Enforcer: (Boneyard Brotherhood MC Romance Book 2)

by Amber Burns

  Enforcer

  Boneyard Brotherhood MC Romance - Book 2

  By Amber Burns

  Table of Contents

  Enforcer

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  The Heart of a Hero

  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

  Epilogue

  More Erotic Romance from Amber Burns

  The following story is full of romance, sex and sensuality. See the preview below for a bit of foreplay.

  “I don’t need a doctor’s note for this, do I?”

  She blushed as I worked her bra down her arms, “I think if you take it easy you should be alright. I don’t think it’ll be necessary to get a doctor’s note.”

  “Really?” I tipped her chin up so she would have to look at me. “What if I don’t ‘take it easy?”

  I had this girl right here. The girl that I’ve not been able to get out of my head. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than throw her onto my bed and fuck her to the point that neither of us can move.

  Her blue eyes widened, but she shook her head. I pushed her back on the bed, she let out a short squeak but didn't protest. I unbuttoned her jeans and tugged them down her legs, I didn’t even check to see what her panties looked like. I was so ready to dive between her legs that I had to wrestle her shoes off to get her jeans out of my way. The last time we were together I didn’t get to see her fully. She had a neat little line of hair trimmed over her lower lips, and I couldn’t help, but stroke my fingers through it. I brushed my fingers down to part her flushed lips and look at her pink center, I didn’t wait for any queues.

  I leaned down to drag my tongue over her, from the bottom up so I could swirl my tongue against the little bead of nerves at the top of her sex. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and I started lashing my tongue against it, her hips bucked up against my mouth. Clue enough that she liked it. I sucked the little bit of skin in, and I heard the first moan, it came out breathless, and I looked up to see her watching me pensively. I slid a finger into her damp opening, and her muscles immediately clenched around me. I curled my finger upward, and her head fell back onto the bed. I worked her until her moans rose in volume, I inserted another finger and curled them both up until her hips started rolling against my face. I knew she was close when her fingers dived into my hair and she pressed my face into her pussy.

  “Don’t stop,” it came out like a plea, and it quickly turned into a chant.

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  Copyright © 2017 by Amber Burns & Scarlet Lantern Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.

  All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  Prologue

  I'm a man that's been used to intimidate others for as long as I can remember. Something about puberty shot me up a little over six feet, and I had been into football since I was a kid, so I had muscle on me. I kept myself solid and learned to be just as deadly as I looked. Twelve years in the Marines will give any man an edge over the average civi. Of course, all my hard work went for nothing, I spent most my days in the gym and my nights bouncing at the local strip club. It was shit, and I knew it, but I felt stuck with no real way out of it.

  It must have been obvious on some level, I was checking the ID of some brat kid before one of the grisly looking men with him coughed in protest.

  “Cut the kid a break,” he grumbled. “He’s going to be leaving for boot camp tomorrow. Let him see some titties and get a beer before he goes.”

  He was balding and round in the middle, suggesting that he had one too many beers, this was probably the only way he’d get to see a decent set of tits. I eyed the kid and without missing a beat marked the kid’s hand as a minor. That fucker wasn’t getting alcohol.

  “He can look at tits all he wants, but he’s not getting booze. He can come back for booze when he’s twenty-one,” I shrugged a shoulder.

  I could probably take the three of them, the kid was all arms and legs not at all a threat. The hairy, balding man looked like a good kick to the knee would probably send him down and out for a fight. I gave the last man in the group a hard eye, he was old and looked like he was made of leather. He’d probably had a few good punches in him.

  “Keep your hands off the women,” I warned. “I hear any complaints from the ladies I get to kick your teeth in.”

  Two of them forked over the cover charge and went in complaining about the fact that I was doing my job. I didn’t bat an eye, but I met the steely gaze of the older man before me.

  “If you’re planning on going in the cover charge is five bucks. There’s not a senior discount,” I decided the moment that the asshole started complaining about carding the kid that I wasn’t going to play nice.

