Dragon’s Burn
Legion’s Fallen Motorcycle Club Book 1
Brooke Warren
This book contains copyrighted material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, as allowed under terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Copyright © 2019 Brooke Warren
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by: Simply Defined Art
Edited by: Precision Red Pen and Ink It Out Editing Services
Table of Contents
Dedication
Playlist
Rules
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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Authors’ Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by the Author
Dedication
To my Grandmother in heaven.
A.K.A: Granny, Gramcracker, and Cotton Ball.
Love you. Miss You.
Playlist
Series main song - Tommee Profitt – Can’t Help Falling In Love (feat. Brooke) (Cover – Dark Version)
Book songs -
Ann Marr - Bullet
Ava Max – So Am I (feat. NCT 127)
Camila Cabello – Never Be The Same
Danny Avila – End Of The Night
Dead By April – Perfect The Way You Are
DIAMANTE - Sleepwalking
DSRT – Ride
Jason Aldean – Girl Like You
Natalia Kills - Wonderland
Old Dominion – Shoe Shopping
Palisades – Fall
Ryan Oakes – Rush (feat. Cayte Lee)
Salena Gomez – Heart Wants What It Wants
Skylar Grey – Shame On You
Theory of a Deadman – Angel
THROUGH FIRE – Listen To Your Heart
Trapt – Echo
Zara Larsson – I Would Like
Rules
Legion’s Fallen Motorcycle Club- Southeast Region Chapter
The rules laid out for this club have been approved by the 1% of Legion MC Tennessee Chapter, original club of the southeast region. Being in Legion’s Fallen MC is not a bragging right. You’re here because you fucked up. Follow these rules and you may get a chance to regain your status with Legion MC. Screw up again and well, you know what’ll happen.
Southeast Region: Kentucky, Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, and Florida
Rules:
You’re a fuck up and no longer allowed Legion MC privileges.
You obey Legion MC over all else. You are our bitches until we say otherwise.
Don’t complain. You get what we say you get. You’re lucky to be getting anything.
Don’t blow your final chance. You know what further failure means.
Poppy
Graduation Day
I’m finally free.
I’ve been waiting four years for this day—four long years. Edean Walt High School can kiss my ass; hello adulthood.
“Granny,” I call, muscling my way through the crowd who's doing the same thing—trying to find their family members. “Granny,” I yell louder, moving closer to the spot we agreed on meeting at. I see a white poof of hair and breathe a sigh of relief. You know, I’ve never understood why the older women in this town have the same haircut. Shorter on top, cut down, and shaved around the neck. All that white makes them look like they have a cotton ball on top.
“Hey, Granny!”
I run over to her, well, it's more like a fast walk, considering I have heels on, and fling my arms around her. As I pull her close, inhaling the familiar scent of Aqua Net hairspray and menthol from the pain patches she wears, a calm settles over me.
Granny is my life, she’s all I have left in this world. If she hadn’t taken me in when I was five, I would’ve ended up in the state foster system. I don’t know much about my parents, but what I do know is that they will never hold the title of parent of the year. They bounced in and out of my life for a few years after Granny took me. Last I heard both were serving extended time in prison on multiple charges, including drugs, robbery, and prostitution. That was four years ago.
"I tried looking for you in the stands, but I couldn't find you. Did you like my speech?"
My 4.2 GPA earned me the salutatorian title and a three-minute speech, just not the right to sit on stage with everyone else, including Brittney Barns. Miss 4.7 GPA and princess of the school, not to mention prom queen and head cheerleader. How she managed to get the highest GPA is still bothering me but whatever, I don't care.
Leaving this sordid town has been my number one goal, and I just solidified my one-way ticket out by graduating. Living in a small town is not like in movies or on television. It’s worse, much worse. At the thought, a shudder rolls down my spine. Those who leave Reaversville, North Carolina never come back, unless there is a death in their family. Those who stay get caught in the black hole that is small-town life, never moving forward with their lives but have no problem talking shit about the ones that do.
Jealousy and gossip suck the life out of anyone who steps foot in this place, so much so that it should be posted on the welcome sign: ‘Reaversville: Where souls go to die, but gossip lives on forever.’
I look into her pale blue eyes that seem to get lighter the older she gets. The deep-set wrinkles around her mouth pull up in a proud grin. "Yes, darlin'. I loved your speech. I much preferred yours to that other youngin' who went before you. I still think you should've gotten that valedictorian spot."
