by Debra Kayn
He chuckled to himself and scratched his beard. A smart man never ignored that kind of suggestion.
Callie rushed out of the house in a new outfit, her purse slung over her shoulder. "I'm ready. Let's go. We don't want to be late."
He pinched the bottom of her T-shirt and straightened the fabric. The word Metallica was printed over her chest, and the black fabric clung to her. She'd cut the neckline so it plunged, showing the round mounded skin of her breasts. Leaning to the side, he checked out the new jeans, reaching around and slipping his fingers through the buckle at the top of her ass and whistled.
"Stop." She slapped his shoulder. "Dawn helped me decide what to wear yesterday, and I bought the shirt at work before the customers took them all.
"Hey, I appreciate the way you dress for me." He kissed her. "Let's ride, honey."
At the Tarkio clubhouse, a somber crowd greeted them. He ushered Callie inside the building and sent her off with the ladies. There was a party planned for after the meeting, but it wasn't in celebration of the vote.
Not yet.
Nobody knew the outcome if he'd be voted in or not, and surprisingly he wasn't nervous. If the men turned and thought he wasn't ready to pledge his life, he'd prove himself to them again, and again. He wasn't going anywhere.
The celebration was for after the meeting. Tonight, each of the members would get paid out of the pot. Tarkio used any excuse to have a party.
Curley stood at the door to the meeting room. In respect, he waited in the hallway until all officers were inside and seated, then he entered with his sponsor.
The room was like he'd imagined. A large table with many scars in the wood and big chairs with stained upholstery covering the seat and back. Along the wall, behind the president, pictures, maps, and papers hung in no particular pattern. There were three floor-to-ceiling cabinets with locks on the handles against the outer wall. He had no time to dwell on what was stored in them because Priest called the meeting to order.
It wasn't until the room quieted that he felt his heart pump harder, faster, for the hope that tonight's outcome would go in his favor.
Razor slid over a stack of papers to the head of the table. Priest picked up the first sheet, scanned it, and looked up.
"As you all know, Kent Calder has been riding with us for a year and one week. During that time, under Curley's watch, he's participated in enough activities for all of us to test his loyalty. Would anyone amongst us like to put Calder up for a vote?" asked Priest.
The men around the table remained silent, their gazes on the president of Tarkio Motorcycle Club. Giving them what he thought was enough time to think about voting, Kent grew impatient.
"Aye, I will," said Curley at the outburst of laughter in the room.
Kent refused to wipe the sweat from his brow. The delay obviously made for their enjoyment.
"Let's take a vote." Priest handed a well-used, scarred bully club to his right.
"Aye." Razor passed the baton.
"Aye," said the next officer.
"Yea."
"Aye."
One by one, the votes went down and ended with Priest. "Aye, get him his leather."
A cheer went up. There was no time to relax. Filled with adrenaline, he was ready.
"You'll meet with Curley and Roddy on Saturday, they'll get you up to date on what is going on, your job, and make sure you know the bylaws." Priest met his gaze. "Welcome, brother."
"Thank you, brother," he replied.
"Meeting adjourned." Priest stood. "Somebody get me a whiskey."
Congratulations came fast. Kent worked his way to the door and finally to the main room. Looking through the crowd, he found Callie beside Linda. The other woman talked, but going by the seriousness etched in Callie's forehead and the direction of her gaze, she only half listened because she searched for him, knowing the meeting was over.
His chest swelled, knowing he could give her the security and protection of Tarkio. She belonged here, where she had no worries or hesitation about how people would treat her.
Callie's gaze swept over him, then darted back. Damn, he loved her. Every day she got more beautiful, more loving, more giving, and he thanked his lucky stars that he'd stopped for gas in Missoula, Montana.
She raised her brows, looking for an answer to the vote. He grinned and dipped his chin. She pushed through the crowd and flung her arms around him.
"I'm so proud of you, babe." She kissed him deeply. "I love you."
He held her tightly against his chest. Finally, the timing was right.
Dear Readers ~
I hope you enjoyed Kent and Callie's story. As with all books in the Choices: Tarkio MC series, I'll be covering "before club life" because there are stories for every man who has slipped on a leather vest and worn a patch. As you can see, living an MC life isn't one that is made willy-nilly. Something in each man's past pushed him into being a biker, and I believe their stories deserve to be known.
I'm beyond excited for the next book release. I can't wait for readers to get their hands on it. When will it release? Soon!
If you'd like to keep up on my book releases, chat with me, and see pictures of my life in the Bitterroot Mountains, I would love to have you follow me on social media. I'm on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and have a website with links to a huge backlist of books.
Love,
Debra
Author Bio
Debra Kayn is published by Grand Central Publishing, Simon & Schuster Publishing, Carina Press - Harlequin Enterprises Limited, and repped by agent, Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary Management.
Believing everyone deserves to love and be loved, she takes the most unlikely characters and turns them into heroes and heroines.