  “Fuck off, kid,” he moved to the other side of the door and started holding up the wall. “This what you do? You get out and you decide you’re going to piss on the boots of the men coming here to see tits and ass?”

  I thought about it a second, trying to decide how he knew I just got out. I looked down at the devil dog head tattooed on my forearm. It was exposed just enough for him to see it, I nodded and looked at him.

  “Ain’t pissing on boots, doing my job. You don’t like me telling the kid he can’t drink a beer then you go buy him a case after you’ve had your fill of tits and ass,” I folded my arms and eyed him. He was about as worn as they come and I couldn’t tell just how old he was. But if he could recognize the dog on my forearm then he was probably one, too. “They have you in khakis when they made the Marines?”

  “Not that old, asshole,” he chuckled though I could see him squeeze one of his meaty hands into a fist. He wanted to knock me one. Good, maybe that'd make him go away.

  “What branch the kid going in? Don’t tell me he’s shooting for being a jarhead,” I remarked. “That kid wouldn’t be able to make boot camp as a Marine. He probably wouldn’t make it in the Army either.

  “Airforce,” he grunted. “Tillman’s hoping it’ll put some meat on his
bones and put some sense in his head. The kid’s mom has done nothing but baby his ass since he was born.”

  “Military, no matter the branch, ain’t gonna help the kid if he’s a bitch,” I said without any sort of apologetic tone.

  “Preaching to the choir, son,” he grumbled and seemed to be content with holding up the wall. “You satisfied with this?”

  I shook my head and looked away from him, out at the parking lot. There were a few cars in it, the man I was talking with and his friend had come in on motorcycles. “Are you satisfied with being an old fuck?”

  “I have shoved my boot up asses for less, boy,” he growled at me. “Answer the question. Are you satisfied holding up a wall and looking all threatening while not actually doing anything?”

  “Fuck the question,” I wanted to know what he was getting at and I wasn’t willing to play with the old man. “The fuck do you want? Spit it out or pay the cover charge and go inside. I ain’t here for a psych eval, and you’re one minute short of me kicking your ass out of here.” It had felt like he was trying to dissect me and I wasn’t going to have that shit.

  “Alright,” he pulled out his wallet, attached to a chain. Marine turned biker, I tried to keep from rolling my eyes at the cliche. He handed me a five dollar bill with a card, “If you decide you want to kick ass instead of looking at it I could use an asshole like you. Meet me at the address on the card, and I'll elaborate.”

  It left me a little confused. We were exchanging insults, and now he wanted me to work for him?

  “It'll be after one,” I answered. “I have to make sure the girls got to their cars without a hassle.”

  “I figured. Clarence Wilson,” he grunted as he lingered in the doorway and offered me a battered hand. “Just Wilson though. Call me Clarence, and I’ll knock you flat. I'll be up and there. My only stipulation is you be man enough to ride a motorcycle. I won't carry a man that's going to be too much of a bitch and ride in a car.”

  I snorted and took his hand, gripping it tightly, “Jeremiah Cole, Cole. You call me any variation of Jeremiah and I’ll fuck you up. I don't have a motorcycle, but I know how to ride.”

  “If you're interested,” he gave me a hard look. “I can help you get one. But I ain't gonna waste my time if all you're looking to do is look like a bad ass without being willing to prove it.”

  “If you want me to kick your ass now, I can. Beating up the elderly isn’t really proof in my opinion.”

  “Later, I need to see if this kid can handle a girl on his lap without busting it in his pants,” with that he sauntered into the club.

  I stayed outside longer than necessary in the cool air. I was curious about what the old man had in mind. I made decent enough money doing this, but I needed a change. I had needed a change before the anger and resentment boiled over, I was ready to snap.

  1

  Much didn't change, but it was just enough of a change that I was less likely to hurt myself being stupid. I wasn’t suicidal, but I was bored as fuck. I got to hurt other people, something that got me amusement. I didn't check IDs, I didn't wait on girls with coke problems, or have to answer to anyone other than Wilson. He didn't try to keep me on a leash. He did use my height and bulk to the same advantage as all the others, but he let me be just as dangerous as I wanted. It was a thrill that I felt in the Marines, walking the line that just might get me killed or have me putting a bullet in another person’s head. Being a danger to others while dancing on the line. I loved it.

