BEAR
Kings of Carnage MC – Prospects #4
Carmen Jenner
Bear, Kings of Carnage MC – Prospects #4
Copyright © 2021 Carmen Jenner
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Bear, Kings of Carnage MC – Prospects #4
Published by Carmen Jenner June 25th, 2021
[email protected]
Cover design © CT Creations
Image Credit © @_jw_photog_
Editing by Creating Ink
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
BEAR
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
WANT MORE BADASS BIKERS?
MORE BY CARMEN JENNER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AUTHOR LINKS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CROW, KINGS OF CARNAGE MC - PROSPECTS #5
BEAR
A brand new, gritty MC romance from USA Today best-selling author, Carmen Jenner.
Brothers before all others. No exception. That's the Kings of Carnage MC creed. Too bad my Sergeant at Arms forgot all about the brotherhood when he stuck it to my old lady.
Now, I'm nomad.
No matter how many miles I put between me and Tennessee, there's still not enough blacktop beneath my tires to outrun my nightmares. After Afghanistan, I gave everything I had to the brotherhood. I made my peace with the scars, with the night terrors, and the likelihood of spending the rest of my life married to the road.
Until my bike breaks down in Uprising, Georgia, and it isn't the local Kings charter who come to my rescue, it's a feisty, lavender-haired minx with a loud mouth, greasy hands, and a penchant for pushing all my buttons.
Jupiter Jones isn't like other women. The only thing hotter than watching her work under the hood of her '64 Ford Mustang is the idea of her tight little body working under mine. But she's got a laundry list of problems that have somehow become my own.
I should walk away, get on my Harley and leave Uprising in the dust, but I can't. Someone has to save Jupiter from herself—only, this mouthy little upstart thinks I'm the one who needs saving.
Bear is a complete enemies-to-lovers, romantic suspense standalone full of action, alpha bad boys, and take-no-prisoners women. Bear is the fourth book in the Kings of Carnage MC - Prospects series but can be read without any prior books.
Gear up for an explosive new series from six bestselling Authors you love!
Prospects: Hilary Storm (Ruin), Sapphire Knight (Sterling), Nicole James (Saint), Carmen Jenner (Bear), M.N. Forgy (Crow), Chelsea Camaron (Mako)
CHAPTER ONE
Bear
Fuck.
My bike coughs and sputters again, dying out in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. I push forward with my legs and steer it toward the shoulder. Then I flip the stand down, climb off, and kick rocks in a fucking toddler-sized temper tantrum before parking my ass in the dust on the side of the road. I pull out my phone and stare at the spot where the bars should be. Fucking AT&T.
“Motherfucker!”
It’s not all bad. In the distance, I can make out the shapes of Main Street, Uprising, Georgia, and it’s not that far to walk. Not even in the heat. I’ve experienced much worse in the Navy—even got the scars to prove it—but I ain’t leaving my bike for any asshole who wants to come along and pile my twenty-four-thousand-dollar piece of shit in their truck. She might be a hunk of shit, but she’s my hunk of shit, and I can’t afford to lose her.
I glance up the long stretch of road. Nothing but woods between me and the first few buildings. Aww, shit. I haul my gimpy-legged self to my feet and turn, holding my phone in the air, trying to get a goddamn signal.
The beefy growl of a truck sends a jolt of panic through me, and I whirl around. For a heartbeat, I lose myself in a war zone.
The woods of Georgia give way to desert sand, the sun beats down upon my back, the engine roars, and blood whooshes in my ears as the oppressive heat pushes in around me. It feels a lot like Afghanistan, but the restored powder-blue Chevy pulling to a stop beside me says otherwise.
A woman with tattooed sleeves, cherry-red lips, and lavender hair tied up with a bandana leans out of the driver’s side window.
“Hey, sugar.” She smiles. “You need a hand?”
I narrow my gaze and shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans to quit from shaking. Pull it together, asshole. “Just what are you proposing to give me a hand with?”
“Well, it seems like that broke-down Harley could use a little push.” She winks and opens her car door, jumping out.
She’s all of four feet—not even kidding—and when she struts toward me in her little Daisy Dukes and a Slayer T-shirt knotted at the waist, I roll my gaze over her shapely legs and the inch of skin exposed around her midriff. Jesus. She’s a fucking smoke show and my dick is itching to say hello.
Where the hell has Uprising been hiding you, darlin’?
She squats in front of the bike and turns to look over her shoulder at me. “Problems with the clutch?”
My brow furrows. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
She laughs. “It’s a 114, isn’t it?”
“What the hell do you know about Harleys, little girl? It looks like you’re barely out of high school.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” She frowns and stands to her full height, which is pretty much laughable next to my six-foot-six frame. “Shame you had to open your mouth, because with a body like that I bet you’re a really fun ride. Now I guess I’ll never know.”