She lives with her family in the Bitterroot Mountains of beautiful North Idaho where she enjoys the outdoors, the four seasons, and the wild animals that gather in her yard.
Website: www.debrakayn.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/DebraKayn
Facebook: www.facebook.com/DebraKaynFanPage
Instagram: www.instagram.com/DebraKayn
Debra Kayn's Backlist
Choices: Tarkio MC series
Chasing His Fox
Burning Hot Rumors
Slag Motorcycle Club series
Roar & Lizzy – A Forever Kind of Love
Brage & Dinah – A Perfectly Captive Love
Elling & Brage – A War of Forbidden Love
Peer & Coco – A Runaway For Love
Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series
Every Little Piece of Him
Every Girl Needs a Hero
Every Second in his Arms
A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga series
Chief
Jett
Olin
Thorn
Notus Motorcycle Club series
Hard Reality
Hard Mistake
Hard Drifter
Hard Escape
Hard Proof
RONACKS MOTORCYCLE Club series
...or something
Don't Say It
Rather Be Wrong
Can't Stop Fate
Red Light: Silver Girls series
Blow Softly
Touch Slowly
Fall Gently
Moroad Motorcycle Club series
Wrapped Around Him
For Life
His Crime
Time Owed
Falling For Crazy
Chasing Down Changes
Bantorus Motorcycle Club series
Breathing His Air
Aching To Exhale
Soothing His Madness
Grasping for Freedom
Fighting To Ride
Struggling For Justice
Starving For Vengeance
Living A Beautiful War
Melt My Heart - Anthology
Laying Down His Colors – Bantorus Motorcycle Club
A Hard Body Novel series
Arch
er
Weston
The Chromes and Wheels Gang series
Biker Babe in Black
Ride Free
Healing Trace
Playing For Hearts series
Wildly
Seductively
Conveniently
Secretly
Surprisingly
Modern Love – Anthology
The Sisters of McDougal Ranch series
Chantilly's Cowboy
Val's Rancher
Margot's Lawman
Florentine's Hero
Single Titles
The Sandbar Saga
The Higher You Fly
Suite Cowboy
Hijinks
Resurrecting Charlie's Girl
Betraying the Prince
Love Rescued Me
Double Agent
Breaking Fire Code
Sneak Peek
The Sandbar saga
Available at all retailers
Prologue
The lights flickered from the storm. Katie hugged her stomach as another round of thunder shook the house.
"You deal with her."
"Keep your voice down."
"It's your fault Katie is here. I'm sick of being her mother. The little bitch needs her face slapped for going behind my back and calling you at work."
"For Christ's sake, she's eight years old."
The voices grew louder. Sitting at the top of the stairs out of sight, Katie covered her ears. The fight between her parents had been going on since her dad arrived home from work.
A fight like all the others, except tonight it was her fault. Her dad was late to pick her up for her piano lesson at four o'clock. She'd tried to call him at work, and her mom got mad at her for using the phone.
"I don't want to hear you speak about my daughter that way again," shouted her father.
"My daughter, my daughter, my daughter. That's all I hear around here. I can't stand it."
Glass shattered downstairs. Wetness trickled between Katie's legs, making her cry harder.
Picking up her stuffed animal, she hugged the dog at the same time the lights went out. She wished her dad would leave the house. Katie rocked back and forth. He needed to go away for a while. It was the only way to make her mother stop yelling.
If he left, her mom would eventually go to the bedroom and lock the door. That's what always happened when her parents fought.
A door slammed. She hiccupped. Her dad had left.
Katie stood and quietly walked to her bedroom.
Part One
Katie
Chapter 1
DISTANT THUNDER RUMBLED over the house. Katie jerked her hand away from the window without taking her gaze off the sandbar under the Megler Bridge. Little by little, the sand disappeared with the incoming tide.
Putting her hand on the glass again, she waited for the next vibration. The boom. The anger.
Living on the hill in Astoria, Oregon, storms were nothing new to her. The Chinook winds often blew in from the Pacific Ocean—rattling the windows and bringing big, wet raindrops that soaked her clothes as she waited for the school bus in the mornings and when she walked up the hill to the house in the afternoons.
She focused on the disappearing sandbar again in anticipation. Just once, she'd like to see someone get caught out there on the sand when the tide came in.
Her teacher, Mrs. Bernhardt, had warned the class about the dangers of the sandbar near the bridge. The tide could sweep her away and pull her out to sea.
While her teacher had lectured the class on the safety rules, Katie had raised her hand in class. It was the first time she'd volunteered to ask a question all year. Usually, she sat quietly because Alden and his group near the back of the room made fun of everyone if they were smart. She hated the attention and preferred if nobody noticed her.
The day she'd asked the question, she stopped liking Mrs. Bernhardt.
She looked up at the dark sky. Her teacher had lied to her when she'd asked if someone could die if they went out on the sandbar. Mrs. Bernhardt told her people could get hurt if they got caught under the bridge when the tide came in.
