by Khloe Wren
FIGHTING MAC
Khloe Wren
KHLOE WREN
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Books by Khloe Wren
Acknowledgements
Biography
Dedication
Author Note
Charon:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
INKING EAGLE
KELLEN’S TEMPTING MATE
FIGHTING MAC
Charon MC
Book 2
KHLOE WREN
ISBN: 978-0-9876275-2-0
Copyright © Khloe Wren 2017
Cover Credits:
Models: Alfie Gordillo
Photographer: RLS Model Images Photography
Digital Artist: Winter Bayne
Editing Credits:
Editor: Carolyn Depew of Write Right
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please delete and purchase it legally. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
BOOKS BY KHLOE WREN
Charon MC:
Inking Eagle
Fighting Mac
Chasing Taz (coming soon)
Fire and Snow:
Guardian’s Heart
Noble Guardian
Guardian’s Shadow
Fierce Guardian
Necessary Alpha
Dragon Warriors:
Enchanting Eilagh
Binding Becky
Claiming Carina
Seducing Skye
Believing Binda
Jaguar Secrets:
Jaguar Secrets
FireStarter
Other Titles:
Fireworks
Tigers Are Forever
Bad Alpha Anthology
Scarred Perfection
Scandals: Zeck
Mirror Image Seduction
Deception
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
AS ALWAYS, I HAVE TO give a massive shout out to my wonderful husband. Who continues to put up with his insane author wife. And to my girls, these last few weeks have seen me locked away in my writing cave more often than not, yet they somehow still remember who I am!
I couldn’t have written this book without several people who patiently answered all my many questions about Marine and MC life. Heath, Dawn, Erin, Diana and Shannon (I’m sure there were more and I’m sorry if I missed you by name) I can’t thank you enough for all your help. Especially Heath. To Maggie, thank you for sharing all your nursing knowledge.
To Janelle, the inspiration behind Zara. Thank you for putting up with all my crazy questions and being patient with me. I hope you approve of how I represented Narcolepsy and Cataplexy.
To all my friends who helped me get back up each time I stumbled while writing this book. Becky McGraw, Eden Bradley and Tamsin Baker, you three especially.
To my editor, Carolyn, no matter what I throw at you, you always come through with a marvelous edit. I appreciate everything you do and thank you for another job well done.
Due to me rushing my poor beta team, only Andy and Tracie could step up this time, thank you both for dropping everything to help me get Fighting Mac just right.
xo
Khloe Wren
BIOGRAPHY
KHLOE WREN GREW UP IN the Adelaide Hills before her parents moved the family to country South Australia when she was a teen. A few years later, Khloe moved to Melbourne which was where she got her first taste of big city living.
After a few years living in the big city, she missed the fresh air and space of country living so returned to rural South Australia. Khloe currently lives in the Murraylands with her incredibly patient husband, two strong willed young daughters, an energetic dog and two curious cats.
As a child Khloe often had temporary tattoos all over her arms. When she got her first job at 19, she was at the local tattooist in the blink of an eye to get her first real tattoo. Khloe now has four, two taking up much of her back.
While Khloe doesn’t ride a bike herself, she loves riding pillion behind her husband on the rare occasion they get to go out without their daughters.
DEDICATION
To Janelle,
if not for you, Zara would never have existed.
AUTHOR NOTE
The heroine of this book, Zara, suffers with the medical condition Narcolepsy.
Recently, they’ve classed Narcolepsy into two types. Type 1 has two major symptoms: day time sleeping and Cataplexy (sudden onset of muscle weakness that may be precipitated by excitement or emotion), while Type 2 doesn’t have Cataplexy. Zara suffers from Type 1 Narcolepsy.
As with most medical conditions, no two cases of Narcolepsy are the same. Zara’s symptoms are based heavily on a friend who has Type 1 Narcolepsy (with Cataplexy). I did that on purpose, as I wanted to make Zara as realistic as possible. Please keep in mind, however, that this story is a work of fiction and there was times where things get exaggerated from what is considered normal. Also, just because Zara reacts a certain way to a particular situation, it’s not to say that every sufferer of this condition will react that way.
CHARON:
Char·on ˈsher-ən, ˈker-ən, -än
In Greek mythology, the Charon is the ferryman who takes the dead across either the river Styx or Acheron, depending on whether the soul’s destination is the Elysian Fields or Hades.
CHAPTER 1
Zara
Be careful what you wish for.
My mother used to tell me that regularly when I was growing up, but I’d never taken her seriously. Mind you, I was generally wishing for things like a pet pony and to make the cheerleading squad. I couldn’t see how any harm could come from me getting what I wanted. Of course, I never got a pony or landed a spot on the squad, so I hadn’t needed to worry about any consequences.
