Refuge (Riot MC Book 1)

by Emily Minton

  REFUGE

  RIOT MC

  BY

  EMILY MINTON

  and

  SHELLEY SPRINGFIELD

  REFUGE

  Copyright © 2017 Emily Minton & Shelley Springfield

  Published 2017

  Refuge is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this book either are from the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the authors. Please don’t take offense to the content, as it is FICTION.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The authors acknowledge the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks aren’t authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyrighted material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed, or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation, or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors’ rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of these authors.

  Cover Art by Dana Leah at Designs by Dana

  Edited by Kendra Gaither at Kendra's Editing and Book Services

  Formatted by Erik Gevers

  Contents

  Title Page

  Synopsis

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Other books by Emily and Shelley

  Preview Dirty Bastard

  More Books by Emily…

  Acknowledgments

  About Emily Minton

  About Shelley Springfield

  REFUGE

  RIOT MC

  By

  Emily Minton

  And

  Shelley Springfield

  Veronica Cash is in trouble, the kind that could leave her dead. Knowing she has no choice but to ask for help, she finds herself turning to her father’s motorcycle club for protection. She ends up depending on one of his brothers to keep her alive. Now, she is in a different kind of danger, the kind that could leave her with a broken heart.

  Can a biker club be the safe haven she needs?

  Van Scott has always thought he would do anything for his club, but he never guessed that would involve the President’s daughter living in his house. He definitely wasn’t expecting to be so intrigued by her or want her in his bed so damn bad. Now, he has to figure out a way to protect her without giving in to temptation.

  Will he be the refuge she seeks?

  Dedication

  This one is for all of you who have a few bad apples hanging from your family tree.

  My family plan is right out of the Sid and Nancy handbook.

  Jax Teller ~ Sons of Anarchy

  Prologue

  Van

  Walking up the steps on the porch, I let out a frustrated breath. I didn’t want to come home. I would rather be anywhere but here, but Mom didn’t give me a choice. She called Brass’s house a few minutes ago to tell me to get my ass home, not caring that we were about to go fishing. The sounds of Tito screaming could be heard through the phone, even as she barked out the order. No doubt, she wanted me here to help her get her old man settled down. At only eleven, I spend the majority of my time playing peacemaker between her and Tito.

  Mom and Tito have been together for five years—five long years. Years that have been filled with a lot of damn fighting. Mom flies off the handle at everything. If the man even looks at some other chick, she comes out swinging. More than once, I have seen him draw back a fist, with every intention of paying her back in kind. Lucky for her, Tito checks himself before he actually touches her. As much as I hate the thought of Mom getting hurt, sometimes I almost wish he would go ahead and swing.

  Shaking away the thoughts, I push open the door and look around the empty living room. I had been expecting to see our little houseguest laying on the couch, vegging out in front of the television. No doubt, she is the cause of Mom and Tito’s fight. Ever since Veronica came up for her annual visit, they have done nothing but scream at each other.

  Mom is pissed that her old man is showing so much attention to his daughter, not even taking into consideration that he only gets to see his child for two weeks out of the year. Tito is mad as hell that Mom is treating his little girl like she has the plague, though it’s not like he should be surprised. She treats everyone the same damn way.

  Veronica, or Ronni as I like to call her, lives in Texas with her mom the rest of the year. How the hell that woman and Tito ever hooked up, I’ll never know. The one time I saw her, the bitch looked cold as hell. She’s so fucking uptight; I can’t see her ever spreading her legs for a biker like Tito.

  Now, she is married to some man twice her age. He’s a fucking bigwig in the oil industry, making more money in a day than I’ll probably make my entire life. Where Tito wears jeans and a cut, her husband wears suits and a tie. His ass rides around in a stretch limo, where Tito prefers his Harley and the open road. Maybe all that money turned her into a bitch. I’ve always heard that money changes people. I guess she’s proof of that.

  The sound of glass shattering pulls me from my thoughts. Trying not to think about Veronica or how all of their fighting must be affecting her, I walk across the room, searching for Mom. Just as I’m about to step into the kitchen, the sound of my mom and Tito arguing reaches my ears, and I halt in my tracks. It takes a second for their garbled words to make sense.

  “I already told you, I have shit to do. I’ve been in this house with that little brat all day. I’m not spending the whole fucking night watching her, too!” Mom shouts, causing me to cringe at her choice of words.

  “Watch your damn mouth, Kendra. We both know what you’ve been doing is not even close to the definition of watching someone,” Tito growls out, followed by the sound of something crashing into the wall. “I’m done listening to your bullshit. This is the last time this shit is going to happen. If you can’t treat my kid right, then you can pack your bags and get the fuck out.”

