Savage Kings MC Box Set 1

by Lane Hart

  “I’m trying to be patient,” Maddox says. “But I’m coming up on two years!”

  He’s a good kid and he works damn hard for the club. Before he started prospecting, he was a hang-around for about a year, ever since the day I brought him in off the streets when he was eighteen. That’s one of my biggest concerns. The kid doesn’t have any ties to anyone or anything other than our crew. While I’m certain that will make him a loyal, dedicated brother, I can’t help but worry he’ll fall so deeply into the club that he’ll give up on having a life outside of it.

  “Keep doing what you’re doing, and we’ll talk soon,” I tell him before I end the call.

  I know the kid wants to patch in more than anything, but sometimes I wish I could shake him and beg him to go to college or join the Army instead, because once he patches in, it’s a lifetime commitment.

  I love my brothers and the MC, but some days, keeping it separate from my personal life is harder than others. It’s not exactly the future I want for my son. That’s why I try not to let Ren see my gun, me in my leather cut, or on my bike that I keep covered in the garage. He doesn’t need to follow in my footsteps. It may be too late to dissuade Maddox from living on the fringes of the law and society, but it’s not too late for Ren.

  Once the last of my responsibilities have been taken care of, I don’t know what to do with myself. Sitting around the house doing nothing isn’t something I enjoy. The only time I sit still for any length of time is to sleep, and most nights, that’s only for five or six hours before I’m up and hitting the weight bench and treadmill in my home gym.

  Right now, though, I need something, anything, to take my mind off of Ren and the insistent worrying that will haunt me for the next two days he’s gone.

  Pulling out my other phone, the one with internet access that I never use for club business, I do a quick check on the weather. It’s going to be a beautiful afternoon, with just a few clouds and only a five percent chance of rain. Those are the sort of odds I like to see before I head out on my bike for a nice long, peaceful ride.

  Chapter Two

  Nova McQueen

  I’m pretty sure god is up in the sky, stacking the odds against me at a casino table and then laughing at my distress when he wins big.

  If there is no higher being betting against me, then I just have the absolute worst luck. Or maybe I did something awful in a past life and this life is all about bad karma settling the score. All I know is that I’ve tried to be a good, decent human being, and the only thing I’ve received for my efforts is sterility from cervical cancer at the age of twenty, leaving me with an enormous stack of medical bills, along with a ridiculous amount of student loan debt after getting my master’s degree. I graduated last year and was unemployed until about three months ago when I was hired as a social worker for a small East Coast town.

  And I love the beach, I really do.

  What I don’t love is only being able to afford a shack, sitting in one of the most humid states, with no bloody air conditioner!

  For weeks, my landlord has promised to fix it, but he was waiting for the warmer months to come along before having to foot the bill on a new window unit. Well, you son of a bitch, that time is now!

  That is word for word what I told that crotchety old man about half an hour ago.

  Now that I think about it, karma for that harsh slip of tongue may very well explain why I’m currently sitting on the side of the road, melting into a puddle on the trunk of my broken-down car because it’s too hot to sit inside of it.

  Did I mention there’s no cell phone service on this stretch of empty road? Yeah, told you I’m lucky like that.

  I can only afford to live in the rural part of the county I work in, so I’m miles from my shack and god knows how far to the closest city. I’m currently waiting for the sun to set to cool the air down while trying to decide which direction I should start walking.

  A few cars have sped past me, but none have stopped to offer any help. And why would they? God has forsaken me and apparently marked me as undeserving of a stranger’s mercy. I’m persona non grata in this world. You would think, after the whole cancer thing, he’d give me a break, but noooo.

  “Fuck you too, man!” I scream to the sky, my middle finger raised to the gray clouds from where I’m stretched out on the car.

  And no shit, a roll of thunder is his instantaneous response.

  “Oh, come on!” I huff as I sit up and swing my mostly bare legs over the trunk that’s so hot it’s burning my ass cheeks, thanks to the cutoff denim shorts. All I wanted was to go to the store and buy a damn fan. Is that too much to ask after a long day of shit work in an office full of people who hate me? Apparently, it is.

  No doubt, the rain is going to pour down on my head soon unless I get in the car with the windows up. Then I’ll suffocate. Hell, maybe I should start walking and just hope I don’t get struck by lightning.

  Before I can make a decision, or hop down from the trunk, a shiny black motorcycle goes roaring past me. Can’t say I blame him for not stopping. He better get his ass home before the rain drenches him too.

  That’s why I’m absolutely stunned when the same Harley comes rolling up from the other direction and pulls over onto the shoulder.

  Oh, thank god!

  With his broad back to me, he remains seated, so all I can make out are the white patches on his black leather vest. The words read “Savage Kings” at the top and “North Carolina” on the bottom, with a big, angry, bearded skull wearing a crown in between them. So, this guy is not just a biker, he’s a member of the local motorcycle gang I’ve heard people at work whispering about with equal parts awe and fear.

  Finally, the helmet comes off and is placed on the handlebars. Then the dark-haired guy throws his long, jeans-covered leg over his bike to climb off and turn around to face me.

