A Rebel Love (Black Rebel Riders' MC Book 7)

by Glenna Maynard

  I hop in the truck deciding if my parents won’t keep JT out of trouble, I’ll have to step in and do it myself, like I always have.

  Our father hasn’t been much of a father since our mother took off during my eighth grade year. My family is seriously screwed up. My mother left us for another man and his biker club, his name was Slim Black. He was an asshole. He didn’t care that she already had a family—a husband and a daughter who needed her.

  The few years she was with him, she pretended she didn’t even have a family. Was going by the name Wild Cherry. I couldn’t believe it when my dad took her back, pregnant, with another man’s child, acting as if she’d never left. They fought constantly. She drank through the whole pregnancy. It’s amazing JT was born healthy.

  Once she gave birth to my brother though, things went from bad to worse. She left us for Slim yet again. Saddling us with a kid that belonged to another man. When she came back for good my dad tried to make it work. He tried to be her husband again, but she wasn’t cut out for being a wife or a mother.

  The only reason she came back was because Slim had ‘disappeared.’ Not because she was ready to be a mother again. My dad was drinking all the time. They would fight and hit on one another, until finally my Gram said enough, and called the law. My dad went to jail for domestic abuse. Once he was released, he never looked back. He forgot all about me, his daughter.

  We still see him for the holidays but even then…things just aren’t the same. A piece of him died when his marriage ended. He was never the same after JT was born. My brother doesn’t remember most of it; he was just a baby. I wish I could forget.

  His dirty blond hair looks nothing like my curly, ruddy brown hair. His hair is more fine. There isn’t much about us that is similar. He has blue eyes and mine are more of a hazel, showing more brown than green. His nose is long and narrow, and mine is more short. He has a skinny chin and mine is more round and prominent. We look nothing alike.

  JT lays on the gas, speeding like a damn road demon, making me nearly pee my pants. His stolen copper rolls from one side of the truck bed to the other as he takes the curves flying. I am bouncing all over the damn cab. I can’t even make out the trees as they whiz by the window in a green blur.

  “Slow down JT!”

  “Gotta get there before they close,” he informs me grinding his teeth.

  “Better late than dead!” I snap.

  He rolls his eyes but lets off the gas pedal.

  When we arrive, the gate is locked. My brother gets out of the truck shaking the lock. “Damn it!” He kicks the chain link fencing, clearly frustrated with the situation.

  “You can come back in the morning.”

  “No, I need money tonight. You don’t get it Christa. Perry said...never mind.” He shakes his head.

  “Perry said what?” I harp but he doesn’t answer. He turns his attention to the road behind us.

  A motorcycle comes rumbling down the gravel road; dust is flying behind it as it approaches.

  Getting out of the truck, my eyes meet with a sight for sore eyes. Marc Adams.

  His dimple pops out as he recognizes my smile. “Christa Franklin.” He clutches his chest and staggers back.

  “Marc.” I blush. I haven’t laid eyes on him since we officially broke up my sophomore year of high school. Not since he refused to leave the club that destroyed my family.

  My smile quickly fades when he corrects me. “It’s Tread now.”

  I take in the man in front of me, covered in tattoos, even his knuckles have ink on them. He’s wearing a leather biker cut. He’s one of those tools. His eyes crinkle at my frown.

  JT joins our awkward reunion. “Hey man, got some copper to scrap.”

  I watch as Marc, oops, I mean ‘Tread’ unlocks the gate. “No problem, drive on in. I’m right behind you.”

  His eyes are still on me as I climb back in the truck. I jump when he fires his bike back up, wearing a menacing snarl on his face as his eyes flame with heat.

  “How do you know him?” My brother asks as he inches us forward. JT doesn’t know anything about the years our mom spent with Slim Black. The one thing her and my dad can agree on is JT doesn’t need to know anything about the man who fathered him. That or the life they lead, but it seems fate has other plans.

  “Someone I used to know,” I answer wistfully as I close my eyes intent on not elaborating further. I don’t want to revisit the past, but that doesn’t stop the memories from invading my thoughts.

