Chain (Heartlands MC) Read online

  Copyright © 2020

  by Dani Wyatt

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  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,

  is purely coincidental.

  www.daniwyatt.com

  Cover Credit Pop Kitty

  Editing Nicci Haydon

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  Chapter One

  Meadow

  Well this is a fine spot you’ve gotten yourself into, Meadow.

  It’s my father’s voice that echoes inside my head as I lay shivering on the concrete floor.

  My ass hurts and my shoulders ache from having my hands zip tied behind my back. There’s a shitty mattress on the floor which probably has eighteen kinds of STD’s and pandemic viruses crawling all over it and now me.

  I gag at the thought shifting my weight off my hip, trying to get blood flowing into my left leg which has fallen asleep and is burning and tingling from being in one position too long.

  My father always said I had a talent for getting myself into trouble. That’s ironic, because he and my mom worked their whole lives helping other people get out of trouble.

  What did it get them?

  Dead.

  That’s what it got them. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say.

  “Fuck.” I grimace, attempting to throw my body sideways but ending up flat on my back instead, looking up at the leaky, cracked-cement ceiling. There’s an extension cord coming from under the metal door and it’s duct taped to the wall and across the ceiling to where a single florescent bulb buzzes in a rusted white shop light, hanging crooked above me.

  Chunk, chunk, chunk.

  The pipes that are part of the heating system come to life behind me. Jesus, somebody needs to do some maintenance around here.

  And on the topic of maintenance, it fricking stinks in here too. There’s a drain in the center of the small room and a hint of sewage and vermin death has my stomach on a hair trigger.

  The musty, dirty air is doing nothing for my asthma and the god-damn zip ties are cutting off the circulation in my ankles and wrists. My fingers and feet are cold, but for the first hour I was in here, I yelled and screamed, and it did nothing but get me a sore throat.

  Every once in a while, I hear low voices and movement outside the door. I can’t make out words, or much more than that it’s men. Maybe the same ones that tackled me and threw me in here, but it’s impossible to know.

  The cramp in the center of my back burns deep into my muscle, and when I try to ease it by trying to stretch my arms jolts of pain shoot down from my shoulders, taking my breath away.

  It’s strange, but I’m not really afraid even though I know I should be. I’m being held in the basement of motorcycle club bar after they caught me with their safe open, filling my trusty canvas bag full of cash and jewelry. All of which I can be fairly sure they didn’t acquire lawfully, yet it seems they don’t take kindly to having what they took from someone else taken from them.

  I cruised into Seneca, Nevada three days ago in my usual fashion. When it was time to leave the previous town, I simply took out my phone, pulled up the map, closed my eyes and touched my finger to the screen.

  Seneca, Nevada was my next mark. I’d snuck out of Temple Bluff about a hundred miles south of here, in the middle of the night after taking the local corrupt mayor and his shitty police chief for around 50K in an easy grift that they should have seen coming.

  Still fascinates me that a good set of tits used properly can create one of the best distractions.

  I packed up my one duffel bag, my two laptops and scooted my ass down the road in my trusty, rusty 1999 Ford F-150.

  It’s reliable, non-descript with a modified engine that can get me out of sticky situations at zero to sixty in in under eight seconds

  By now, I know that the mayor and police chief are seething, knowing I took them hard. But I never feel bad. I take from the takers. The lesson I learned watching my parents give and give was that in the end, we all get taken, so I’m just trying to exact my own bit of quiet justice to the overlords and the takers of the world.

  MC clubs are some of the worst. And the easiest.

  Well, they usually are.

  The Heartlands Motorcycle Club caught onto my take faster than most. Maybe it was luck, maybe something else, but the other thing I know is MC clubs like to deal out their own sort of justice and I have a feeling, this time, my tits aren’t going to save me from whatever is about to happen.

  My heart races as voices seep from under the door. They’re sharper now, louder, and I think about the faces and people I saw yesterday in the club bar when I was posing as a utility worker checking on their electric meter, saying they needed a new meter as well the wiring needed work.

  And I mean, the meter does need an upgrade. Fucking thing looks like it was last changed back in the 40s.

  I’ve pulled this grift at least twenty times. Sometimes, I figure out quick it’s not going to pay out, but most of the time my eye is skilled enough to case the surroundings in the little time I have, disable security when necessary, get my eye on the door locks, safe, weak entry points and whatever other intel I need to set up the take, which I usually do a night or two after my initial contact.

  Another skill that is critical if you are going to take on this life, is the ability to talk. I’m not going to be able to fight my way through three, four, five...hell, who knows, maybe ten hard ass MC club members, all with lightning rods up their asses because some chick almost took them for a hard ride.

  The clunk of the deadbolt turns, and I lay my head down on the mattress, my throat tight and my mouth dry, as I try to clear my mind. The most prized skill I possess, is the ability to read people. Whatever happens in the next few minutes, could be the difference between me seeing another trip around the sun or seeing the lights go out for the last time.