  My heart skips a beat as fear fills my body. If Tito kicks us out, we have nowhere to
go. It isn’t like my dad can take us in. He is pulling twenty to life for second-degree murder. My dad’s parents are long gone, and Mom’s don’t want a damn thing to do with us.

  “You’re not gonna kick us out. If you do that, you’ll never see Van again,” Mom states, sounding sure of herself. “You know you don’t want that to happen.”

  The sounds of shuffling feet reach my ears, just before a thud sounds and the wall vibrates from the impact. Even though I can’t see what is going on, there is no doubt in my mind that Tito just lost his shit and slammed my mother into the wall. Knowing I have to do something to stop him from hurting her, I rush into the kitchen. Before I can even shout for him to let her go, he starts talking again.

  “I never said a fucking thing about Van leaving. That boy is staying here,” he states, his hand wrapped around my mother’s throat. “You even think about taking him out of this house, your ass is dead.”

  I blink in confusion, trying to make sense of his words. Mom has always told me that Tito doesn’t like having me around. In fact, she’s always going on about how much he hates me. She said he only lets me stay here because she begged him to. She’s reminded me again and again that the only reason I have a roof over my head is because of her. I either toed the line, did everything she said, or she would let Tito throw me out. Then, I would be stuck in foster care until I was eighteen.

  Mom shakes her head, breaking his hold on her throat. “He’s my son. You have no say in where he goes.”

  Tito takes a step back and shakes his head. “You’re wrong about that, woman. Crew asked me to watch over him the day he went inside. I’ve done that, and I’ll keep doing it until the day I die.”

  Hearing Tito say my father’s name causes my words to freeze in my throat. I know they were good friends at one time, back before Dad went inside. Both of their fathers were founding members of Riot MC. Growing up as part of the club, they became friends. Later, they both slid on their cuts and went from being just friends to being brothers.

  Even knowing all this, I assumed that friendship ended a long time ago. I figured, when Tito took my Dad’s old lady as his own, any ties between the two men had been broken. Now, I’m beginning to wonder if the only reason Tito hooked up with Mom is because of my dad. My thoughts come to a quick death when Mom opens her mouth.

  “Whatever,” she mumbles, not sounding so sure of herself anymore. “I’m still not watching your kid. You take her with you, or she can stay here by herself.”

  “I’d much rather stay here with her than even think about leaving her with you again, but I can’t. She can’t come with me, and for you to even ask me to take a seven-year-old to church is just fucking crazy,” he growls, shaking his head in frustration.

  “Leave her with one of the club whores then,” Mom says, moving past him to grab her purse off the counter. “It’s time the girl knew what her dad was really like.”

  The thought of Ronni being at the clubhouse, being taken care of by whores, causes my stomach to twist in knots. I’ve been there more times than I can count. Before Tito claimed Mom, she left me with the club whores all the time. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting on an old ratty couch, watching a whore blow one of the brothers. Even though I didn’t realize what the hell they were really doing, I knew that it was wrong for me to be watching it. I don’t want that shit floating around in Ronni’s brain.

  “I’ll stay with her,” I say, finally drawing their attention to my presence.

  They both jerk their eyes my way, surprise flashing over their faces. Mom’s lips flatten out and her eyes narrow, letting me know she is pissed at my offer. I have no idea why it would make her mad, but it seems like everything I do pisses her off. Tito, on the other hand, seems relieved. His lips tip up at the corners as he takes a step toward me.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind, Van?” he asks, coming to a stop just a few feet in front of me. “I know you’ve got shit to do, but I would appreciate you looking after her.”

  Since Dad went inside, I have spent most of my time alone. I haven’t had a babysitter since I was six, and I’ve gotten used to being on my own. Mom sure in the hell hasn’t bothered making sure I am being taken care of. Tito tries, but he has a life. He has his duties to the club.

  “I don’t mind hanging out with the kid for a little while,” I reply with a shrug, still thinking about the things he said to my mother.

  “Thanks, bud,” he replies, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, an hour or two tops.”

  It’s at that moment that I question all the shit Mom told me about Tito hating me. He has always been nice to me, never treated me any different than he did Veronica. He even bought me a bike for my last birthday, my first Harley. It was old, doesn’t even run, but he promised me that we would work on it together. He wouldn’t do that if he hated me, would he? I look into his eyes, looking for the answers I seek.