That wasn't the right answer. People had died. She knew the difference between hurt and dead.
Her dad was dead. He'd died on the sandbar when she was eight years old.
She stared at the cars traveling the bridge from Oregon to Washington, unaware of the danger coming their way.
"Katie, get away from the window. The storm is getting closer," said Ms. Gray.
She ignored her nanny. There was nothing Ms. Gray could do to her, except tell her mother she hadn't obeyed.
The older woman would soon quit, anyway. All the nannies quit. None of them would deal with her mother for long before they up and left.
Besides, she was too old for a nanny. At twelve years old, it was legally possible for her to stay home by herself. That was her wish.
She stared at the sandbar, getting swallowed by the churning water.
No one remembered her dad. The nannies never mentioned him. Her mom wouldn't speak about him since finding out Miss Cynthia, Katie's piano teacher, died with him that night when they got out of the car and walked out onto the sand under the bridge.
She wasn't sure if her mom was more disappointed in losing her husband or the fact that Katie couldn't take piano lessons anymore, and that meant she came home after school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and interrupted her mother's time with her man friends.
A hand circled her arm, yanking her backward. "You must listen to me."
She wandered over to her bed, rubbing her arm. If she could stay home by herself, she could look out the window all day if she wanted.
Climbing up on the mattress, she sat down and grabbed her stuffed dog. She was too old for stuffed animals.
The only reason she kept it on her bed was that every time her mom seen Mikey—named after her dead father—she left the room.
Not that her mom came in the bedroom often.
Most of the time, her mom stayed with her man friends, traveling to different parts of the world, and going to restaurants.
"You need to wash your face and put on the dress I set out for you." Ms. Gray put a pair of shoes in front of her on the floor. "Your mother expects you to look nice. There will be company at dinner tonight, and she wants you to be on your best behavior."
She tossed the stuffed dog to the floor and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door to Ms. Gray exhaling loudly when she was forced to pick up the animal.
Something special must be going on at dinner. Maybe her mom was finally going to let her watch herself after school and on the weekends. She brushed her hair. Or, maybe her mother was going to leave on an extended vacation with the current man in her life.
There were only four more days of school and then summer break. It would be perfect if she were left at home without a nanny and without her mom.
The thought of having the whole summer to herself made her hurry. She took off her clothes. The fancy white dress she pulled over her head scratched her skin.
She tugged at the stretchy material clinging to her upper body, pulling the offending roughness away from her chest. A shiver came over her that started from her nipples. She cupped her hands over the small mounds and pressed. A fluttering happened in her underwear, and she pulled her hands away, her heart beating heavily.
Staring down, she touched her chest again. Her boobs were not as big as Demi's, who was twelve years old, too, and wearing a bra. Even the girls in her class who had no boobs wore a bra to school and talked about what size they bought at recess.
She wished her mom would buy her one. Her chest jiggled when she had to do jumping jacks in P.E. class. She wasn't going to ask her mom for anything, especially a bra.
She waited to see if the weird feeling in her body would come back and when nothing else happened, she walked out of the bathroom only to be met by Ms. Gray handing her the pair of flats. She sli
pped her bare feet into the black shoes.
"Turn around." Ms. Gray twirled her finger in the air.
She rolled her eyes and turned in a circle, completing the inspection with bugged eyes as if she wasn't old enough to dress without someone telling her what to wear. "You can go now."
"Mrs. Meihoff wants me to escort you to the table, and only then will I be excused." Ms. Gray's thin lips pursed. "Let's not be late."
A clap of thunder rocked the room. Katie looked toward the window, wishing she could go look outside.
"Come now." Ms. Gray walked toward the door.
Exhaling loudly, she followed her nanny through the house. It was better to get dinner over with. Hopefully, it wouldn’t end with her mother upset at her.
The grand banister lined the extra wide stairs to the first floor of the house. Red and black runners lined her path. She slid her hand along the smooth, shiny wood, knowing her mom hated fingerprints. The heel of her left shoe clicked against the floor as she kept one foot on the carpet, one on the wood.
"Hands off the rail and walk in the middle of the stairs, Katie," reminded Ms. Gray from behind her.
For a fleeting moment, she wished Ms. Gray walked in front of her. She could imagine the middle-aged woman tripping on the runner she thought was so important to walk on, and toppling down the thirty-two steps.
A flash of bright light came through the high windows above the entryway. She gasped, stopping midway down.
"It's only lightning." Ms. Gray touched her back, pushing her to keep going. "Don't dawdle."
Her father died during a storm, much like the one tonight. She walked slower. Was her mother home or on the road up the hill to the gated community? Or was she crossing the Megler Bridge?
"At the rate of speed you're moving, you'll be late," said Ms. Gray.
She stepped off the stairs and turned to face her nanny. "She'll fire you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Mother." She shrugged. "She gets rid of all my nannies. You have to find it strange that she hired you to watch me. How many twelve-year-old girls have you babysat before?"