by Harley Stone
“He’s not worth it.”
They weren’t my words, but they’d been drilled into my head by Sage, my motorcycle club’s counselor. Most clubs didn’t have counselors, but when you shove a bunch of military vets with post traumatic stress disorder together, a counselor is necessary. Believe that.
Sage would also tell me to take a beat and chill the fuck out. That sounded like a good plan, so I parked my bike, fed the meter, and scanned the area for some place I could cool my heels. A bar named The Line sat in the middle of the next block, so I hoofed it over and went inside.
Sports paraphernalia was plastered all over the walls and the basketball game was on. I got a couple of sideways looks, but nothing I wasn’t used to, especially while wearing my cut. Confident I’d found a watering hole I could somewhat relax in, I pulled up a barstool and ordered a stout.
The game was a close one, stressing me out far more than it should have, but if the Blazers didn’t get their shit together, they’d be out of the playoffs again. Two free-throws were missed and I shook my head and went out back to smoke.
I was just about to light up when I heard the muffled cry of a girl.
The city was loud, but I knew what I’d heard. Straining my ears, I put my smokes back in my pocket and ventured out into the covered picnic area.
“Don’t you fuckin’ bite me, you little whore,” a male voice said.
There was a slapping noise and the woman called out again. Grunting followed.
I rounded the divider to find some wiry asshole plowing into a girl bent over a picnic table. He had his hand covering her mouth. She met my gaze, and her eyes begged me for help.
Her attacker was so busy rutting into her that he didn’t see me. I crept around behind him, grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and hauled his ass off her, holding him inches above the ground. His little pencil dick swung from side to side.
“I see why you can’t get women the right way, but this shit ain’t gonna fly,” I growled.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, helicoptering his hands to swing at me. “Let me go! This is none of your business.”
The girl was crying. I couldn’t see enough to make out her features, but I could hear the sobs pouring out of her. He’d been fucking raping her while she cried. The reality of the situation boiled rage up inside me.
“Let me go!” he demanded again.
“Not gonna fuckin’ happen.” I needed to shut him up, so I set him down and wound up. Right hook to the jaw, resulting in a satisfying crunch. Now he was screaming. It sounded much better than her crying. Left hook to the gut, another crunch. Probably a rib. Maybe two. He tried to block me and I snapped his arm.
“Ahhh what the fuck, man?!”
I was too far gone to respond. I dropped him and he spun around, giving me the perfect shot at his left kidney. Bam. Bet the motherfucker didn’t expect that. He fell to the ground and I went with him, my vision exploding in red.
The next thing I knew, men were hauling me off him and trying to contain me. Sirens closed in on us. Lights flashed. I was in handcuffs and being read my rights. They pulled me out front and stuffed me into the backseat of a cruiser. Looking over my shoulder one last time, I saw the girl being loaded into an ambulance. She’d be okay. That made it all worth it.
I knew the drill, so I kept my mouth shut through all the questions and threats until the boys in blue let me have my one phone call.
Dialing Link, my club president and closest friend, I rested my forehead against the wall and waited for him to pick up.
He accepted the collect call, like I knew he would.
“Havoc? What’s going on?”
“I’m in jail, brother. I fucked up. But this time, I swear to you, the bastard deserved it.”
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Thank you so much for reading Link’d Up. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey. Please take a moment to write a review. They only require twenty words and help me tremendously. I appreciate your support!
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Also from Harley Stone:
Wreaking Havoc: #2 in the Dead Presidents MC (coming soon)
Dial A for Addison: S.A.F.E. Detective Agency #1
Throw Dylan from the Train: S.A.F.E. Detective Agency #2
Dom’s Ascension: Mariani Crime Family Book 1
Making Angel: Mariani Crime Family Book 2
Breaking Bones: Mariani Crime Family Book 3 (coming soon)
Harley Stone is a lover of animals, books, dark chocolate, and red wine. She’s always up for a good adventure (real or fictional), and when she’s not building imaginary worlds, she’s dipping her toes into reality in southwest Washington with her husband and their boys.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would have never become a reality without the help and support of so many people. Special thanks to my husband, Meltarrus, our boys, and all my friends and family for letting me off the hook when I daydreamed storyline and dialog during our conversations.
Thank you, Piper Davenport, my amazingly talented and beautiful bestie, who convinced me to leap outside my comfort zone and write this series. Thanks for always believing in me, lady. Oh, and thanks for letting me use Booker and Hawk from the Dogs of Fire. You’re pretty much the greatest ever. And yes, you’re always right.
I’m greatly indebted to the talented Jackson Jackson for creating my cover.
Huge thanks to the incredible Gail Goldie, who saw this first and saved the rest of the world from having to read most of my mistakes. Also, thanks to my fabulous friend KA Ware for her content edits, suggestions, and encouragement. Thank you, beta and ARC readers for your edits, support, and love.
And, thank you, reader, for embarking on this journey with me!
