KANE (Noir MC Book 1)

by Celia Crown

  KANE

  NOIR MC Series - BOOK 1

  Celia Crown

  Copyright © 2019 by Celia Crown

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are from the author's imagination or folklore, legends, and general myths.

  The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, and locales, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.

  For inquires: email crowncelia@gmail.com

  Cover credit: magicdesignx

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon…

  Pretty Girl

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  KANE

  Noir MC – Book 1

  by Celia Crown

  "Sit on my cock, and don't you dare move."

  Marion, Nevada doesn't have people like Honey.

  Peculiarity at its finest.

  Kane is aloof and observant; people in town never dress nor act in ways that catch attention, especially when its run by Noir. Everyone in the biker gang is fierce and strong, loyally protective to those they're close to. A deep rivalry running through generations with another gang tends to pull innocent bystanders in by violence and temptation.

  His job is to clean up messes of illegal works, and he knows everyone is dirty on some level.

  Not Honey Lewis. Obliviously naive and sunshine smiles, she's everything he's not.

  Halloween night with a pumpkin basket and a hand searching for something on his bike while bending over.

  He can't see her, but he knows she's a thief.

  Shame the vampire costume will have to come off when he thoroughly punishes her.

  Only he can touch her, make her cum on his cock and pregnant with his baby.

  Dedication

  To my present self.

  Go to sleep.

  Chapter One

  Honey

  "The number you're calling is no longer available, please never try again."

  In hindsight, maybe it isn't a bright idea to pose as a voicemail.

  "I swear to all heaven deities and hell spawns—"

  The hospital chairman personally calls Honey back with a speech on how her patients need her, and she can't afford to have a day off, or however long she decides to run off this time.

  Honey tries not to laugh because his reputation doesn't match up with his angry voice.

  He's a plump man with a ring of fading hair on his head, expressive eyebrows that have minds of their own, and the running jokes around the staffs about whether he spends more time combing his nonexistent hair or waxing shapes on his long mustache.

  He speaks and speaks until she fakes a message of his time on the voicemail has exceeded its limit and asks him if he would like to make a new message while trying to keep her laugh down her throat.

  "Doctor Lewis! You can't—"

  She hangs up on him after finishing.

  Honey is a contradicting person; she is a neurosurgeon where it is required to have absolute concentration and steadiness, but her spontaneous personality prevents her from staying in one place for long and she has the need to explore.

  She has a bucket list, it's something she started doing awhile back when mom had an incident years ago. It scares her how fleeting life can be, and she wants to take advantage of time to do what she wants with her family.

  Fun and happiness need to spread among everyone, and that's why most of the experiences she wants on the list are done with her sister, Mavis.

  She would like to create happy memories with everyone, but distance doesn't line up with her spontaneous thoughts.

  Laura is the oldest sister of the three. Twenty-four years old and is already a bigshot criminal lawyer in Texas. With her fancy Harvard law degree, she is able to take the title as the best defense attorney in the state.

  Mavis is the youngest while Honey stands in the middle. They are blood-related—fraternal twins, and Laura isn't, but they still love her like a real family. She is a genius biochemist working in a multibillion pharmaceutical company, and surprisingly, is close friends with the owner whose age is the same as Mavis.

  Mom lives in Nevada, she told Honey that she is a bar owner and loves the town. She keeps all the details about everything else to the minimum, all Honey knows is that it's a town in Nevada with a couple of dead trees.

  Mom adopted her, Laura, and Mavis at the same orphanage when she found that she couldn't have children and her husband left soon after. Honey never bothers to remember his name because those who hurt mom is not worth her brain cells and sympathy.

  She is nothing but patient with them, never pressuring them to bare their feelings out to her or ask questions that can lead to the reasons why three girls from different states and backgrounds ended up at the same orphanage.

  Honey appreciates the effort to raise three children when she was struggling working two jobs just to put food on the table. She started to love the woman little by little, a process slow yet rewarding because she wouldn't trade her family for anything.

  She loves them too much.

  Then mom had an incident awhile back and it scared everyone into a panic and frantic messes.

  It also brought back her nightmare childhood.

  Honey has only been truly terrified five times.

  The first time was at the age of five when her father threw her across the room. She had picked up the empty bottles of alcohol that littered all over the floor near his bare feet. Honey had accidentally woken her father up when she picked up the last glass bottle.

  In three seconds, he jerked awake, roughly grabbed her hair, and flung her into the wall.

  Her little body could not withstand the immense pain and she fell unconscious with irregular thumps of her heart.

  She woke up with bandages around her head and a searing pain in the back of her skull. It was wrapped too tightly, but it stopped the bleeding. Mavis, who was also five at the time, had been the one to cleanse the wound and fixed the bandage on her head.