  Marc presses his mouth to mine—his kiss is overwhelming.

  When he kisses me, I forget where he begins and where I end. When he touches me, there is nothing else that matters. My mom leaving, my dad drinking, my baby brother depending on me…it all disappears when Marc takes me in his arms.

  His fingers grab hungrily at the hem of my shirt. “Take it off. I don’t want anything between us. Need to touch ye, skin to skin.”

  I’m so nervous, it’s my first time. But Marc makes me feel safe and special. He makes me think anything is possible.

  “Come on baby, I’ll just put the tip in and if you want me to stop I’ll be sad about it, but I will stop.” He grins, his dimple pops out. God he is gorgeous.

  “Do you love me Marc?”

  “You are so precious to me Christa, now let me touch you.”

  I bite my bottom lip teetering with indecision. I like Marc, but he’s my first real boyfriend, and he is older. He’s used to sex and I am afraid if I keep making him wait he’ll get tired of waiting and move on.

  “Okay,” I say with a weak smile.

  “Fuck, Christa. I’m gonna treasure this gift you are giving me for all my days. You’ll see. I’ll make you feel so damn good. I’ll be so damn good to you.”

  The creak of the tailgate being let down snaps me out of the past and brings me back to the present.

  JT is laughing at something Marc is telling him. I don’t want my brother being poisoned by him and his club. Their charm is intoxicating but they ruin everything they touch. I heard all about that one girl getting strung up from a tree. It may not have been in the paper or on the news, but the people in this town talk.

  We all know who and what they are. They are biker trash and I want no part of them in my life. Getting involved with them is like walking into a wildfire. You never know which direction the flame will burn, and all that is left in its path is ashes and devastation. My parent’s divorce is evidence of the fact.

  Chapter 4

  Tread

  I shake my head as Christa turns her nose up at me. Years ago, she would come apart at the faintest touch from me. She hasn’t changed much. She has bigger tits now. Her reddish-brown curls still hang wildly across her shoulders. I used to love tangling my fingers in them. When we were together before, we were still green in the sheets. But now, I bet she could show me a thing or two.

  I smile and she sneers, looking away.

  Guess she is too good for me now. “What’s your problem with me?”

  I tap on the window waiting for her to roll it down and say something.

  Finally, she gets irritated with my pecking and cracks the glass pane. “I don’t have a problem,” she says in a snotty squeal, rolling her eyes.

  “The fuck you don’t. I see you snubbing your nose at me, like I stink.” I sniff my pits. “Tight Ass, I don’t stink. I smell damn good.”

  She tries to scowl at me but can’t. The laugh she is fighting slips out.

  “This your kid?” I hook my thumb to the little goofy fucker unloading his precious metal.

  “My brother,” she informs me.

  “You know his shit is stolen right?” Kid comes here often with shit he has stripped from construction sites. I’ve not ratted, because I’m no fucking snitch, but she needs to stop him, before he goes to jail.

  Her eyes fall and her mouth turns down. “He’s a good kid, please Marc.”

  “Shit, I was just letting you know, I haven’t turned him over. Even though the pigs
have been asking questions. How old is he?”

  “Old enough to know better,” she mumbles.

  “Yo, JT,” I call him over. I know his name, since he comes by often enough in search of a fast dollar.

  “Sup, man.” He lifts his scrawny chin in my direction.

  “You want a job? I could use some help around here especially on the weekends.”

  Christa scrambles from the truck shoving her finger in my face. “He isn’t working for you, so you can drag him down with your…your…gang!”

  Gang? I want to laugh. That’s a comical assumption.

  “Christa stop embarrassing me. I’ll take the job,” the boy says with defiance painted on his face. I squint, taking a double take at him. His little snarl reminds me of someone but I can’t put a face on who.

  “Look sugar tits, my club—we’re good men. Don’t know what you think you know about us, but you come by and see me anytime, and I’ll show you what I’m about.” We are standing toe to toe, jaws tight, and fists clenched.

  “Did you SERIOUSLY call me sugar tits?” She punches my chest.

