Get Away

by Jade Chandler

  Get Away

  By Jade Chandler

  It was supposed to be only one night. When Delta walked into my hospital room dressed in the Jericho Brotherhood cut, he was the last person I wanted to see. But I needed him—and his brothers—if I was going to get away from the criminals who’d beaten me and dropped me like a bag of trash on the hospital lawn.

  I hated Delta, wanted him and trusted him more than any man I’d ever known, even though we were destined to fail. The Brotherhood had stolen everything I loved—my friends, my family, my hometown. Now I was in their debt.

  I was prepared to pay with anything except my heart, but that’s just what he demanded from me.

  Like a fool, I gave it to him.

  One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise!

  This book is approximately 80,000 words

  To Jeff, who reminded me of the magic of love and gave me back the desire to write again.

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Delta

  Chapter 2: Glory

  Chapter 3: Delta

  Chapter 4: Glory

  Chapter 5: Delta

  Chapter 6: Glory

  Chapter 7: Glory

  Chapter 8: Delta

  Chapter 9: Glory

  Chapter 10: Delta

  Chapter 11: Glory

  Chapter 12: Delta

  Chapter 13: Glory

  Chapter 14: Delta

  Chapter 15: Delta

  Chapter 16: Glory

  Chapter 17: Delta

  Chapter 18: Glory

  Chapter 19: Glory

  Chapter 20: Delta

  Chapter 21: Glory

  Chapter 22: Delta

  Chapter 23: Glory

  Chapter 24: Delta

  Chapter 25: Glory

  Chapter 26: Delta

  Chapter 27: Glory

  Chapter 28: Delta

  Chapter 29: Glory

  Chapter 30: Delta

  Chapter 31: Glory

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Enough by Jade Chandler

  Author Note

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Jade Chandler

  About the Author

  Chapter 1: Delta

  I left the red convertible Porsche 911 curbside before walking into the casino. Dressed in a long-sleeve button down, dress pants and Chuck Taylors, no one would ever associate me with Jericho Brotherhood. The less intel my enemy had, the better I did.

  I barely noticed the overdone lobby of the Remington as I moved straight toward the elevator and the high-roller poker game that started in thirty minutes.

  I stepped onto the elevator, swiping my key pass to the exclusive high-stakes floor. As the elevator moved up, I stared out at the Las Vegas strip through the glass wall of the elevator. The skyline didn’t inspire me, it only represented dollar signs. I’d made good bank from the tables in Vegas, and I planned to keep on taking the suckers’ money at the poker table tonight.

  The door opened and the squat promoter I’d been dodging came my way. “Ren, my brother, how’s it hanging?”

  Better than it ever has for this balding douche. I smirked at him but kept walking toward the check-in table.

  “Those looks, your skills—the promotional deals would be worth thousands.” He had to almost jog to keep up with me.

  “Fuck off, Smitty. Never going to go pro.” Those guys were all flash and sizzle—besides, no one would want a biker to promote their brands. And I wanted cash, not fame.

  I handed over my ID to the man in a tuxedo behind the check-in table. I hated this moment with a passion. My skin prickled with the exposure as the man read my name. Terrence Owen Holt, Jr. He checked it off on a sheet then smiled up at me. “Thank you Te... I mean Ren.” He stumbled over the greeting at my cold stare. “Mr. Holt, welcome to the Remington.” He gave me a weak smile.

  No one ever called me Terrence—one of these lackeys had made that mistake once. No one else had made that mistake since. I was Delta now. Before the army had given me that name, I’d used Ren. My old man had cursed me with his worthless name, and I hated it almost as much as I hated him.

  “Ren, glad you could make it.” Jerry, the gaming manager, held out his hand to me. He’d tried comping me rooms for the week, but I’d refused. I never stayed where I played—it was one of my many rules. His job was to distract me, but I wasn’t that stupid. I avoided his hotel, the honeys already flashing their goods in high-dollar dresses, and the booze that flowed like a river in this place.

  I shook his hand. “Jerry, nice spread.” I shoved hands in my pant pockets and surveyed the room. I spotted the other players in seconds. I’d researched most of them, focusing on their weaknesses. One player was missing.

  Know the enemy—another rule of engagement.

  “Where’s Allers?”

  Jerry glanced away, nervousness flashing across his weasel face. “Got sick...isn’t coming.” He rubbed hands on his black pants. “I found a replacement.”

  Fuck me, I hated wild cards. “Who?”

  “Frank Ricci.” Jerry looked away, uncomfortable, then he motioned a petite blonde bombshell toward him.

  The girl sauntered over with a regal sexuality that probably had men bowing and scraping to buy her a drink. I had no use for pussy in Vegas—I was here for the game.

  “Glory, this is Ren, one of the players tonight.”

  The blonde with a face that was too perfect, too symmetrical, too cold gave me a smile that was as practiced as the way she’d made up her face. It sure didn’t reach those bright blue eyes.

  “Hello, how ya doing tonight?” The Southern accent made me pay attention. I’d bet a thousand that she was from southern Oklahoma, my home turf.