  Being surrounded by the familiar scent of her little sister and cocooned in blankets almost made her forget about the incident.

  Almost.

  The second time was when her mother brought back a disgustingly sweaty man. The grunts and loud moans tuned up annoyingly high in the dead quiet house. Six-year-old Honey had Mavis close to her as they curled deep into the closet while whispering fairy tale stories.

  When they assumed that the man had left, they stepped out of the safety of their closet. Dread filled her when they went into the living room where the man stood shirtless with hair littered on his chest and a large belly.

  Whether he was insane or not, he launched himself at Honey and shoved Mavis to the side hard enough to render the little girl in crippling pain on the ground. Honey had screamed, kicked, and scratched when the man's large hand ripped her shirt open like flimsy tissue. She bit and thrashed when he hooked his fingers around her pants and yanked.

  Naked and vulnerable to the man's advances when he attached his lips to her chest. His hands split her little legs open and s
he felt fear surge through her blood and clamped her teeth on his ear and wrenched her head back to snatch a piece of flesh and a stray of blood splattered across her chin.

  He yelled, spat, and took a handful of blonde hair to bash her head on the ground. Her vision had black hazes around them, buzzing in her ear got stronger as well as the strength in his hands.

  A choked wail fell from her lips, and blood pooled on the dip of her neck.

  The man gasped with eyes wide, a frightening glare of a knife in the back of his neck, and the blood that poured out of his mouth.

  His weight was pushed off Honey and she laid on the floor frozen in fear. The rustle of fabric and tugs of pants filled her exposed limbs, Honey turned her startled eyes to the black-haired little girl.

  Mavis had killed someone.

  She was brought into the arms of her sister and cried and shook so hard that she didn't know whether it was her shoulders or Mavis’ shoulders that moved.

  Honey couldn't remember how she ended up on the streets without shoes and a face full of blood. Fingers laced together tightly with her sister by her side when a police officer brought them to the hospital.

  It was decided that her parent can no longer have custody of them.

  Her brother had been furious.

  He blamed Mavis because he took Honey away from him. His face was red, voice poisonous, and hatred lingered in bitter words.

  She had never seen her brother so angry.

  "It's all your fault!"

  "We would have been the perfect family if it wasn't for you! Mother and father were going to start fresh and be a family! Mother had been so happy with twins—why did you have to be defected!"

  Her little sister stood there with tears stained cheeks.

  On the same day, Honey felt a new sensation of fear and it was the third time she felt terrified.

  The fourth time was when her brother was granted legal guardianship and stood in front of the orphanage where the twins stayed at. The outburst of her brother from two years ago was far behind her memories because they could be family again.

  When Mavis came out with her little suitcase of clothes and essentials, the look her brother gave to her was cold and demeaning.

  People may have thought Honey was too young to have picked up the tension, but she did, and it was something her brother never wanted her to know that he hated Mavis.

  She once again felt the same fear in the hospital two years ago.

  This time, it was for her sister.

  He didn't hit her. It was much worst.

  Mavis simply did not exist to her brother.

  The last time Honey felt that kind of fear was when her thin and delicate little sister collapsed under her weight at their brother's funeral service. It struck a chord in her heart that she would lose Mavis too.

  Honey was frantic, hands dug into limp shoulders—to create pain because pain will get her a reaction, a sign that she was alive and well.

  The woman who ran the orphanage held the distraught girl in her arms as Honey fought her to latch her hand on any part of her sister, panicking with crippling dread when one of her brother's coworker hastily picked up the blue-eyed girl in his arms. She screamed and begged that he does not take her away, it was Laura who delivered a sharp slap across her face for her to stop and blink.

  "Get a hold of yourself!"

  The slap of a lifetime caused her to sob into the bosom of the older girl. An ambulance came, but not quick enough in the mind of a scared nine-year-old girl. Paramedics and police filled the funeral service like dark clouds, an image burned into her mind of Mavis in a gurney with flashes of red and blue.

  Sirens and gas exhaust kept her on the brink of insanity.

  The doctor explained that Mavis lacked proper nutrition, and exhaustion fueled the inevitable.

  At the tender age of ten, Honey and Mavis were adopted with fourteen-year-old Laura.

  Mom's name is Brenda Lewis, an office worker with dull curly black hair, deep brown eyes, and a kind smile. Crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, but it isn't anything too noticeable. Her dark skin glows when she laughs, and like the saint she is, the blonde-haired girl can't find any flaws.

  She is the most beautiful woman to Honey.

  A debatably clever idea comes up when she reads an article about how women can attract men with different skills—emphasis on the word skills, on the counter of the hospital's waiting room.

  She decides, albeit stupidly, to expand her horizon and try to cook and make something for mom.