I smirk. “Listen, Tinkerbelle. I’m flattered, but I don’t fuck jailbait. Not even ones that look like you.” Not that she’d know what to do with me anyway. One look at my fat cock and she’d be running for the hills.
“Well, I’m so glad we got that cleared up. Anyway, looks like an internal leak is preventing the clutch from receiving enough lift. You’ll need to install a secondary clutch actuator piston.”
Come a-fucking-gain?
I stare at her like a slack-jawed fuckin’ yokel. This bitch knows bikes. Really knows bikes.
I glance back at the truck, and the brightly colored logo emblazoned on the side that reads, “Jupiter’s Custom Builds and Auto.” Beneath the obtrusive logo—which is practically giving me a fucking stroke—is a line in cu
rsive, “We’ll get your motor running”.
They weren’t fucking kidding.
She stands with her hands on her hips. “So, you wanna help me get this thing into the back of my truck, or are you just gonna wait for another big, strong man to come along and save you?”
I narrow my eyes. I don’t like her fucking tone or the fact that she’s deliberately pushing my buttons, but her sassy little attitude makes me want to put her over my goddamn knee. It’s been a long time since a woman affected me like this, and the last one who did practically took a goddamn sawn-off shotgun and blew a hole right through my heart.
Still, I can’t help but smile at the arched brow she’s giving me, and the attitude packed into that tight little body.
“Help you get it in the truck?” I give her a dubious look. “What are you, five feet and one hundred pounds soaking wet?”
“Actually, I’m four feet, eleven inches. And one hundred and six pounds.” She rolls her eyes and moves to the tailgate, lowering it before she turns back to me. “Wet or not.”
A smirk steals across my lips. “Alright, Tink. You got a ramp and a ratchet strap or two?”
“Yep. I’ve also got a wheel chock.”
“You ride?” It would explain how she knows so much about bikes when even most mechanics don’t know jack shit.
“No, but we have an awful lot of bikers in this town. Who do you think they call to come pick them up when they break down?” She shrugs and climbs up into the bed of the truck like she’s done it a million times before. “Besides, I prefer burning rubber on four wheels.”
That does get a rise out of me, but before I can respond, she turns to me and snaps, “Now, if you’re done with your little interrogation, can we get this goddamn bike on the truck?”
I take the small ramp from the bed and unfold it. Tinkerbelle gathers together a couple more ratchet straps and jumps down, her boots sending up a cloud of dust when she hits the gravel. Then she crouches and hooks the strap under the towbar, threading it through the rungs on the ramp and securing it to the Chevy. I smirk as I watch her. Definitely not her first fucking rodeo.
“Alright, let’s get that pretty baby on board.” She climbs into the truck bed again as I head to my bike, flip up the kickstand, and wheel it toward the ramp. She’s a beast of a machine, and not as easy to maneuver as I’d like, but once I line it up correctly, I push forward and hold the weight of the bike when it hits the bumper. Tink grabs the handlebars to hold it steady while I climb into the truck and we both drive it home into the wheel chock.
“You wanna climb on to steady the bike while I fasten it?” I tilt my chin toward my baby.
She gasps in mock surprise. “And here I thought bitches were only supposed to sit on the back of your bike.”
“You got a man in the club?” I’ve been here for a few weeks now, and I’m pretty sure I would remember seeing this little sidepiece hanging around.
She laughs, and I have to fight my irritation, because I don’t see what’s so goddamn funny about that. “No. I don’t date club brothers.”
“We beneath you or somethin’, darlin’?”
She grins, grabbing onto the handlebars and sliding one leg over the bike. I have to suppress my growl of appreciation ... because I’m sure this little angry feminist would just love that. “Does it look like a brother is beneath me?”
Not yet. But I promise you I’m working on it, baby doll.
“You know, for a woman who’s not property of a club brother, you sure seem to know a lot about club life.”
“You’re not from around here, huh? This is Uprising. You make it your business to show the brothers respect or the club teaches you some. At least, that’s apparently how it was before Chaos took over. I think most of the town is still adhering to that and are just trying to stay out of their way.”
“But not you?” I fasten the strap to the frame. The suspension shifts as I use the ratchet. The movement jostles her perfect tits, and I suddenly have a hard time concentrating.
“My daddy didn’t like doing business with the Kings, but their money’s just as green as everyone else’s,” she says. “Besides, they’re not that scary once you get to know them.”
I arch a brow and set about fastening another ratchet strap to the main frame and tying it off on the truck. “I’ll be sure to tell Chaos you said that.”
“I came up in school with Sterling and Ruin. They weren’t as scary as they pretended to be either. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I could fight my own battles and kick anyone’s ass who needed kicking.”
“I’ll bet.”
“So, you got a name? Or shall I just write inbred, misogynistic biker on your docket?”