  “I’m great, sugar. Getting ready to win a lot of money.” I crossed my arms and assessed her. She was an ice queen who wore her pride like a crown. In this town where women flocked to men, she’d stand out, be sought out, because she didn’t chase.

  She sipped the dark burgundy wine she held and scanned the room, not a bit interested in me or the others. Maybe we weren’t rich enough for her.

  I heard the door to the suite open a second before she lost all color, turning so pale the veins were a light blue web in her neck. She stepped back, a small O on her lips, and dropped her wine. As if in slow motion, the wine sloshed up and over the side as it fell from her slack fingers. Cherry-red nails, I noted, even as I snaked my hand out to rescue the glass before it marred the cream carpet.

  The red splashed my hand as I caught the glass—a cabernet by scent and temperature. Give me beer or whiskey any day. I glanced back to see her face a mask now, although her color was still off.

  The man, who had to be Frank Ricci, stood inside the door staring hard at the ice queen. There was complicated emotion swirling in that guy’s eyes. He stared with a passion that was too possessive. Lovers maybe?

  Her nervousness was all too real, so maybe an ex-lover then. That fit the way he stared, and she glanced everywhere but at the newest member of the poker game. I saw an opportunity for intel and took it. While she was distracted, I curled my arm around the middle of her back and guided her away from the scene.

  She complied, leaning into me just a bit. Ricci had definitely unsettled her. I led her out a glass door and onto the empty balcony. The same majestic view of the city greeted us here. I turned my back on the view and let Glory stare out at it.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  She bristled and
glanced behind her.

  “Where are you from in Oklahoma?”

  Her face lit up with surprise, then she smiled her first genuine smile of the night. “My accent is that obvious?”

  That smile sucker-punched me in the gut. The ice queen had melted, leaving a sexy beauty in her place. When Glory gave me that smile, it was hard to remember my name. My cock twitched to life, and I reminded myself pussy was not my goal tonight.

  “I’m from a speck of nothing called Barden, Oklahoma. I’ve been here four years, but I can’t shake the accent.” She nodded to me. “You’re from Texas?”

  What were the fucking chances? In this city of millions, I run into a girl from my hometown—well, it had been since I joined the Jericho Brotherhood six years ago.

  “I was born in Texas, but you won’t believe this, I live close to Barden now. It’s a small world.” I grinned wide but her smile dropped away. The ice queen returned.

  “Did Avery send you to check on me?” She fisted hands on hips. “You have to be one of them.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was all backfiring on me. My plan to find out about Ricci had uncovered my secrets. Secrets she had no obligation to keep. Not that it’d be the end of the world if the fellow players knew I was a member of the club. I wasn’t ashamed, but I did love misdirection—it gave me an edge at the tables.

  “Stay the fuck away from me. I don’t want or need your kind of help.” She stalked away from me. Anger snapped in each step of those tall, red heels. She was through the door and out of my sight in seconds.

  I didn’t move because I was too busy calculating the odds and figuring out the best way to play the hand Glory might deal me. Tonight there was a two million dollar pot at stake and I wanted a big share of that. Did Ricci coming or Glory knowing I was a biker change how I played? Most people assumed I was some kind of business whiz kid. And I let them. Would they challenge me more if they understood I was an outlier, not at all like them?

  I scanned the people congregating near the bar and considered the best strategy. In the end, I decided to hold steady—I was good at reading others and I would rely on that to tell me if I needed to change strategies. I’d put hours of work into researching, watching, and finally constructing my strategy for this game. It would be stupid to abandon that plan until there was a definite reason to change.

  I returned to the suite and grabbed a bottle of water from the bucket near the bar and strolled toward the playing area. I swiveled my gaze side to side, catching sight of all the players except Ricci. Damn, where was he? And for that matter where was Glory? A few more steps and I found them both. The bastard had Glory trapped in the far corner of the suite. He boxed her in with two arms, blocking any escape.

  “Ricci,” I called in a loud, slurred voice, hoping he’d think me on my way to hammered. “What you doing with my girl?” I knocked into him, dislodging his arm, so she could escape. I held my hand out to the queen.

  She quickly grasped it and tucked herself into my side. Fear flashed in her deep blue eyes, but that was the only sign I saw that anything was wrong in her world. She was a damn fine actress.

  “Sugar, I’ve been looking for you. I come all the way to Vegas to see you and you disappeared.” I leaned down and planted a slow, wet kiss on her lips.

  Ricci stared from me to her and back. “You from Barden then?”

  I raised an eyebrow. So he knew Glory—pretty well by the possessive glint in his eye and the way his fist clenched and unclenched.

  “You know it, I come to see her all the time—this girl is special to me.” I’d just changed the strategy for the night because of this woman. What the fuck? Yet adrenaline coursed through me at the thought of letting go of my plan and figuring out a new one on the fly. It’s what the military had trained me to do.

  “This is the punk biker you told me about?” He wrinkled his nose and looked down at me.

  I wasn’t the tallest guy at five foot ten, but no one looked down on me. “You watch your next words very carefully.” Not even the cash at hand would stop me from teaching this boy a lesson if he dissed me or my club.

  “Yeah, I told him everything.” Glory nestled closer to my side. “So you best leave me be.” Her cold words to Ricci made no sense to me.