  As the door swings open, I’m blinded by the spotlight that is held in front of a group of at least four guys. I see the shapes of their heads before I wince and blink, turning my head away from the severity of the light.

  “This girl?” I hear a deep voice bounce off the cold walls.

  “Yeah. She was here Wednesday, not likely to forget her.”

  There are shuffling feet, scraping on the hard floor. Some are behind my back, some toward my feet, and one closer, near where my head is on the scratchy, filthy fabric of the mattress.

  I hear the snapping of a tongue in a cheek and let my eyes open a slit, taking in scuffed black boots, jeans, hands hanging down between knees as whoever it is crouches next to me.

  Only, something happens.

  The stink of the room disappears. A spicy, dangerous, scent...it’s exhaust but with a hint of sweat and an exotic cologne that turns my dry mouth to a
salivating river but that doesn’t stop me from laying into him.

  “My fucking hands are about to fall off. My feet too. Unless you want them turning gangrene you better loosen these fucking zip ties, assholes.” I blurt out, hearing multiple bursts of laughter from above, but not from the man that is making me dizzy with his scent.

  Instead, he shifts forward, his knees on the mattress just in front of my face. A hand grips my shoulder, sending a wild rage of sensations down into my toes. He pulls me forward, pressing my chest into the mattress.

  There’s contact with my hands. He squeezes my fingers, holds my shoulder down and I hear the click of what I’m sure is a switchblade. Suddenly I can’t breathe.

  “Who the fuck put these on so fucking tight? Her hands are blue.” He sounds angry.

  “What the fuck, man? She stole from us. Or she was going to...What the fuck do we care if her hands are blue. We should fucking cut her hands off—”

  “Everyone out!” He snaps and I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel the cool metal between my wrists. I wait for the pain, but instead the pressure releases, my hands spring apart and the next thing I know, my feet are free too and I think I’ve found my new mark.

  Chapter Two

  Chain

  Keep your shit straight.

  Keep your shit straight.

  “What the fuck, man?” Killian gives me a look. “She fucking tried to steal from us. No one steals from us.”

  “I fucking know.” I bark back. “I’m the fucking treasurer, don’t you think I know that?”

  It’s Killian, Ranger and Buzz down here with me, and they all look fucking confused and I get it. But, this is not just some girl who tried to pull a con on us.

  “Just,” I start, keeping my voice low and steady. “I got this. Close the door. I’m going to figure this out and I’ll call you when I get what I need from her.”

  They all give each other looks, but I need to be alone with her. She’s making my balls twitch laying there all defiant like some ninja in her black jeans and long sleeved thermal shirt. Everything just tight enough I get a good look at the curves making my mouth water. Her hair is the color of warm coffee that matches her eyes rimmed with long black lashes.

  On her feet, are red Doc Marten boots, fairly new and I notice the tiny, gold owl earrings in her delicate lobes. She’s a mess of contrast and I can’t stop the feeling I want to know everything about her.

  “I said.” I grit out. “I got this.”

  “Fine.” Ranger our road captain and owner of the bar raises his hands. “I got Ruby waiting on my ass. She was none too happy when you assholes called me to come down here anyway after being gone couple days this week. I was about to get my girl just where I wanted her, so fuck off all of you. Call me if you need me, but don’t call if you don’t.”

  He marches out of the room, cursing as he stomps up the stairs, while Killian and Buzz shrug.

  The sound of his stomping away mixes with the sound of my pulse, thick in my ears.

  “Okay, man.” Killian, the club president’s son starts. “You got the story from Stella and Roxanne. She came in yesterday, like some fuck off from the electric company. Had a badge and everything. She must have set the lock on the back door so it wouldn’t engage. Lucky Ranger came home from our run when he did and found her in the back with the fucking safe open, man. She had the safe open.”

  “I know.” I snap. “I got the story. What the fuck is wrong, you think I’m not going to take care of it?”

  “Let’s go.” Buzz shoves Killian’s shoulder. “I got shit to do. Like sleep. Been on a ride for two fucking days with Ranger scoping out a good route for next weekend. Chain says he’s got this, he’s got it. I’m fucking tired.”

  Killian gives me one more confused look, before raking his hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Call us if you need us, man. But, no one takes from us.”

  “Get out.” My mood isn’t normal. I’m the treasurer for a reason. People underestimate me. Think I’m just a bag of beef with tattoos and nothing between my ears. They’re wrong, and these guys know it. They’re trusting me right now because they think I’ve got this under control, but truth is control is the last word to describe what I’m feeling.

  Killian and Buzz pull the door shut behind them as they leave, and I’m left here with this girl who has my cock hard and my heart beating double time.

