Gone For You: New Kings Motorcycle Club

by Amri Ackers

  Copyright

  Copyright: Amri Ackers

  Published: May, 2015.

  Publisher: Amri Ackers

  The right of Amri Ackers to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

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  Please note that this is a work of adult fiction and contains graphic language and descriptions of sexual activity. It is intended for mature readers aged 18 and over only.

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  Gone For You

  New Kings Motorcycle Club

  Amri Ackers

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Table of Contents

  1 - Sherry

  2 - Cale

  3 - Sherry

  4 - Cale

  5 - Sherry

  6 - Cale

  7 - Sherry

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY AMRI ACKERS

  Alpha billionaire Julian Sandoval knows he shouldn't fulfill the dark desires Erica's innocence ignites.

  1 - Sherry

  I LOVE THE CHANCE to be the new girl. I realize that I have some pretty ridiculous self-esteem issues because I practically need the fresh start of starting a new school.

  Seventh grade now and another new school? This is precisely the fresh start that I need. I will have a style I have perfected as my own, get every school notebook exactly as it needs to be, and I will be aware of all my favorite books and musical artists. Adults think that teens and preteens (what to rude that word is and means) are always changing and going through phases. They don't understand: we are evolving, growing into ourselves. We are young and are discovering the things that were always meant to define us, be part of us.

  My Dad is in the military. Army. That means that we move somewhere else about every three years. And these past few moves have been very formative indeed. I feel the rush already of getting everything right. Fresh start.

  I have just the outfit picked out. I have color coded folders and binders and notebooks based on the schedules.

  I am totally prepared for this first day. So of course I can't sleep tonight!

  Saying “before I knew it I saw the sun rise” is inaccurate. My mind raced through the night and I didn't sleep, but I knew how painstakingly long I was awake. And I got that ironic twinge of tiredness as I worked the coffee pot. There is always just enough to fill my travel mug after my father takes his coffee to work. My mother likes a little coffee in her creamer. I drink it black so I get plenty.

  Teachers often don't know how to handle me having coffee in first period. When I find my way to my first class, my teacher is chugging back her own in the same metallic cup. Military teachers know they get new kids all the time, so I just smile. Introduce myself. Sit in a front row seat.

  I sit in the front. I take notes. I am organized. I find teachers can always appreciate this. But students my age, not so much. I don't care. It is called school, not popularity contest.

  But second period, and the coffee high doesn't mix well with the teacher I have now.

  An unfortunate leathery bully of a teacher takes to me just fine. I answer every question correctly.

  But I lay eyes on the smirking boy he mocks, and I'm racing in my mind all over again with no real thoughts. Just...something about him.

  The teacher asks me to tutor him, and asks me to go sit in the back with him.

  Thor-effing-A! That works for me.

  I smile at him.

  He smiles at not my eyes but the tight shirt across my breasts.

  Oh damn...just something about him that should turn me off to him makes me...excited in a way I have never felt before.

  I introduce myself to him quietly, and though the teacher called him Caleb, he tells me that he is Cale. The way he paused, and really looked into my eyes. It practically melted me into my seat and I hoped I didn't look silly when I smiled back.

  Through class I almost tune everything out as the assignment of the day will be to memorize the names of the first ten presidents in order is something I don't need to pay attention to. I already know that. So I listen in case there is anything else I need to know...but I don't.

  I can't help it.

  I am totally staring at Cale.

  I can tell that his family doesn't have any money because he has a battered ancient hoodie on with ratty jeans and crappy old boots, but I don't care.

  My family is broke, too, and I care just enough to keep my uniform of regular looks together. I admit without shame that I have good boobs and I will be damnedest I'd I ain't gonna show them off. I wear boots every day - the knee high and heeled kind. Once I got my Mom to buy them, I knew I would never stop wearing them. I could give two shits that I am always looking out of place. I am damned smart so I am always out of place anywhere.

  Cale, he is out of place but because he has this whole bad boy thing going on. Bad boys have never had any allure for me in general. But Cale’s highjacked my brain with that something about him.

  I don't say anything to him. But when I ask him about my next class, he snatches my schedule. "Come with me," he says over the ringing bell. For the first time, I leave just as the bell rings instead of noting in my agenda what we discussed in class. No lecture wrap-up notes for me, Cale Logan has grabbed my hand, asked, no, commanded, I come with him. I discover we don't have the same class when he starts to walk away, but for all I know he isn't even going. He tells me where the cafeteria is, and that he'll meet me outside.

  "To study?" I ask. Timid as a caught mouse, I think my voice actually speaks like I’m willing my brain. But I don't care.

  I actually hold my breath till I hear his answer, "Yeah, turns out I have a good reason not to fail all my classes now."

  He squeezes my hand, and I nearly faint.