  “Yeah, I did.” I wink and pinch her nipple. Her face goes blood red. The flush travels down her neck spreading across her chest. Damn, she is so fucking cute. Cute? I shake my head. I need a drink.

  Her brother snickers.

  “JT, be here early Saturday morning and no more stealing shit. You work for me now.” I throw him a wad of cash for his copper and start to walk away before I do something crazy—like fuck this kid’s sister in front of him against the side of his truck.

  “I’ll be here,” the kid calls and I turn back to acknowledge him. He grins wide with a crooked smile. His familiar smile gives me a sense of Déjà vu. he ushers Christa into the truck, her face is still red, I bet smoke will steam out of her ears any second now.

  Turning my back on them, I go into the office and grab a beer from the fridge. Christa Fucking Franklin. Been years since a woman has gotten under my skin the way she does.

  That brother of hers runs with a bad crowd. Reminds me of myself at that age. The club saved my ass. Without my brothers, I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere. I’ve had a few close calls but the reaper hasn’t claimed me yet. And MAYBE, just MAYBE, I’ll get to fuck the stick outta Christa’s ass before he does. She could be just what I’ve been looking for.

  Christa

  “What are you smiling about girl?” My grandma inquires as she peels the skin off a potato. Her silvery hair is spun up in rollers on her head covered by a clear cap. She has on her floral apron; she wears it every time she cooks.

  “Just in a good mood is all.” I didn’t realize I was grinning.

  “She got a little action from Tread. Pinched her titty and she melted at his feet,” JT enlightens her old ears.

  THUNK! She smacks him on the back of the head. For such a small woman she is still strong. “Mind your tongue boy. And YOU!” She points a bony finger in my chest. “Don’t be letting that loser put his greasy paws on you. I remember that boy. You gave him your cherry and then he broke your heart. I should’ve broken his nose.”

  Shoot, I’m lucky she hasn’t smacked me with her wooden spoon. She is mean as hell with that thing. If she’d catch me sneaking into the cookie jar before dinner, my fingers would get a good whack from her spoon. I rub my knuckles remembering the bitter sting.

  My brother falls over laughing. “You gave that dude your cherry. I have a new respect for you big sister.”

  I glare at JT, the mouthy little shit. He chuckles and pours himself a glass of sweet tea.

  And here comes the spoon. Gram has it out of the pocket of her apron in a flash, it whips across his arm. “Told ye to mind that tongue boy!”

  “Bring me another brewsky,” our wonderful mother’s boyfriend, Perry barks from the living room, with the news blaring.

  “I got it.” JT gets a can from the fridge with a frown on his face. He’s butt hurt over the spoon. I want to laugh but I smother my smug smile. If Gram sees me grinning, I’ll get it too, even though I am in my upper twenties.

  I smile weakly at him and take over peeling the taters so Grammy can rest her hands. Her arthritis pains her every time it gets ready to rain. I watch her as she massages some mustard seed oil into her aching knuckles. She works at the bakery at the local grocery store. They keep cutting her hours. Her hands can’t handle the work. It’s only a matter of time before they fire her. I tried getting her to file for disability, but she is stubborn, and says she will work until she is six-feet under. If she keeps going the way she does, that may be a lot sooner than we are prepared for.

  She doesn’t earn much as it is, and my job as secretary at the local grade school does nothing to help our situation. And now my brother thinks he is going to be going places with the man who broke my heart behind the wheel. I have managed to avoid him—Marc, all these years, even living in a town as small as Drag Creek. One encounter, and I am already hoping for another glimpse of him. It PISSES. ME. OFF! Why does he have to make being bad look so damn good?

  JT will learn for himself that nothing good can come from being mixed up with that biker crowd. I just hope it doesn’t kill him.

  I dump the potato skins into the trash and get the potatoes boiling for the mashed potatoes. The meatloaf is already baking. Grammy lets me know she needs to go lie down for a bit. I assure her I can handle dinner without her. I’ll wake her once the meal is ready.

