by Hope Stone
Pin
An MC Romance (Outlaw Souls Book 2)
Hope Stone
Contents
Outlaw Souls Members
1. Pin
2. Claire
3. Pin
4. Claire
5. Pin
6. Claire
7. Pin
8. Claire
9. Pin
10. Claire
11. Pin
12. Claire
13. Pin
14. Claire
15. Pin
16. Claire
17. Pin
18. Claire
19. Pin
20. Claire
21. Pin
22. Claire
23. Pin
24. Claire
25. Pin
26. Claire
27. Pin
Epilogue: Clair
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It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.
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Outlaw Souls Members
MEMBERSHIP ROSTER
President
Paul “Padre” Padillo
Vice President
Robert “Ryder” Hernandez
SGT at Arms
Susie “Swole” Holt
Road Captain
Raul “Trainer” Lopez
Secretary
Open
Treasurer
Gabriel “Pin” Gallegos
Enforcer
Michael “The Moves” Jagger
Prospects
Kimberly Delasante
Carlos Brown
Patches
Pedro “Hawk” Sanchez
Diego “The Dog” Christopher
Vlad “The Enforcer” Kushniruk
Robbie “Chalupa” Iglesias
Chaplain
Ming “Yoda” Chi
One
Pin
“Alright, brothers, that’s it for me,” Ryder said.
I looked up from my bike to see Ryder standing up and brushing off his dark jeans. He nodded at Moves and me as he headed for the door. We had been working on our bikes at the shop for the last hour or so like we did almost every Friday afternoon.
“Aw, you’re really blowing us off for drinks again?” Moves asked.
“Yeah, I’m sick of dragging your drunk ass home every night,” Ryder snapped.
I smirked down at the ground. I loved it when Moves and Ryder badgered each other. They never meant any harm. It was all in good fun, just one of the things that made us brothers, bonded by our devotion to our club, the Outlaw Souls.
“Pin, I’ll see ya later,” Ryder said.
He clapped my shoulder as he headed out, his back ramrod straight. Ryder was the type of guy who thought he had to carry the whole world on his shoulders. It showed sometimes in the way he walked with purpose and a hint of weariness.
Once the roar of his motorcycle had faded into the distance, Moves glanced at me. “You’re coming to Blue Dog Saloon, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
Moves was the enforcer of our group. He had earned that position through a dedication to street fighting that was, frankly, terrifying. Nearly every day, I thanked my lucky stars that he was on our side.
As enforcer, Moves always liked to be in the thick of things, and he never missed a meet-up among club members. It was Friday, so that meant drinks and music down at the Blue Dog Saloon, our unofficial headquarters.
The bar was located on the dingy side of La Playa, far away from the glistening sandy beaches and the boardwalk. Blue Dog Saloon was scrappy but proud, just like the club itself.
“Sweet,” Moves said. “Maybe this time you’ll actually get a girl’s number.”
He grinned at me beneath his messy mop of sandy brown hair.
I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t that I couldn’t get a woman, it was just that I only liked having one for a few nights. I wasn’t into all that soul-changing all-consuming type of love. Moves was, but somehow he could never find it. He was always getting his heart broken or breaking someone else’s heart and then breaking some noses as well, just to round everything out.
“You don’t mean that,” I said. “You’d be screwed without my wingman skills.”
As I stood up, Moves jokingly shoved me in the chest. I dodged away with a laugh, but patted my chest to make sure my glasses were in one piece. Moves had already broken my accounting glasses three times in the last six months and I was sick of getting replacements.
I had been the treasurer for Outlaw Souls for over three years. I kept my glasses on me at all times in case I needed to crunch numbers at any point. We always had gigs, odd jobs, and fundraisers, so keeping track of all the influx and outflow was no joke.
I was happy to do it though; the club was everything to me. I had been born and raised on the wrong side of La Playa. Sick of my mom’s non-stop fighting with her boyfriend, I had joined up as soon as I was eighteen. I was never the guy to grab the center of attention, so I had always wanted to be treasurer – not in the middle of things, but still pulling strings behind-the-scenes.
I remembered when the older guys had suggested I get an accounting degree at a local college, I’d been almost offended. I thought they were trying to get rid of me or hint that I wasn’t suited for a biker club. Instead, they explained that they needed someone with certain skills and, since I had done so well in high school math courses, I had potential.
I had done well in math because it was a good distraction from whatever jerk my mom was seeing that month, but I didn’t tell them that. Instead, I got into an accounting program with the club paying for the whole thing. They didn’t ask for a single penny back. That’s when I knew I would do anything for the Outlaw Souls. It’s been almost ten years since I first asked to join, and I feel the same way.