  She always wanted to be a chef.

  But, as Laura would say, "You don't even know the difference between cabbage and lettuce."

  Honey's nothing if not determined.

  Chapter Two

  Honey

  Fake it till you make it.

  What a horrible motto. Why did she have to pick up that magazine, why did she read it, and why did she think it was a great idea to venture out of her comfort zone.

  To seduce a man, it said, you must cater to his stomach.

  Not that she wants to seduce someone, she just wants to know how to make her mom some food.

  The magazine had a list of dishes that were commonly made, it went from easy to Gordon Ramsey level of professionalism. Each item had a description of what the dishes means and their cooking instructions.

  She picked an entry-level dish. A plate of pasta. Easy as pie. Wrong, so wrong. There was nothing simple about an authentic Italian pasta dish.

  She had ordered all the groceries that would be needed in the dish through her the grocery store app. The delivery man gave her a suspicious look because she might have ordered thirteen bags of bagels.

  Honey happens to like bagels, no shame in ordering backups.

  Everything was fine; she had chopped all the ingredients, recipe on the counter, and some motivational song in the background.

  Then she put the wine in.

  She should have stuck to brain surgery. Cooking requires finesse, which she obviously lacks.

  A wave of intense heat whizzes into her face, moisture from her eyes evaporates like the Sahara Desert, and maybe some strands of hair got toasted from the initial burst of flame.

  Is that Satan's face?

  Or it could be a dragon laughing at her.

  Whatever it is, she stares at it for a long time. Longer than a normal person would in the middle of their kitchen with fire licking their face.

  Somewhere in the midst of her contemplating her life choices and chanting ‘fake it till you make it' over and over in her mind, she pours what she thought was water into the blazing pan.

  The fire alarm goes off.

  In her panicked mind and flailing arms to find something to put the fire out, she didn't hear the door smash open with a bulking form dressed in full fireman gear stalking up to her.

  The gloved hand locks on her elbow and jerks her body to his side, and her eyes flew up to the masked face. The reflection of flames on the oxygen mask eye sockets stares back at her while she had a second to breathe in the smoke before he lifts her up to his shoulder.

  The air left her lung as his hard shoulder dug into her gut, she coughs as her arms clung onto the thick suit. She felt his gloved hand landed her hips in a firm grip while she gets a full view of his very firm backside.

  She shouldn't be staring at his muscles while her kitchen is on fire, but it was right there, and she couldn't just not stare.

  Art appreciation or whatever.

  The man is tall, strong, and she feels the solid muscles on the suit shift with every long stride out the door.

  An inhale of smoke tickles her throat and she coughs uncomfortably while his shoulders still inhibit her ability to breathe.

  A blur of color flies across her vision as she tries to decipher if he went down the stairs or through the extension from the fire truck. Either way, the temperature change kicked up goosebumps on her exposed limps as she stays unnaturally still on the mystery man's shoulder like a sack
of potatoes.

  The firefighter drops her on the back of the ambulance where he tears off his oxygen mask with vigor. Gloves drop carelessly on the ground as he holds her face in his hands so delicately as if she was something precious.

  An angry scowl is definitely something she doesn't want to see on her savior because honestly, she gets the feeling he wants to toss her back into the fire for her stupidity.

  Also, he's got the dad-vibe.

  "Are you stupid?"

  How rude, her face gives an offended expression.

  "You don't pour alcohol into a fire." he proceeds to turn her face to each side as his dark eyes sweep for injuries.

  Maybe if he glares hard enough, she'll magically have a bruise.

  "I'm sorry?"

  He is scary, and if someone could interrupt his tightening fingers on her face, she'd appreciate it.

  "You could've gotten hurt," he growls, teeth grinding together while still reprimanding her at her preventable actions.

  He's giving her mixed signals because his thumb is gently sweeping her burning cheek while his eyes want to reap her soul for being stupid.

  She settles for anger because she can't judge a person by their furrowed brows and flaring nostrils.

  Who is she kidding, of course, she can.

  Her savior narrows his eyes dangerously.

  Honey purses her lips in silence, part of her wants to make excuses because how could she possibly know one simple dish can light up her home and disintegrate everything.

  The sane part of her keeps silent, and it looks like the right choice when he sighs in defeat and drops his hand from her face.

  "Are you hurt?"

  The blonde-haired girl wiggles her toes and fingers, tilts her head to the side with a little shuffle of her body to figured out that she's not hurt, and nothing is damaged.

  Just her pride as an aspiring chef.

  There goes that dream.

  "Stay here," he says as he jogs back to the firetruck.

  The paramedic in the back of the ambulance chuckles in amusement, she didn't notice another person overheard their conversation.