I beam at her response. She really is the best grandmother I could've asked for. "Aww, thanks. You and me both." I kiss her cheek. "You ready to go?"
"Yeah, I need to get something to eat so I can take the rest of my medication."
I take hold of her arm and we stroll back to where I parked the van. Why they made everyone park so far away is a fucking mystery considering how many older people were in attendance today. But the long walk gives me time to people watch.
My eyes dart from group to group, seeing the new graduates interact with their parents, friends, and families. A dark-haired girl poses with her mom for a selfie, giggling and laughing the whole time. A blonde-haired boy hugs his father and brother, giving pats of congratulations on each other’s backs. Thoughts of what my life would've been like had I had parents who gave a shit about me, pull from the depths of my mind. The part of my mind I equate to whe
re my dreams come from.
I don't want them to surface, they have no place in this moment, but I can't stop the onslaught, so I let it play out. The faster it does, the faster I can lock it away, never to be seen again. In my mind, I'm the girl taking photos with my mom, giving my dad a hug as he tells me how proud he is of me, running across the lawn to where my group of friends are squealing and cackling so we can snap more pictures and talk about all the parties we'll be going to tonight. Then I get in the car, heading back to our suburban home where I live a perfect life, full of perfect moments.
The scene in my head dissipates before my eyes and I blink rapidly, feeling the burn from them drying out because I was staring off into a world that doesn't exist and never will.
Our red Chrysler minivan comes into view after what seems like an eternity of walking. My feet are starting to ache. I love these shoes, but they’re not meant to walk across two miles of grass, though I'm kinda loving how strong my ankles are—I didn't trip once. I unlock the passenger door and help Granny into the seat.
"Thank you, dear." She pats my cheek.
"Anything for you, you know that."
I hop in the driver’s seat and slide the key into the ignition. The sound of the old engine turning over reminds me that I’ve got to have the van looked at and an oil change soon. The last thing I want to worry about is her breaking down on the side of the road. She doesn't have a lot of income and doesn't need to go into debt trying to fix something I could've taken care of myself.
It’s not like I have a lot of money, but the way I see it, everything she’s done for me over the years doesn’t come close to what it would cost getting the van looked at. My grandmother’s been receiving a stipend every month from the state after she adopted me. She has been putting it into an account for me to use when I go to college. There’s a nice chunk in there plus the money I’ve added from working.
"So, where ya want to eat? Jimmy's?"
"Wherever, dear. You know I don't care." She waves her hand in the air, the cute little flip she does when not wanting to make decisions.
"All right, Jimmy's it is."
I head across town to the best BBQ joint in the area. You’d think after growing up surrounded by BBQ places on every street corner, one would get sick of eating it, but that’s not the case. My stomach lets out an audible growl at the mere mention of Jimmy's; it's that fucking good.
I pull into the parking lot and groan; the place is packed. I should've known I wouldn't be the only one wanting to eat here after the graduation ceremony. I circle the parking lot three times before I spot a car backing out of a spot.
"Finally." The pain in my stomach is growing stronger from lack of nutrition. I knew I should've eaten breakfast this morning, but I was too excited to close a chapter of my life to take five minutes to eat.
I turn my blinker on and wait for the car to pull out and drive off. I go to move when a red convertible whips into the spot I was about to take.
"Are you freaking kidding me?" I shout, startling Granny.
I glare at Brittney and her bitch gang: Becky, Bethany, and Becca. Yeah, the FaBs, as they like to call themselves. It's a small town; unique names are like a foreign concept around here.
They pile out of the car, laughing and carrying on while I’m left sitting here, mouth open and plotting all the ways I'd like to smash their faces into a steaming pile of cow shit. I run through my options of the closest farms. The Carson’s farm isn't far from here. I could grab a pile and be back in no time.
"We don't have to eat here. Rickie's is just across the street." Granny leans over and pats my leg. She knows I’m pissed.
I love her, but she's always the first to concede in an argument or scuffle of any type. I, on the other hand, can go from zero to bitch in no-time flat and I damn sure will let you know how I feel. Granny's always telling me that one day my mouth will get me in trouble.
It’s not like I go around spouting off whenever I please. I’m more into calling people on their bullshit. I remember the lies my parents would tell me when I was younger. Once I got older and realized nothing they said was ever going to happen—fake promises of them changing their ways so we could become a proper family—I grew a backbone and stopped taking their crap.
I don’t like liars or people who think they can get away with everything, no matter the cost.