  He lets go and I stutter out his name.

  "Yeah Sher?" And my mind is dizzy. Is that just a nickname, or is his gruff voice making a French reference rolling out my name?

  "You didn't even have a pencil. You don't have a bag. Is it in your locker?"

  He laughs, and it is a sound I feel needs treasuring. I just know he doesn't laugh often enough. When he walks away and I have pulled myself from my thoughts, I will notice the ugly looks people cast him. But I will treasure him. Cale Logan belongs in my heart, and I have been evolving and growing for him to be part of me.

  I reach inside my tote - I carry a tote, not a backpack - and give him one of my dark green pencils because it looks rich like his eyes. And I give him my notebook. Forget my color coding. I wanna give whatever I got to Cale Logan.

  He takes it and smiles. "Thanks. I'll take notes or something. See you at lunch."

  He walks away and I catch my breath.

  This fresh start is the best yet.

  But with a sinking feeling, I know that I will have one in a few years after this. I am already crazy about Cale. I ca
n't start over anymore.

  But I am like that, mind racing and mourning the future.

  Only because I know when I gotta hold onto something. Gotta hold onto Cale Logan.

  2 - Cale

  Eight years later...

  IN MY HEART I Knew what she wanted us to be, even then, even being so young, but it didn't matter.

  Though I was as wrapped up in her as she was in me, I knew I had to let go because her dad was military, they left.

  She was never coming back for me, no matter what she had said. Military kids, they move, and they never see anyone again.

  But when I saw her that day, when I was out on my bike and paying just enough attention to cages coming in town to make sure no one destroyed me or my fucking ride, I knew her face when I saw it. Years later after seeing each other in person. That was my Sherry.

  My Sherry I tried to never think of myself as havin'...but I want her.

  Sure, when she'd looked me up on Facebook last year, I'd been fucking stunned.

  And we talked. But I never thought she was really coming. And I hadn't heard from her in several weeks.

  Shit, I realized that we'd never gone this long without talking since we'd reconnected on Facebook.

  And she'd sent me letters before email was the big thing. Then we'd email.

  Fuck. How'd I been too blind to see that Sherry was always coming back to me.

  After my younger years and feeling like I shit, I felt like big shit on the road as a biker now, just like my MC Prez Dad.

  But I practically turned to a liquid on my bike, pulling over in front the jewelry store office complex the MC owned when I saw her.

  I shook my head.

  I only saw her for a second. I hadn't seen what she'd looked like in a while. Unlike most people, she hadn't posted a million selfies on her Facebook.

  Far as I could tell, fucking Sherry only used it to talk to me. And it had one old picture she'd put on there when she'd graduated high school. Thousands of miles from me.

  Fucking Sherry.

  Fucking. Sherry...

  She hadn't said she was coming.

  She hadn't said anything to me in almost a month.

  Was I losing my fucking mind?

  It had never been said that I, Logan Cale, was of sound and regular mind.

  ***

  "Were you even gonna tell me you were back in town?"

  Who would wanna tell anybody they were in this shithole. But...I knew Sherry. Fucking knew that there was something more that was going on.

  Then, there it was, tearing into my heart and ripping my goddamn balls off with them because Sherry couldn't look at me that way.

  Fear. Icy cold breath stopping fear in her eyes. I was chilled to my goddamn bones with the exception of the fuckin' inferno of rage building up in their marrow. Something. Was NOT. Right.

  "Sherry, baby," I lowered my voice. Shifted my eyes, surveyed that no one was around or watching us, but still I kept my tone low and touched her arm while I asked, "What's wrong, Sher?"

  Her big eyes tore through me. Something was wrong. Was very wrong. But she didn’t look ready to talk about anything.

  Her eyes sparked with more fear, and I felt stabbed when she directed it at me. "H-how did you know I was here...you don't work with him, do you?

  "Sherry, baby, who the fuck is him? Goddamnit, come with me, wear my helmet, we gotta talk you obviously aren't safe here."

  Then I saw a fucking face I recognized.

  It fucking recognized me, and I knew I was in trouble.

  Within a minute, Sherry was on my bike with her arms clinging to me for dear life.

  The sweet girl I hadn't seen in years, who I'd never really stopped talking to .

  For the first time, I drove off with answering my MC prez's call.

  Dad would just have to understand.

  Didn't know if he'd believe I wasn't trying to get involved with the white hate motherfuckers undoubtedly related to whatever upset my woman--

  Fuck.

  Sherry had always cared about me but didn't grow up around the MC.

  So why couldn't I shake the idea of her as my woman? As my real woman, as my old lady.

  ****

  I hugged Sherry to me. Kissed her forehead.

  My head screamed at the shit she went through. I knew how those fuckers partied. I knew Sherry's instincts were right; I knew I was terrified she might think I was biker trash and have gone with me because she'd railed against the idea of the devil you know.