  She hadn’t told me shit about Ricci or how she knew him, but I bet I knew the story here. She’d dumped this guy, and he thought intimidation would bring her back. It was a situation I’d seen a million times as a military cop before I’d received a Bad Conduct Discharge—the Big Chicken Dinner as soldiers referred to it. Add to that my ability to read even the smallest tick or gesture, and the situation crystalized for me—the situation was serious. The idea that this guy would even make Glory frown pissed me off.

  I didn’t understand the pathetic suckers who kept pushing after it was over. Worse, the idiots who thought they could use intimidation or violence to make the women toe the line. My father had been just that kind of prick.

  “Do we have a problem? We can settle it right fucking now?” I let the violence inside me flow into my voice.

  Ricci wasn’t stupid. He slid right past us and didn’t look back. I pulled Glory tight to me, squeezing her ass through the tight red dress she wore. The scent of peaches tickled my nose as I bent toward her.

  “You better kiss me so he knows it’s real,” I murmured in her ear before sliding my lips to meet hers.

  She stiffened but didn’t pull away when I planted one on her. Her tense body tightened like a snake coiled to strike. Her lips stayed firmly clamped shut. Stubborn and feisty.

  Her body softened by the smallest degree then heat flooded through me when she opened up for me. I poured that heat right back into our connection, needing to possess her.

  She rubbed against my cock, tangling her arms around my neck, finally giving as good as she got. I needed all of her, a taste wasn’t even close to enough.

  The five minute bell rang and broke the spell she’d woven around us. Fuck, what had she done to me? I’d totally forgotten about the mission—the poker game. All I wanted to do was take her to my room and fuck her until she screamed my name.

  I stepped away—nothing came between me and the game.

  I pulled a black card from my pant pocket and slid it between the shimmery material and her bare flesh of her neckline. “Call me if you need anything. We always help our own.”

  Her mask was back in place and I couldn’t tell what she thought. That was unusual. As I walked to a table, I sent a quick text to JoJo and Rebel. I needed the score on Glory before I made plans to get her naked.

  I sat at the green felt poker table where most of the players were already seated. I shut down my emotions and focused on getting into the right headspace. I leaned back in my chair and met Ricci’s challenging gaze. He was bringing his grudge to the table, and that was my advantage.

  “Time to shuffle and deal,” the dealer announced as the clock rolled over to midnight.

  Texas Hold ’Em was a game of odds and people—equal parts art and science. I played many kinds of poker but this was my favorite.

  I peeked at my two cards. Jacks—a nice pocket pair that was all kinds of dangerous, but my favorite hand. I came out strong with my bet, then watched the enemy react. The players thought they’d mastered their tells, but I could read even the slightest change in their expression and body.

  Danvers, our old CO, and still a good friend, told me I read micro expressions, whatever the fuck that meant. He was a good guy but he was in his head too much—I followed my instincts. And they said that Ricci would follow me down to the last draw, so I had to make sure I had the best hand in the end. Luckily, Ricci wore his cards on his face. I’d separate that fool from every damn dollar and then take his girl home for the night.

  Chapter 2: Glory

  My lips were scalded by our kiss. No one had ever made me come alive like that in my tw
enty-eight years. I thought Mark, my high school boyfriend, was the man meant for me right up until he joined the damn Jericho Brotherhood. But our chemistry was a shadow of what had pumped through me during that one kiss.

  Ren sat with his back to me at the poker table. I could barely take my gaze off his wide shoulders—the man was built with solid muscle. His messy short golden hair looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Add the disreputable scruff on his jaw, and he was too damn hot for his own good. And, unfortunately Mr. Hot Stuff knew it.

  I hated cocky guys—all attitude and show. Ren was that kind of guy. Being too beautiful for my own good all my damn life had taught me about that type. Those guys were as deep as a puddle and about as appealing.

  He drew in the pot on the first hand, and Frankie radiated anger. I hoped Frankie lasted until late in the game so I could escape without him bothering me.

  “You girls go freshen up. Be back in thirty.” Jerry patted my ass as he walked behind the four of us.

  I bit my tongue and turned toward the suite door. Down the hall was a lounge where we could touch up our makeup and relax before we had to go play hostess again.

  “I can’t believe Frankie showed up here,” I told my friend Celeste as we swiped into the room. The other two girls had headed for the elevator to sneak down to the smoking area in the basement.

  She frowned at me. “His uncle owns this place... Didn’t you know that?”

  “What?” I squeaked.

  When Celeste, my roommate, had suggested I join her at the Remington, I’d done it in part because I wanted to escape Frankie, who’d made a complete pest of himself since we’d broken up last month. When someone—I suspected Frankie—had started leaving dead roses on my car and sending me morbid poems, a new job seemed like the quickest way to lose the admirer. Celeste had suggested here, and I’d come. Why hadn’t she told me about Frankie’s connection to the casino?

  Three weeks at the Remington with no dead roses or bad poetry, so I had considered that a win. Now, it looked like I’d gotten myself in a worse situation.

  “You know Frankie is connected to the DeLuca family—they own this place.” Celeste stared into the mirror, reapplying her lipstick.