  Tito looks over his shoulder, searching for my mother, then brings his eyes back to me. “Why don’t you run on upstairs and check on Veronica? I need to talk to your mom for a few before I head out.”

  In other words, their argument isn’t over. For the first time, though, I don’t feel like it’s my place to stick around and try to play referee. From now on, Mom is going to have to fight her own battles. Maybe then, she will learn not to be such a bitch all the time.

  “Okay.” I nod, turning away and heading toward the stairs.

  By the time I reach the top step, I hear the sound of muffled sobs. As I get closer to the source, I realize it’s coming from Ronni’s room. She must have heard Tito and Mom fighting and is now scared shitless. I doubt her mom and step-dad go around shouting all the damn time.

  Opening her door, I peek in and see her curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed. Her back is to me as she cuddles a stuffed bear close to her chest. With the sounds of her crying, she doesn’t even hear me open the door. I walk in, closing the door behind me, all without drawing her attention.

  Stopping a few feet from the bed, I look down at her. “Are you okay, Ronni?”

  I use my nickname for her, hoping to get a rise out of her. She usually hates it, says that it’s a boy’s name. She’s told me over and over that her name is Veronica. She even went as far as to give me a piece of paper with her name written on it in bright pink crayon. Today, she just sniffles and lets out a sigh.

  She nods her head, still keeping it resting on the pillow, but doesn’t bother turning to look in my direction. “Yeah, Van. I’m okay.”

  “Why are you crying if you’re okay? I’ve never seen you cry for no reason,” I ask, shuffling my feet from side to side.

  She slowly rolls over, and as she does, I see a flash of pain cover her face. The more she turns, the more of her I see. My eyes are instantly drawn to the dark purple bruise covering her cheek. My feet have a mind of their own as they carry me beside the bed. As I get closer, I see that there’s more than just a bruise on her cheek.

  “Who did that to you?” I ask as I step closer and gently tilt her face to me.

  The bruise covers the whole right side of her cheek. Even the edge of her eye is purple. Over her eye, right through her left eyebrow, is a small butterfly bandage. The cut beneath it is jagged and no doubt deep. The kid is probably in a hell of a lot of pain.

  “No one hit me. I did something I wasn’t supposed to and got hurt,” she says as she pulls her head away and looks down.

  My eyes follow hers and see the scratches covering the palms of her hands. The poor things are covered in some kind of glistening goop, but it doesn’t cover the raw scrapes that are on her palms. Looking further down, I see a band-aid on one knee and a big piece of gauze on the other. Her legs, like her hands, are covered in scratches and scrapes. Shit, it looks like she was run over by a fucking truck.

  “What did you do?” I ask, making sure to keep my voice gentle.

  She looks back up at me, and I’m glad to see
that her tears have slowed down. “Daddy wasn’t here, and I didn’t want to get in Kendra’s way, so I went outside to play.”

  Tito made sure that there’s plenty of stuff for Ronni to do when she comes to visit. The yard and garage are filled with toys, but she rarely ever plays with them. The few times she did go outside, Mom threw a fucking fit about her getting dirty. Because of that, she stays in her room or sits on the couch watching television.

  I don’t know why Mom hates Ronni so much. She can be a brat sometimes, but most little kids are brats. All in all, she’s not that bad. She spends all her time walking on eggshells around Mom, trying her best not to draw attention to herself. She knows, the less Mom sees her, the better off she is. More than once, I’ve caught Mom screaming at her, calling her names that no one should say to a kid. Of course, she never does that when Tito is around. Then, she just ignores Ronni.

  Because of the way Mom treats her, I try to be extra nice to Ronni. I remember how much my life sucked when I was her age. My dad had just gotten arrested and sent to prison, and I was left with my mom for the first time. Until then, Dad had sheltered me from the worst of her temper. After he was gone, the full force was focused on me. Thank God, Tito took us in. If not, I don’t know where I would be right now.

  Trying to get back to the topic at hand, I ask her a question. “What happened to you when you went outside?”

  “Daddy bought me a new bike this morning. It was so pretty, all pink and sparkly. I wanted to ride it so bad, but he said I had to wait for him to put training wheels on it. He said he would put them on when he got home, but I just couldn’t wait that long,” she says, tears still falling down her face.

  I can already see where this is going and how it didn’t turn out good for Ronni. At seven years old, most kids have been on a bike, but she never has. Tito wanted to get her one a few years ago, but her mom threw a fit. She said the kid was too little, that she would get hurt. He waited, but I guess he didn’t wait long enough.

  “You should have waited for him to get home, Ronni,” I say, unable to stop the words from leaving my mouth.