If I didn't have my grandmother in the car with me, I’d park right behind those twats and wait for them to leave the restaurant, only to see they’re blocked in. That's when I’d swoop in with the cow shit. That still sounds like a good idea. Very tempting.
“Ugghh.”
My hands itch to slap a bitch, but I do my best to push it aside. Granny needs to eat, I remind myself. Grumbling a host of colorful curse words under my breath, I go across the road to Rickie's. I haven’t been here in months, partly because I’m not a huge fan of his son. The parking lot is just as packed, but I manage to find a spot in the back of the lot.
"Hey, Poppy, Mrs. Whitley." I see Rickie Tiller wave to us from behind the bar. He's an older man with a scraggly greying beard, big round arms, and a belly to match. Nice guy. Too bad his son is a douche. Scott Tiller: football star, prom king, and the now ex-boyfriend of Brittney. Rumor has it, Brittney caught Scott nailing Samantha Henderson at Tyler Becker’s party a couple weekends ago. I laughed, Brittney cried, life went on.
"Hey, Mr. Tiller," I smile sweetly, while mentally crossing my fingers in hopes that he won't come over to talk to us. I'm not in the best mood anymore. Food first, then we can revisit this topic.
Granny slides into a booth and I sit across from her. No need for menus, it's not like the options change from one BBQ joint to another. I’m staring out the window, lost in thought about my future and mentally going through my checklist of things I have to do before I leave when a deep, sexy, panty-melting voice that seems to lick me up and down has my head whipping around.
"What can I get you to drink?"
Oh. My. God.
Crackles of electricity dance across my skin. The voice doesn't match the person standing in front of me, but holy shit, it fits him. He’s Asian, with sun-kissed olive skin, the most gorgeous cognac eyes with hints of orange flecks, full lips, and an amazing bright red fauxhawk brushed back.
I squeeze my legs together, surprised at the heat buildup down below. I'm no virgin, that got gone a couple years ago by Adam Thompson in the back seat of his dad's truck. I can say with honesty that none of the guys I’ve been with, hell even dated, ever made me instantly weak in the knees, while at the same time making me want to crawl into their laps so I can taste their lips. My irrational, lust-drunk hormones conjure up dirty thoughts causing a heavy dose of drool.
This man oozes sex while wrapped in a warning sign that screams danger ahead. My body doesn’t care what the message says, ignoring all the flashing red lights, but my responsible mind reprimands me, reminding me that I should steer clear of guys like him. He is the kryptonite that could destroy my dreams.
"I'll have water and the small chopped pork with red slaw and hushpuppies on the side, please."
The hot as hell images are broken by Granny’s voice. I glance at her, trying to figure out what she said and if she was talking to me or sex-on-a-stick. I shake my head to clear the fog and focus on the question I was originally asked. Food, right?
Some of the heat moves from my lower belly to my cheeks the second I lay my eyes back on him, my mouth going dry in the process. I’m struggling to get words out. What is going on with me? I mentally chastise myself for ogling this guy, but I can't stop myself, he’s so gorgeous.
"I’ll. . ." I hear the squeak in my voice. Clearing it, I start over. "Cheerwine to drink, and I'll have the same as her."
A bashful smile plays on my lips, and I momentarily get lost in the way his hand glides over the paper as he writes down our order. Wonder what his hands would feel like. . .
Nope.
That needs to stop right now.
He flicks his eyes back to me at the exact moment my brain decides to summon up that mental image. A small smirk pulls at his lips like he can see exactly what secrets I’m hiding. Yep, it’s official. All thoughts but one have exited the building. It's a dirty thought and not appropriate to have in front of you know who sitting across from me.
"Thanks, ladies."
His eyes linger on me a second longer before heading to the bar. I take full advantage of the opportunity and admire his backside. He's a bit taller than me, maybe half a head, with broad shoulders moving into a thinner frame. His dark green shirt pulls against his arms when he moves, showing off the curve of his muscles—that I bet would feel heavenly wrapped around me or holding me. . .against a wall. Yeah, he totally works out. I imagine watching him lift weights, sweat dripping down his bare chest. . .
"Would you like for me to call him back over here for you, dear?"
"W. . .hat?" I stammer, embarrassed my grandmother caught me checking out a guy in front of her.
She and I are close, but there are some things even I feel uncomfortable doing in front of her. Assessing hot guys is one of them. Her eyes sparkle, but she doesn't press the issue, not that she needs to, because right then he brings our drinks out.
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