  Guns didn't do it for me, I preferred working with my hands. Wilson knew it, too. He didn't want us to cause trouble. But sometimes a dumb ass from another club would ask for his ass to be handed to him. When that happened, I was the guy that obliged. The pistol I carried was just in case and mostly for show. I hadn't had to pull it out, yet, and I only fired it to keep my aim in check.

  Wilson, the club, they gave me a purpose. A reason to keep working out, to keep my reaction time sharp. To keep my skills on point. It was the change I needed. It was a job I enjoyed.

  Right now I had music blasting into my ears as I laid into a punching bag. It helped relieve the build up in my shoulders and arms, like releasing pressure on a valve that was ready to blow. Shit had been boring over the last year because the same dumb ass kid from the strip club tried to get his big boy pants on and caused trouble. I couldn't handle the complacency that looking like a law abiding citizen required us to be.

  A year of just farting around while the Boneyard Brotherhood looked legit was too much for me. They started some business that I had no care to join. I did work on my bike and my truck, but I refused to get my hands dirty working on anyone else's. Even if it would make me money.

  I had other things to worry about. I was sure our running routes had been taken over by some piece of shit crew that would get the law's attention. Not much I could do until I got the word it was time to reclaim it. I hoped that would be sooner rather than later.

  My phone pinged, alerting me to a new message. I gave the bag one last hard punch before I pulled away. I pulled my phone from the pocket of my shorts and thumbed it until the message popped.

  “Got a job for you,” it was from Wilson.

  Fucking finally.

  I pulled the ear buds out and made my way to the locker room to get a shower. He was about to give me the relief I needed, and it would be the workout I'd been itching for over a year.

  2

  I pulled up to see Tillman stalking out of the clubhouse with Redding trailing just behind him. The older man was huffing, and for a hot minute, I thought he'd keel over. When I got off my bike and tugged my helmet off, I heard Redding trying to talk the older man down from the tantrum he was having and decided to listen in.

  “Wilson wouldn't do it if it weren't for the best,” he snapped. “You can't tell me after all the bullshit we've bounced back from that Jimmy doesn't deserve it.”

  “He does!” He shouted, throwing his arms up. When he saw me standing there listening though his expression darkened. “But siccing that mad dog on him ain't the answer! I can cuff the boy up, that thing’ll kill him!”

  “Mad dog hasn't brought the cops to our door,” I said simply.

  “Yea?” he growled at me even after he accused me of being a dog. “There not enough evidence for that?”

  “Only bodies I ever put on the ground were for Uncle Sam,” I said coolly. I wasn't going to be baited, not if I knew I was going to be let loose. So far that's what it looked like was going to happen. “Listen to your cripple, if I get a name given to me it's deserved. Consequences come with getting out of line,” I felt the smirk pull at my lips as I walked to the clubhouse door. “Unfortunately for Jimmy, I'm the consequences. If the kid was smart, he would've known that already and all this trouble would've been avoided.”

  “He's gotta eat his just desserts,” Redding agreed with me, ignoring my jab.

  How that guy did two tours in Iraq and came out with a level head, I still didn't know.

  I nodded because it couldn't be argued. It was time I found out was going on and I left the two men outside. The club itself was quiet, with the garage opened up most of the able-bodied guys were there earning a clean living. There was something about being military, retired or not that could make getting a decent job hard. It had been something I struggled with, so I knew, but I wasn't cut for making an honest living.

  I went back to the office and found Wilson there lighting up a cigar.

  “Tillman’s pitching a fit,” I offered as a greeting he needed to be warned.

  Tillman was a good guy, but he had a temper on him. It took someone like Wilson or Redding to talk sense into him when he got fired up. Personally, I didn't give a shit.