  I can hear my mother's loser boyfriend and my brother chatting it up about how he better not allow this ‘opportunity’ fuck up his work for Lenny. I’m pretty sure he is selling drugs but JT hides things well, he doesn’t confide in me like he used to.

  I thump my head against the fridge. I tried so hard to get JT to take school seriously but he just isn’t book smart. He has plenty of street smarts. Anytime I tried to help him with filling out college applications, he’d get an attitude, telling me how I am ‘not his mother’ and to stop ‘pretending’ to be.

  That cut deep. If it wasn’t for me, his ass would have been taken by the state. The dumbass got caught driving a stolen car when he was thirteen. The only reason they didn’t take him was because I stepped up and took custody of him. Gram wanted to teach him a lesson, she wanted to let him go to Juvie but I couldn’t do it.

  He’s my brother.

  I’ll always stand up for him.

  I’ll always have his back.

  I could’ve moved away from here and left all of this behind. I had a boyfriend, but I didn’t love Rodney the way I should have.

  He never gave me butterflies.

  He never got under my skin either.

  There was nothing wrong with him, he was…perfect.

  He had a good job working for the railroad and wanted to make me his wife.

  He wanted to give me everything I dreamed of all the while I could only worry what would become of my brother if I left. So I told Rodney we were through, and five years later I am still alone—still trying to make a man out of JT.

  Chapter 5

  Miami, Florida

  Karly (Baby)

  “Nash, did you already take Sara’s bag to the car?”

  He grabs my hand, kissing my knuckles. “Everything’s packed and ready to go.”

  Today is Sara’s first day of daycare and my first day back to work fulltime since she was born. She was born premature to our surrogate at twenty-nine weeks. It was touch and go for a long time. It was so hard not knowing if I would ever get to bring our daughter home, but she’s a lot like her dad, she’s a fighter and a survivor.

  She’s nearly three now and Cole’s nearing ten, well eleven. When we entered the program, they made Cole a year older than he really is. Time sure has flown. Some days I am afraid to blink. Afraid I will miss something important in my children’s lives.

  Nash says I coddle them too much, but I can’t help it. I want to give them everything I didn’t have growing up—a home with both their parents providing a constant, positive presence
in their lives. Neither of us really had that. Not that Foxie did such a poor job with us, but Slim was an asshole, my mother was dead, and my father was always on the road—searching for my sister. He found her, eventually, and brought her home. Well, what used to be home, Drag Creek. Now home is Miami and my sister is dead.

  I try not to think of her the way I last saw her, strung up dead in a tree. She was brutally murdered by a rival MC. I try to think of her smile and her love for me. I wish I had been a better sister. I wasted so much time treating her like shit, she wasn’t the problem, I was. I wish lots of things, but I can only move forward with my husband, and our children.

  I love that Nash is home for dinner every night and we are able to tuck our kids in together before climbing into our bed. I know it sounds too good to be true and it kind of is. We have grown up a lot and built a great life for our family, here in Florida. We moved to Miami four months ago, when Nash received a promotion at work. We had to get clearance for the move since we are in the witness protection program, but everything has worked out. Life here is good. We’re even better. I’m more in love with Nash than I ever thought was possible.

  He is sure to let me know every day that he thanks the stars for our second chance. We never go to bed angry, if we fight at all. Instead of storming off or saying something we will regret, we talk through our issues and kiss after we agree to disagree. The tips we were given in our therapy sessions we attended have stuck with us.

  My husband keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. At times, he still has a hard time at relaxing and enjoying the day to day. He worries too much about our former life, but then again, so do I.

  I subscribe to the Drag Creek newspaper through a fake email account, paying with a prepaid credit card to keep tabs on our family back home. Not that there is ever much mention of them. The only thing I have seen is advertisements for the scrapyard business my father and Rebel operate. There was an article a few years back, when they celebrated their grand opening, but not much was listed about them personally. It used to be ran by whom I consider my grandpa, Skull. He passed away two years ago. I hated not being able to attend his funeral service. I almost booked a plane ticket so I could visit his grave but I stopped myself.