  She probably didn't think she knew me.

  Fuck if I knew her.

  But I knew that I wanted to.

  Been gone for her since I met her prissy ass and being a grown, sexy as fuck woman now didn't make that any less true.

  I needed to protect her.

  I wasn't sure exactly how to do it. But I did know that what I now understood was that this was something to bring to the club, not act on and then act like his selfish shit told to the club after acting on was something he could haul out at church like something he did for the club.

  How did Sherry always make things make sense for me? I didn't know how. Didn't need to. Just knew I needed to hold on to my Sherry.

  I pulled out my cell to call a brother. I stayed next to Sherry, not wanting her to take me making a call to the club as something any way similar to the shit that hopefully her dumb fuck uncle had at least tried to hide from her. The kind of shit those white hate motherfuckers did wasn't right. Club never got dirty in any real way, and they didn't hide shit.

  ***

  What had I really just heard on the phone?

  Those patches. The back of that vest...

  That club had to be a gang.

  What in Thor's name had I gotten myself into?

  First the obvious thing to me in that magical hindsight moment was that white supremacist gang that her awful uncle and his friends were in...Cale couldn’t be in some damned gang, too!

  I wanted to cry when I thought about the awful things that they'd definitely done to other girls the way they'd talked about doing them to her.

  Fuck...Fuck! Cale Logan, her Cale - he wouldn't do that. If he was gonna do it, wouldn't he have raped her last night?

  But he wasn't really her Cale Logan. Her Cale Logan was the guy she talked to online. Knew as a kid. Dreamed about.

  Maybe like her uncle's friends had said about her.

  Maybe Cale didn't like to "fuck sleeping pussy."

  It made my stomach revolt worse that the food poisoning I had a few years back to think things like that about Cale.

  No, I thought things that warmed my belly and heated the very core of me when I thought about Cale.

  Even if I did think he was in a gang, I realized that I did think that he was still the most alluring man I’d ever laid eyes on.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes off him now, he was so gorgeous. Every inch of him was rippling with strong, corded muscles. His body was strong. It made me feel safe to look at him. To imagine those arms holding me…

  But I couldn’t feel safe around someone who was in a gang. Not even Cale, right?

  My mind screamed this, but my body screamed something else entirely. I wondered what it would be like to taste the sweat and firmness of his skin against my tongue. I couldn’t keep my eyes on him, but I wanted to not keep my hands off of him. I wanted to press my fingers across every inch of his strong chest, his gorgeous face.

  I wanted more of Cale than I’d ever wanted anyone…wanted him in ways I didn’t even understand. But I felt it.

  I craved him. I always have.

  ***

  My fucking throat tore down to my heart when I turned back, clicking my shitty burner phone closed and dumping it in my pocket, and saw how Sherry was looking at me. My Sherry. Looking at me like...that.

  I hadn't hid from her. She must realize and glean something bad from a platoon of bikers I had just called and said I’d see when I got to the hotel. She probably thought she'd traded one s
et of racist assholes for ones with better rides.

  That face said she had to be thinking something along those lines.

  The way she was looking at me...

  She feared the worst.

  Damn. Gone was the sweet angel who'd been the guardian of his youth and come back to him. Shattered were the dreams she might be that angel for him again if she was looking at him with that look.

  He had to tell her everything. The MC would take care of her.

  He would take care of her.

  Goddamnit. I would get back my woman.

  Fuck me, I was lost. Because I had always thought of her as my woman. Always. But makin' her my old lady had never seemed possible until now, and now it was basically the only fucking thing I could manage to think between the rage I was trying to cool down at what hadn't happened to her and what she had gone through.

  Some disgusting part of me, that dirty old biker trash I came by honest, wanted to have her. Horrified look, lustful look he might have thought he caught a glimmer of.

  I wanted to tear off her clothes and bury my cock deep inside her, explode into her and fuck her so hard again and again. Make her sore for me for days.

  Mark her as mine. Keep me on her mind. No matter the cost.

  Because in MC life, the only life I know, we do own our women. And they like it, or the get the fuck out.

  I wanted to claim Sherry, innocent Sherry, as my own. Make her scream for me stop, scream for me to never stop. I wanted to be lost in her.

  3 - Sherry

  I WOKE UP and smelled him.

  Undeniably him.

  It was a smell that clung to memories surrounding my heart. My heart was Cale Logan.

  This was the scent of Cale Logan, grown up but still the same.

  Salty, musky, spicy, woodsy. So sexy...

  His body had ink now. He wore a leather vest full of macabre patches. His hands were rougher, calloused from physical labor. His body was taut with muscles of a working man, not a youth. He was firm, full on sexy male. Man.