I grabbed my leather jacket with the patch and pulled it on as Moves gathered up his stuff. He looked at his phone and then up at me. “Kimmy just texted, she’s headed that way as well.”
I rolled my eyes. Kimberly Delasante was a pledge who hated – absolutely hated – being called “Kimmy.” So, of course, Moves called her nothing else. Kim was a tough girl though, and always gave as good as she got with Moves.
Moves and I pushed our bikes out into the bright sun of La Playa. It would start to set soon, so we had just enough time to go for a quick ride and grab dinner before heading to Blue Dog.
The auto shop we liked to work out of was on the corner across from a rundown taco place and a loan’s office. The taco place needed a serious paint job and had grimy windows, but we all knew that they were the best tacos outside LA. There was another, shinier version of La Playa, but it wasn’t for me, never had been.
“Seriously, man, I worry about you,” Moves said as the sun hit us.
It was pretty out of the blue, so I raised my brows.
“You got walls a mile high, brother,” Moves continued. “Being single is fun for a while, but come on, you don’t wanna be grabbing beers with your brothers every Friday for the rest of your life, right?”
To be honest, I kinda did, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Moves. Beneath his battle-hardened exterior, he was a total romantic. He believed in soulmates and all that bullshi
t.
I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that true love didn’t exist.
Because it didn’t. I had known that since I was five years old and my dad walked out, leaving my mom weeping on the floor of our shitty little kitchen.
I hadn’t seen my dad since. Hadn’t wanted to. Even when Ryder and Moves suggested I try tracking him down, for closure, I wasn’t having it. Some stones are better left unturned.
Not to mention that while I didn’t have many memories of him, I had enough to know he wasn’t worth knowing. I remember waking up to his drunken ranting late at night, and I remember him constantly losing a job but blaming someone else for his unemployment. It was never his fault. His boss was always a prick, or his friend threw him under the bus, or my mother was such a nag and drove him crazy.
My mother loved him, she really did. But that never did her any good, just made her hurt all the more when he betrayed her. Unfortunately, my mom fell in love easily. She fell in love with the next guy, and the next, and the next. And she always ended up crying with her broken heart in her hands.
The truth was, people weren’t good enough for each other. One way or another, someone always cheated or walked out or lied. So I was happy to flirt and engage in the occasional fuck, but why bother with anything else?
I wanted my life to be like the numbers on my accounting books. Even, balanced. No lies. No evasions. No room for slip-ups.
Moves shrugged at my silence. He was used to it. I had never been much of a talker.
“Still waters run deep,” Moves mumbled.
I pushed my sunglasses on as we mounted our bikes.
“What about Kimmy?” Moves blurted out. “She’s cute, right?”
I snorted. Moves had never been subtle. Also, I was pretty sure he was the one with a thing for Kim, he just didn’t know it yet.
“Definitely not my type,” I said. “Besides, she’s seeing someone.”
“She is?” Moves asked.
“Yeah, I heard her telling Carlos about it the other day,” I said. “Older guy, I think. Big corporate job, sounds like.”
“Fuck,” Moves said. “I guess someone is willing to risk getting close to that bitch on wheels.”
I rolled my eyes at Moves’ ever-changing opinions. The guy had more mood swings than a teenage girl. “You just said she was cute.”
“Yeah, well,” Moves said. “I say a lotta things.”
I pushed my dark hair back from my face and rammed my boot down on the pedal. I was getting sick of chit-chat, even if Moves mostly meant well.
Moves started revving his own engine and our bikes roared to life.
As we hit the open road, I couldn’t hold back my grin. We merged onto the highway and headed south. If we were to go straight west, we would hit the ocean. That was one of my favorite rides, but we didn’t have time.
I leaned forward and urged my bike even faster. The feeling of the wind pulsing over my face as my bike picked up speed was what I had fallen in love with first. The club and the brotherhood had just been added bonuses.
I figured between my bike and my brothers, who needed anything else?
Two
Claire
I tossed the envelope onto Veronica’s desk with a dramatic sigh. “Men are idiots.”
“Tell me about it,” Veronica said, not even looking up as I flopped into my desk chair.
“This guy was legit emailing his mistress naked pics from his personal phone that is part of his family plan, which his wife is on,” I said. “She gave me all the passwords so logging on was a breeze. She could have done it herself.”
“Claire, baby, they never want to do it themselves,” Veronica said. “It’s easier if we swoop in and find the dirty stuff for them.”
I shrugged and kicked my feet up on the desk. When I had first landed the job at Daniel O’Malley’s private investigating firm, I had been excited. Following cheating husbands with big sunglasses and a fancy camera had been thrilling.
But after three years, it was getting old. I could practically recite the result of every case brought to us by some weeping wife.