As a result, I stood at the coffee machine, filling a cup with frothy liquid for the fiftieth time today not thinking twice before wishing my life was more interesting. I’d had such big plans back in high school. I’d wanted to be a forensic medical examiner, to dissect dead bodies to figure out how the people had died. Puzzles had always caught my interest, and that seemed like the ultimate one. But then Mom got diagnosed with breast cancer in the summer before I was due to go off to college. Dad was forced to take on a second job to pay for everything, which meant he was too busy to care for her, so I’d shelved my dreams and stayed home and took on the responsibility. That’s what you do, right? When the woman who raised you, whom you love w
ith all your heart needs you, you do whatever you can. No matter the cost.
One day had flowed into the next, and even when Mom beat the disease and the doctors declared her cancer-free, I didn’t leave town. I picked up a waitressing job and continued living at home, helping out around the house whenever I wasn’t working.
Sixteen years later I was still waiting tables and making coffees. I was stuck in a rut. A very dull, boring, monotonous rut.
With a sigh, I loaded the current order onto a tray. One double chocolate brownie and one large cafe latte coming right up. I was returning from delivering the order to a customer sitting at one the outside tables when I first heard the sound of an approaching motorcycle. The rumble was deep, and out of habit, I turned toward the road to see if I could spot the machine. The dark Harley Davidson was still a way up the road and I thought I caught the sight of more bikes coming up behind it. Just great. My throat went dry and I turned to hurry back inside. In Galveston, that many Harleys together could only mean one thing: the Iron Hammers MC. I avoided having anything to do with them at all costs.
I was reaching for the door when I caught sight of a large man covered in tattoos and wearing a leather vest rushing toward me. That vest meant he was one of them and he was about to run straight into me. Wanting to avoid that crash, I opened the door to rush in. But he was faster than I expected, and I only had one foot through the doorway when he reached me. With rough hands, he gripped my shoulders as though he was going to toss me aside. Hell, he certainly looked like he was strong enough to accomplish the task. I was twisting to try to free myself so I could get the hell away from him when the first crack ripped through the air.
Time seemed to slow down, mere seconds seeming to take forever to tick by. At the sound of that first gun shot, the cafe’s customers went crazy, all rushing to flee. The man holding my shoulders shoved me inside. When my foot caught on the lip of the doorway, I stumbled and reached for the door frame to stabilize myself. The move left me able to see out to the street. Several bikes were now parked along the curb, each rider holding up a gun that was pointed in my direction.
“Oh fuck.”
I tried to duck down, to get further inside where it would hopefully be safer, but only managed to get one shoulder free of his tight grip. I screamed when a series of loud bangs filled the air. Why the fuck were they shooting at me? Or were they shooting at the man behind me? If they were, I really needed to get the hell away from him ASAP. Pity he hadn’t loosened his grip on my other shoulder.
“Motherfucker!”
The deep, growled curse came a split second before I was knocked the ground. My fingers stung from being ripped from the door frame so abruptly, but I didn’t have time to worry about it. My right shoulder slammed into the tiled floor as I landed heavily on my back with the man’s body limp on top of me. Panic and adrenalin burst through my system, which made me panic for a whole new reason. Dammit. I’d remembered to take my medication this morning, but even so, with this much going on, I knew what was going to happen.
It had been three years since I’d been diagnosed with narcolepsy with cataplexy. I’d already learned the hard way that any sudden spike in emotion, especially an intense one, would set off my cataplexy and result in me being left completely paralyzed for anywhere from a few seconds to ten minutes. Having a man bleed to death on top me—and he had to be bleeding out with the amount of warm liquid I could feel soaking into my shirt—definitely counted as an intense situation. And sure enough, before I could shove him off me, my body failed me and I slid into paralysis.
Even though my body is useless in a cataplexy attack, my ears work just fine. As do my nerves. I still feel and hear everything that happens when I’m down for the count, I just can’t do anything about any of it. So when a minute or so after the shooting stopped, a few men approached, talking, I heard every word.
“Shit. Frank’s gonna have your balls for this one, Sledge. No way this can be covered up.”
“Fucking shut it, Tic. You know Frank will come through. And there’s no one left here that can talk. All anyone will say is they heard bikes and gunshots. You know how citizens get. A little fucking noise and they run like scared little rabbits.”
I heard some grunting, then the weight pinning me down was gone.
“Oh, fuck. You think she’s dead?”
I held my breath, hoping they wouldn’t check too closely. I hoped between my stillness and the amount of the blood I was covered in they would assume I was gone. So long as they didn’t look too hard, they wouldn’t realize I didn’t actually have any holes in me. Pain shot up my leg when one of the bastards kicked my calf. Asshole.
“Yeah, she’s gone. Pity. Pretty little thing.”