  “Look, I don’t know what those guys are fucking talking about, I’m just a—”

  “Shut it,” I snap, turning to find she’s managed to get to her knees, and for a second I lose my fucking mind, thoughts of shoving my cock between those pouty lips, of her moaning and salivating around my shaft, making me draw a breath through gritted teeth.

  She’s fuming, I can see it, and somehow it only makes her more adorable. It’s like there’s this switch inside me and someone’s flicked it so all I see is her. She’s not like the other girls I’ve known in the past. They were only too eager to please, but not her. No. She’s going to be a handful.

  “Just let me go. Please...” Her eyes are welling up as she struggles to her knees, and it’s a good act, but it’s still just an act. She’s scared, sure, but she’s not the sort that cries about it.

  “I said fucking shut it.”

  Instinct kicks in and I stomp back across the room to her, fists at my sides. She deserves punishment. Trying to steal from the Heartlands MC?

  Her eyes widen, those big dark eyes, and it hits me like a bat to the balls.

  With a grunt of rage, I slam my fist into the wall behind her, feeling pain spread through my knuckles as I growl, “Sit the fuck down and don’t make another sound or I swear to god...”

  She nods, immediately moving to comply, and all I can think about is the other commands I’d like to give her.

  Take your pants off. Now your shirt. Lose the bra and panties. Touch yourself.

  Yeah, I’m a sick fuck.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. But right now, I’m going to let you sit here and imagine.”

  “Please, I just want to go home. My mom will be wondering—”

  I turn, ignoring her, and she falls silent as I stomp out of the room, just hoping she didn’t notice the steel rod inside my jeans.

  ***

  Half an hour later, I’m heading back down to the cellar with a bandage wrapped around my knuckles from punching the wall and a cheese sandwich on a plate. I didn’t know if she eats the crusts, so I cut them off just in case, and I emptied a bag of chips on the side and put an apple there as well. I’m still huffing to myself, but hopefully she’s calmed down now, and we can have some real talk about who she is and why she’s here.

  Why she picked Heartlands MC.

  Balancing the plate on one hand, I fish the key out of my pocket and unlock the door to the cellar room.

  “Hey, didn’t know what you eat so—”

  That’s as far as I get, as the door is kicked back in my face, knocking me back so that I clatter into the wall on the other side of the small corridor. Somehow I manage to keep hold of the plate, but the apple falls off the side and goes rolling away, while some of the chips scatter over the floor.

  “What the fuck.” I shout as she comes out of the room brandishing a— “Where the fuck did you get that?”

  She swings the metal bar at my head, and the sandwich is finally gone as I put my arm up to shield myself from the attack, keeping hold of the empty plate. So much for getting her something to eat.

  I grab the end of the metal bar with my free hand and realize it’s a part of the heating system. Somehow, she must have dismantled it and pulled this piece of pipe out to use as a weapon. Ten out of ten for ingenuity, nobody has ever done that before and she’s not the first one we’ve had down here.

  “Stay the fuck down!” She screams as she lets go of the pipe, realizing I’m not going to loose my grip. She braces herself against the door frame and uses the leverage
to kick at my face.

  I duck to the side, but she glances my cheek with her red Doc Martens, and it hurts like a motherfucker.

  “Oh, that’s it, little girl.” I’m scrambling to my feet, tossing the empty plate to the side as I bear down on her. She got the drop on me, sure, but now she’s lost that element of surprise I’m a big, mean bastard and I’m not about to let her go without a good long chat.

  Taking care not to hurt her, I grab her around the waist and toss her back away from me into the room. She snarls as she almost loses her balance, but I’m quick for my size and I’m already inside, kicking the door closed behind me.

  She’s not a big girl, but she’s no tiny dancer either and from what I see, this isn’t not her first rodeo. Her eyes glance down, her mouth slightly agape, teeth bared looking directly at my crotch.

  “What are you going to do with that?” She mocks on a sarcastic smile.

  My heart jumps into my throat, turned on by how unashamed she is, even when she’s cornered. “I...look, you little—”

  “I wouldn’t have hit you with it. Just wanted to get you to back off.” She says, still staring down. “You’ve been kind to me. Well, kinder than the others.”

  I toss the metal pole aside. “Yeah, well you’d better start talking, because I can’t hold them off forever.”

  Chapter Three

  Meadow

  “What do you want from me?” I’ve backed into the far side of the room, pressed against the wall. This guy is big, but he’s just one guy. I thought if I could get the drop on him, I might be able to outrun him and get the hell out of this town before his friends come back. I always keep a spare key in the truck just for emergencies such as this, since they emptied my pockets and took my backpack when they found me.

  Bad move, Meadow.

  He’s quicker than he looks, and I lost my only advantage. Well, possibly not my only advantage. Judging by the bulge behind the zipper of his jeans, there’s another advantage I could try. But how far do I want to take that?