  Yum is the first word that pops in my head to describe him. He has a hard, muscular body that was made to walk around naked without an ounce of shame. He’s the perfect male specimen, the kind that invokes that rare desire in women to actually want to taste every flawless inch.

  As he strolls toward me, his fingers carelessly shove the front of his chocolate hair out of his stern, but ruggedly handsome, face, thanks to the chiseled, unshaven jawline. The move makes his boulder-sized biceps bulge nicely against the short sleeves of the black tee he’s wearing under the vest. Despite his intimidating appearance, his golden eyes assess me from head to toe with enough warmth and concern to make me think he’s a good guy I can trust.

  “You having car trouble, darlin’?” he asks with a deep southern accent when we’re only about five feet apart. And man, he’s even bigger up close, with shoulders much wider than your average doorframe. Throw in the darlin’, and I’m pretty sure my panties just evaporated into thin air.

  “What? Car trouble? No,” I reply sarcastically to his question with a smile before I jump down from my seat on the trunk and shove my hands into my back pockets. “I just thought this empty stretch of highway looked like the perfect place to work on my sun tan.”

  I don’t miss his eyes lowering momentarily to where my perky nipples are introducing themselves to him through the thin shelf bra of my white tank top. But, like a gentlemen, his gaze quickly returns back to mine in the blink of an eye.

  “I take it you don’t have any cell service either through here?” he asks with a shared grin.

  “Guess that ‘can you hear me now’ guy never made it out to this part of the country,” I answer.

  “Yeah,” he says with a chuckle. Tilting his head to the side, he looks past me to the Rhode Island license plate behind my legs. “You new to this area?”

  “Sort of. I just moved here for a job a few months ago,” I answer. “You must be the welcome wagon because I think you’re the first person who’s talked to me voluntarily and without annoyance.”

  “Is that right?” he asks, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “Sorry. It’s a small town where everyone
knows everyone. Takes a while for them to warm up to newcomers.”

  “I’m starting to get that,” I reply.

  “Well, pop your hood and I’ll take care of you,” he says, then his serious face blanches at his choice of words. “I mean, the car. I used to be a mechanic. Maybe I can take care of your car problem for you.”

  “That would be great, thanks,” I say with sincere gratitude as I go around to the driver side to open the door and pull the lever. That’s when I realize that I’m still smiling at his flustered over-explanation of what he meant to say. He’s not only hot and chivalrous but also adorable. “There you go,” I tell him when I stand up, and he’s already lifting the hood of the car. “But you should probably hurry. There’s a storm coming.”

  “Nah, it’s only a five percent chance of rain today,” he says, as he peers inside at the engine and whatever else is in there that makes the car run.

  “I’m pretty sure I just heard it thunder,” I point out.

  “It’s not gonna storm today,” he assures me while reaching in and tinkering with some shit. Pulling out a long, greasy stick, he asks, “When was the last time you had an oil change?”

  “Um, well, maybe in February…”

  “Four months ago?” he questions when he hits me hard with those golden eyes.

  “February, a few years ago,” I admit sheepishly. When the choice is to eat or get an oil change, I’ll always choose eating.

  “Jesus,” he grumbles.

  “How bad is it?”

  He replaces the stick thing and tells me, “It’s not great, darlin’. Your engine is shot to hell.”

  “Oh god,” I groan as I cover my face with both hands. “How much do you think it will take to fix? It’s gonna cost me a fortune, isn’t it?”

  “At least several thousand. You would probably be better off scrapping it. The repairs are gonna cost more than the value,” he remarks before he removes the latch and slams the hood closed, like that’s his final answer.

  “I can’t afford anything else. I’ll…I’ll just have to get it fixed,” I tell him.

  He stares at me silently for several long moments before he says, “If you have a brother or father, maybe a boyfriend or a, um, husband who knows a little about cars, you could probably save some money…”

  “No brothers, boyfriends, or husbands,” I inform him. “And my dad is up in Rhode Island.”

  “Oh.”

  That’s the moment a flash of light zips across the sky. It’s immediately followed by a big boom of thunder that hits so close to us, it shakes the ground and makes me yelp in surprise.

  “Shit,” the guy grumbles as he too winces at the sudden noise, and starts stomping back over to his bike. “Come on.”

  “What?” I ask, as the first giant drop of cool rain water plops down on my forehead.

  “We need to find shelter,” he tells me over his shoulder as he grabs his helmet from the handlebars.

  “We?” I repeat while following behind him.

  “Yeah, I’m not gonna leave you out here,” he says when he turns around and plops the helmet down on my head and quickly fastens the chin strap.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, now close enough to him to get a whiff of his sweat, oil, and leather scent. Separately, the smells wouldn’t be all that appealing, but mixed all together, they’re…heavenly.

  “There’s an overpass about five miles north,” he informs me, pointing a finger toward the direction of the city. “It won’t give us much cover but it’s better than nothing.”

  “My place is a little less than twenty minutes that way,” I say, gesturing with my thumb south, since having a roof over our heads seems safer when there’s lightning involved.