“Quit thinking with your fucking cock. Grab his cut and empty his pockets, then we’ll get the fuck outta here. Fucking Satan’s Cowboys think they can come deal in our territory like they own it.”
Oh, shit. This wasn’t good, not at all. I’d heard that name before. Satan’s Cowboys were another MC, a nasty one from up in northern Texas. I hoped this wasn’t the start of a biker turf war. That would mean a lot more shootings like this one. How many had they killed today? Innocents simply going about their day. I tried to think back to how many customers had been sitting outside. How many would have run fast enough to get away?
“Chuck? Any survivors?”
“Not an issue, Prez. Everyone living fled. Just bodies here now. But we need to get moving. LEO are less than five minutes away. You need to get on to Frank, man. He knows we need longer than this to finish up a job.”
Who, or what was the LEO?
“Yeah, I’ll pull him aside later. You got everything, Tic?
“Yep. Let’s roll.”
The thunderous sound of the Harleys all taking off at once filled the air, then nothing but silence. In the void of noise, I focused on staying calm. I knew if I fought the attack, it would do nothing but extend the time it took me to get through it and now the bad guys had gone, I needed to wake the fuck up and get out of here.
When I could finally move again, my upper body jerked up off the floor. Opening my eyes, I gasped at the destruction around me. How many bullets had they put into the place? Glass and wood lay scattered everywhere, and there were bodies. Bile rose up my throat and I slapped a palm over my mouth when I saw the man I’d served just minutes ago, lying lifeless on the ground near me.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
My head bobbed once, twice, then I crumbled back to the floor, unable to move. I wanted to scream. This stupid, fucking disease was such a pain the in ass. How the hell was I going to get away from here if every time I opened my damn eyes, I got overwhelmed at the carnage around me and passed out?
Sirens filled the air and accepting defeat, I stayed on the ground with my eyes closed and waited for them to arrive. I’d let the paramedics get me out of the building. I couldn’t afford the bills that went with them taking me to hospital, but if they could get me out of the building, I’d be able to pull myself together. Hopefully. I didn’t need any more visuals of the carnage lying around me. I already had enough to give me nightmares. In fact, I was one-hundred percent positive I’d be having nightmares about this day for months, maybe even years.
Mac
With my arms crossed over my chest, I stood next to Eagle and surveyed the room.
“What do you think?”
“You did good. Place looks great.”
Eagle wasn’t just a fellow Charon. Along with Taz, the three of us had served together in the USMC. Then, when we all retired nearly three years back, we decided to buy ourselves Harleys and tour the country. You know, fully enjoy the freedom of not having to fucking follow orders every moment of the day. Then, a little over a year ago the three of us were approached by our former CO about taking on an undercover job for the FBI. The job had sounded pretty easy. Get in tight with the Charon MC and report back anything we might hear about illegal activities. So far we’d only given the Feds
one piece of information, the fuckers leaked it. Not only did we nearly get our asses burned, Eagle nearly lost his woman.
The experience had left a nasty taste in our mouths, that’s for sure, making it so none of us were overly keen on helping out the Feds with anything again. Especially since all three of us were pretty happy living up the MC life. I was sure they’d come check on us sooner or later, but for now we were all simply ignoring our handler in the hopes he’d give up and go away. I doubted it would work, but hey, it was worth a shot, right?
It hadn’t taken long to get in with the Charons. The three of us rode in a public poker run they sponsored, chatted to the guys, and in no time the three of us were prospects. The ease with which we were accepted wasn’t really a surprise—there’s not too many MCs that would turn down three decorated Marines. I knew we had to be a prospect before we could be full club members, but it still sucked. At least with our skills we weren’t given the really shitty jobs. Scout had us mainly doing security and technical work. But we were still kept in the dark about most club business—another thing that nearly cost Eagle his woman. Thankfully, that all changed about a month ago when we’d finally fucking earned our top rockers. Taz and I were enjoying our increased freedom, and the fact that we were actually included and told shit now. While Eagle, the lucky fucker, had managed to convince his woman Silk, the niece of the club’s VP, into being his old lady already. He’d also managed to knock the woman up.
“How’s Silk doing? Still sick?”
“Yeah, she’s still throwing up and moody as fuck. Pregnancy sucks, man. Hopefully it’ll pass soon. No way can I handle her being like this for nine fucking months.”
I knew shit about pregnancy so couldn’t comment, but it was clear to me why the man had spent so much time helping here with my project. After I got my top rocker, I asked the club if I could start running some self-defense for women classes out of the club gym. Scout, the club president, had called a vote and I was given permission to go with it. However, the club’s gym was an old school fight-club type thing, so to do what I wanted to, the place needed a massive overhaul. Modernizing the place, making it female-friendly, and more inviting to the younger crowd was the goal.