Her bigwig husband had a mistress, who was probably under twenty-five and had massive tits. He thought he was so clever by using a burner phone and telling his wife he had to work late. We usually only had to trail the husband for a few days before we could get back to the wife with photos, emails, texts, and other pieces of evidence that her divorce attorney would know how to use.
Occasionally, there was something a little more riveting. Sometimes a missing child, a guy who owed money and was trying to disappear, or even a murder that the police couldn’t crack. But for the most part, it was asshole husbands.
Veronica swung her thick dark hair over one shoulder and gave me a wry smile. “Think Dan got another one in today. It’ll go to you though. I’m not done working on this one.”
I raised my eyebrows. Veronica usually sped through her cases. While I preferred to trail the guys and gather evidence off of phones or hard drives, Veronica did it the old-fashioned way. She’d put on an itty-bitty black dress and waltz right up to the scumbag at the bar. A few hours later, she would be in his hotel room, plenty of photos taken for the poor wife, and lecturing the guy on being an idiot.
“You’re kidding,” I said. “This guy said no to you?”
“He’s a careful one,” Veronica said. “Doesn’t drink either, which is always a challenge.”
“You’ll get him,” I said.
“I always do,” Veronica said with a wicked gleam in her eye.
Veronica and I were the only two employees who worked for Dan. She had been at the firm for almost a decade and had pretty much taught me everything I knew.
I had been green when I arrived in La Playa with twenty bucks in my wallet and a thirst for adventure. I had wanted to try being a stunt double in Hollywood or a personal assistant for a millionaire. Anything that would offer adventure really.
I grew up in a small town in Northern California. My parents were nice, but ordinary. By the time I graduated from the local college, I was desperate for something new and exciting. So I headed south and never looked back.
Working as a PI was exciting. It was. I loved the life I had created for myself in La Playa. But lately, I had been chomping at the bit for something else. A bigger case. A new challenge.
“You ok?” Veronica asked.
She was observant, that’s part of what made her a great PI. She had noticed my sense of ennui.
“Sure,” I said with a small shrug. “Just bored.”
“If you’re always looking for the next thrill,” Veronica said. “You’ll miss all the good things you’ve got.”
“Thanks, Yoda.”
Beneath her femme fatale exterior, Veronica was wise and sympathetic. She was the uncontested best at breaking the tough news to the wives of the cheaters. I was always too abrupt. I would just shove the photos in their face, telling them the man they had been married to for years sucked and they needed to move on fast.
Veronica was more understanding. She held a lot of hands, wiped away a lot of tears, and gave amazing pep talks about how this wasn’t the end, it was a new beginning. I knew that if I ever got gutted by a cheating husband, I would run to Veronica first.
Not like that would ever happen though. After the bullshit I had seen in the last few years, long-term relationships looked about as appealing as a dumpster fire to me. Besides, every guy I dated ended up boring me. I always got tired of the same old routines.
The door swung open and Daniel O’Malley strutted into the office. He was over six feet tall, his suits were always wrinkled, and his hair was always messy, but he had managed to build a successful private investigating business over the course of two decades. He said it was because he had always hired smart and capable girls like me and Veronica.
I swung my feet off my desk and straightened my oversized jean jacket.
“Fenelli,” he barked at Veronica. “Still working the Greenber
g guy?”
“Yup,” Veronica said.
“Brennan?” he asked, turning to me.
Daniel always used our last names. I think it made him feel like he was in an old-school Hollywood detective movie.
“Finished with the latest today,” I said. “Just need to type up the report.”
“Great,” Daniel said, tossing a file onto my desk. “I’ve got a new one.”
I opened it up. Olivia Cook was concerned by her husband Trey’s recent behavior. She wanted to get to the bottom of it, as painful as the truth may be. I scanned the pictures. Olivia looked like something out of Town & Country magazine. Blonde hair, big smile, floral dress, cute kid clinging to her hand.
Trey also looked the part. Handsome face and a build that suggested he had been an athlete in high school but was just starting to go to seed a bit. Guys like that gained a few pounds, got a few gray hairs, and their fragile masculinity exploded. They had to go out and shower some dumb young bimbo with gifts to get their self-esteem back on track.
“Wonderful,” I said. “Another thrilling chapter in the book of matrimonial bliss.”
Veronica stifled a giggle, but Daniel frowned.
“Let’s 86 the sarcasm, Brennan,” Daniel said.
I flashed him my most charming smile. “Sure thing, boss. I’ll get right on this tonight.”
Daniel gave a brisk nod and headed into his office. He gave off a stern exterior, but he was a good guy overall.
I settled into my desk and pulled out my notebook. My desk was a mess of papers, photos, and pens, but I thrived in that kind of disarray. Veronica, on the other hand, kept her desk immaculate.