  Nodding his agreement, he tells me, “Hop on. I can make it there in ten, maybe even keep us dry.”

  “Okay,” I agree. “Let me just grab my purse from my car…”

  The sky doesn’t wait for me to grab my purse.

  The bottom of the clouds falls out right then and there, so the two of us are standing in the middle of a heavy downpour…while the sun continues to shine all around us.

  There’s an actual black cloud that’s hovering directly above me, along with the unfortunate stranger who was kind enough to stop and try to help me.

  Chapter Three

  War

  I’ve seen a lot of pop-up thunderstorms in my life, especially since I moved to the coast, but this one takes the cake.

  The sky is blue with only a few white scattered clouds. The setting sun is still lighting up the sky one second, and the next, this woman and I are getting drenched.

  As soon as she grabs her purse from her car, we take off on my bike, her arms wrapped around my waist and face buried against my back. Not even half a mile later, the rain completely stops, and the pavement is totally dry. If water wasn’t dripping from my hair into my eyes and my clothes weren’t sticking to my skin, I would’ve thought I made the whole storm up.

  It’s the craziest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Next house on the left!” the girl yells from behind me, so I slow down and pull into the gravel driveway of the one level…cottage, I guess is the right word to describe it. My garage is probably bigger. I’m thinking Ren’s treehouse may even be more spacious, not that I’ve seen inside it. Or that I’m going to. There’s no reason for me to go inside a house with a woman I just met, now that we’re safe from the storm.

  I park in the gravel driveaway and kill the engine, then she climbs off the back and removes my helmet from her head, saying, “Wow. That was ridiculous, right? I mean, is it just me or did it seem like it only rained on the one spot where we were standing?”

  “Ah, yeah,” I agree with a smile as I take the helmet back from her, since I was thinking the same thing. Her thin white tank top is now soaking wet, which means that not only can I see her nipples clearly but the areolas surrounding them. I try to force my eyes to stay on her face but that’s almost worse since she has full, pink, bee-stung-swollen lips that encourage way too many filthy thoughts. Add in the fact that she’s beautiful without a speck of makeup on her face, along with the way her auburn hair is piled up high and messy with just a few strands dangling along her bare neck that’s begging to be kissed and, well, the reminder that I haven’t been with a woman in way too long suddenly feels…important. It’s almost like my body is waking up from an incredibly long winter that lasted for years, and it wants to know what the hell is going on.

  I’ve pushed down my personal needs for so long to handle everyone else’s needs around me that I only vaguely remembered them before this moment. Which is ridiculous since there are always women around the clubhouse practically begging me for easy, no strings attached, sex.

  So why now?

  Why is it that this woman whose name I don’t even know is suddenly able to flip my fucking switch?

  “So, ah, thanks for the ride,” she says when she takes a step backward toward the small shack, probably because I failed in my quest to not think about her naked and those thoughts are written all over my face. And yeah, a shack is a more accurate description of her place than a cottage.

  “No problem.” I intend for the words to be casual before I ride off and leave the sexy, nameless woman stranded with no car in the middle of nowhere in a new town.

  For some stupid reason I don’t understand, maybe because I would want someone to look out for my sister if she were stranded on a highway halfway across the country without me, and not at all because I’m wondering if I have even the slimmest chance of getting inside of her, I blurt out, “Where were you headed anyway?” to keep her talking.

  Her flip flops come to a stop and she turns back to face me, her hands shoved in the back of her cutoff shorts. The move thrusts her tits out in the best possible, most distracting way. So much so that I almost miss her response.

  “I was going to buy a fan.”

  “A fan?” I repeat.

  “Yeah. The air conditioner in
my place is broken, and they can’t send anyone to fix it until Monday.”

  Fuck.

  It was gonna be nearly impossible to drive off and leave her without a car and a big fat repair bill. Now though, there’s even more reason why I should stay.

  Since I don’t have anything better to do tonight, and it’s nice to have a project to keep my mind off of Ren staying with Marcie, I pull out my flip phone, the one I use for club business, and see that there’s enough bars to make a call.

  “What are you doing?” the woman inquires with a tilt of her head.

  “What’s your name?” I ask while the phone line rings against my ear.

  “Nova.”

  “Nova?” I say again, liking how unique it is and the way it rolls right off my tongue.

  “Yeah, Nova McQueen.” She comes back over to where I’m still sitting on my bike and holds out her hand for me to shake.

  “War—” I start to introduce myself when I clasp her palm, but then Fast Eddie answers.

  “How’s it hanging, brother?” he asks.

  “Hey, man, I’m good. Sorry to call so late on a Friday, but can I get a tow?”

  “Sure. Not like I’ve got a hot date,” he replies with a wheezy chuckle. “What and where?”

  “Highway sixty-four, an older model, blue Corolla on the side of the road,” I describe while looking at Nova. Her eyes widen, and she’s standing close enough I can now see they’re an entrancing golden-green. She starts to say something before I hold up my palm to silence her.

  “I’ll head out now,” Eddie tells me. “Want me to bring it back to the salvage yard?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I agree. “But before you leave, do you know of any heating and air guys you could get to work tonight?”