched his arm. “I’m sorry.” She stepped to the side to go around him since he didn’t seem to be moving out of the way.
He kept eye contact with her and stepped in her path. “Easy, sweetheart.” He put his heavy hands on her shoulders. A tattoo of a crow peeked out of the neck of his gray shirt. The wings curled up the sides of his throat. More black ink covered both his arms. The centerpiece on his right arm was a skull with two pistols and the name of the club.
Jesus. He was big. “Excuse me.” She tried again to walk past him.
He smiled. “What’s your hurry?” A black beanie covered his head. Shaggy dark hair hung past his shoulders.
The scent of liquor on his breath was so strong that she turned her head and wrinkled her nose. “Excuse me, please.”
Ignoring her request, he backed her farther into the bathroom. “You must be the new one. I haven’t seen you before.” He licked his lips and looked down at her boobs.
The scoop neck shirt she wore wasn’t provocative, but apparently, it accentuated her cleavage a little too much. “I just want to leave.” She put her hands on his chest and pushed back, but he didn’t move.
“We’re all here for a good time, baby. Let’s get this party started.” He advanced on her.
Before she knew what he was doing, she’d been lifted off her feet and pushed back against the wall. “Stop it.” She balled up her fists and hit him on the shoulders.
“Hit me again. I like a little fight in my women.” His eyes were bloodshot, and his words came out slurred.
Panic skittered up her spine, and her heart pounded. “Put me down, or I’m going to scream.”
“You’re giving me a hard-on.” He squeezed her thigh hard and pulled her leg up around his hip.
She managed to slip her hand into her purse and flipped the button on the pepper spray holster with her thumb. The leather bag dropped to the floor, and the contents scattered.
As she raised the canister up between their bodies, a look of recognition registered on the dude’s face. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and pressed the red button.
He stumbled back, and she took the opportunity to knee him in the groin. The combination of the pepper spray to the face and the blow to the nuts dropped him. He groaned and rolled onto his side. “Fucking bitch.”
Holly stepped over him and grabbed her purse off the floor. She stopped in the corridor to catch her breath. She steadied herself and walked back through the bar. The pack of cigarettes was still on the counter, and she shook one out, but her hand trembled so bad that she couldn’t flip the top of the Zippo to light it.
The bartender reached out and took it from her. “You okay, honey?” He lit the end of the cigarette.
She took a deep pull and blew out the smoke. “Thanks. Yeah. I’m okay. I have to take off.” Without talking to anyone else, she made a beeline for the front door and walked toward her car. The cool air felt good on her face, and the reality of the situation set in. This had been a stupid idea. She could do research on the internet or watch Sons of Anarchy or something. She didn’t need to be pawed by a biker to get the gist of the lifestyle.
She didn’t smoke in her car, so she finished the cigarette while she dug for her keys in her purse. The keychain was tangled with her earbuds, and both fell on the ground. “Fuck.” She stepped on the cigarette and grabbed them.
The parking lights flashed when she pressed the button to unlock the doors. Heat flushed her face. Between the booze and the adrenaline, she was sure her cheeks would be red. She was mad more than scared and wanted to just get the hell out of there.
“Holly.”
She spun around. “What?”
“Where are you going?” Hunter crossed the parking lot in just a few strides.
“I’m going home.”
“You’re not driving.”
“How else am I supposed to get there?”
Hunter towered over her. “You’re drunk, and we both know it.”
She put her hand on her hip. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t make me take your keys.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder toward the bar. “Come inside and have a cup of coffee at least.”
A string of bikes was lined up outside the building. A red neon image of a horned devil complete with a pointy tail was perched on the roof above the door. She fiddled with the zipper on the sleeve of her leather jacket. A burly dude in a black vest stumbled out the door with a bubbly brunette hanging on his arm. They disappeared around the side of the building, and Holly craned her neck to see what was back there. This was the kind of place that people got drunk in and then fucked in their cars in the parking lot.