I narrow my eyes. “Bitch, you sure are mouthy.”
“And you sure are insolent for a man stranded on the side of the road.”
I scoff and fold my arms over my chest. “You can call me Bear.”
She actually rolls her fucking eyes at me. “You got a real name and an address, Bear?” She says my road name with particular disdain.
“Nope.”
“Where is that accent from?”
“Tennessee,” I bark. “Where does your attitude come from?”
“I guess I’m just a product of my raising.” She smiles, and it about knocks the wind clean out of me. “I’m gonna call you Tennessee.”
I arch a brow. “You can call me whatever you want, darlin’, so long as you’re screaming it.”
“Good to know.” She slides off the bike, bringing us face-to-face—or, I guess, face-to-nipple, since she’s so goddamn tiny. “Now, if you’re done with your male posturing, you mind if we get this bike into the garage?”
“Whatever you want. As long as your mechanic knows his stuff and doesn’t fuck my bike, lead the way.”
She slips off the back of the truck and I follow suit. After closing the tailgate, Tink smirks. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”
I climb into the truck and close the door. Tink slides into the driver’s side, throws the stick shift in gear, and hits the accelerator as if her foot is made of lead. I grab the doorframe and hold on for dear life as the trees fly by.
Her lips quirk, and she takes the last corner before town at breakneck speed. I keep my white-knuckled grip on the truck. This bitch is gonna wreck me and my bike before we even make it back to town.
She pulls into a double lot filled with rusted-out old cars and some new ones, too, that look to be in pretty good condition. That’s a shit-ton of real estate for the center of town. The rent on this junk yard must cost them a pretty penny.
The main building is painted in swirls of blue and purple with a hint of pink, and a smattering of white dots that make up the stars in the Milky Way. Above the building, there’s an old sign shaped like a planet with the words, “Jupiter’s Custom Builds and Auto.”
She climbs out of the truck and opens the tailgate. “Bobby Ray, Jeb, Liam, Grant—will one of y’all come help me with this?”
Well, shit. Now I feel like a real asshole. “Wait, you’re Jupiter?”
“That’s what the sign says.”
“Lemme guess—you’re outta this world.”
“I’m out of patience,” she mutters, walking toward me. Tink grabs a clipboard from the dash and scribbles on a form.
“So, this is your garage?”
“Surprised?”
My brow creases. “Little bit, yeah. Listen ... I’m real sorry I was a dick.”
“That’s okay. Most bikers are.”
“Whoa,” I say, holding up my hands to ward away the aggression. “Now who’s judging who unfairly?”
I shake my head, looking around the lot. A sleek black Mustang that looks like long nights of whiskey and fucking catches my eye. It sits in front of the shop, calling to me like a goddamn siren with her shiny paint, chrome hardware, and red leather seats. Jesus. My dick’s getting hard just looking at her.
“Tennessee?”
“Yeah?” I tear my
gaze from the vehicle and meet pissed-off Tinkerbelle’s eyes.
“Are you getting out? Or are you gonna sit there jerking it all day?”
I shake my head and slide from the pickup, meeting her at the tailgate.
“Look, I ain’t got a whole lot of time, so if there’s nothing else you need, there’s a diner that way.” She points to the building next door. “I’m sure they’ll let you use their phone to call a ride. Your bike will be ready in a few days, depending on how long it takes me to get a new part.”
I tap the side of the truck with my fist. “It says here you offer a free complimentary driver service to ‘get you where you need to go.’”
She sighs. “I’m gonna kill Bobby Ray for putting that on the side of my truck.”
“So, you’ll take me where I need to go?”
“Well, we’d love to help out, but I don’t think we can spare the manpower to take you all the way to hell.”
I chuckle. “What about to the clubhouse outside of town then?”
“Sure. I’ll have Bobby Ray get right on that.” She gives me a tight smile and then turns and pats the approaching mechanic on the chest.
He rolls his eyes, and his shoulders deflate. “But I got the Johnson job to finish up.”
“Then you better get goin’,” she calls over her shoulder. I smirk. Nice to know I’m not the only guy she enjoys emasculating.
Two other men who look just like Bobby Ray—only taller and without the shaved head—wheel my bike from the back of my truck and set it on the oil-stained concrete. One of them whistles low. “You fucked up the clutch good, didn’t ya?”
“Yeah. Looks like.” I fold my arms over my chest and watch Jupiter move around the garage like an irate little fairy. “A friend in Tennessee souped it up, but now this shit keeps happening at the worst possible times. It’s gonna set me back, isn’t it?”
“Well, I reckon it’ll be about a grand, but if anyone can fix it fast and do the job right, it’s Jupiter.” Bobby Ray scratches at the scruff on his jaw, leaving behind a smear of grease. “Come on, get in.” He walks over to the Chevy and opens the driver’s side. “I’ll drop you wherever you like.”
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