Mountain Misfits MC: Complete Box Set

by Voss, Deja

  “I’ll call him now,” Gavin stammers, wide-eyed, as Tank just stands there, shaking his head.

  “What about the cameras in here?” I ask.

  “They’re just dummies.”

  “Smart man. Everybody needs to get the hell out of here right now. Tank, give her the gun.”

  “I don’t know who the hell you are,” he says, pointing it right at my head. I put my hands up in the air. “Please don’t make this a problem.”

  “Knock it off, asshole,” Goob shouts. “Give Olive the gun and get going. You’ve done enough here.”

  “Thank you,” Olive mouths to me. I really hope I did the right thing. I would feel awful if I gave her the wrong advice. This girl has been nothing but kind to me since the day I met her. If she ends up going to jail for murder, I’m just going to turn myself in. At least in jail, I’ll be safe from what lies ahead.

  “Who the hell are you, Stacy Smith?” Gavin asks as I sprint to the kitchen.

  “I’m just a girl who knows a thing or two about a thing or two,” I say, grabbing my coat. It might be the last time I ever see his face. I’m pretty sure it’ll be the last time I come anywhere near this place. I slide on my coat and take off into a full jog into the night. I see blue and red lights and hear the wail of sirens flying down the highway, and I feel my stomach trying to escape my body.

  I don’t know if I just did my first good deed, or if I just signed my death warrant, but I dive into the bushes that line the highway and wait for the chaos to pass.

  Chapter 9

  Goob:

  It’s been awhile since I’ve seen anything like that. Sure, we’re a bunch of ticking time bombs, but usually if someone is gonna get killed, unless there’s extreme imminent danger, there’s at least a vote. Some nights we don’t have time to play that game though. Some nights, explosions are essential.

  “Everybody scatter,” Brooks, our president, yells as the roar of engines floods the parking lot. Gravel is flying everywhere as we pull out of the parking lot. The cops are definitely on their way, and none of us need to be seen riding together. None of us need to be seen at all, if possible.

  As much as what just happened back at the bar was fucked-up, that’s not what’s bothering me. I pull out onto the highway and head the opposite direction of the mountain. I cringe as the wail of sirens and flashing lights whiz past, and I’m thankful that I look about as nondescript as possible in my black hoodie. No need to raise any red flags. I’m sure there’s plenty of those laying around at the crime scene.

  I can’t get Stacy off my mind. The more I get to know her, the more I feel like sirens and flashing lights are going off inside my head, red flags are waving, and this ship is about to sink. No woman in their right mind would’ve acted like that back there. No woman would so certainly claim that everything was going to be alright.

  Unless that woman had inside information.

  She’s gotta be a cop. Plain and simple. Definitely not your garden-variety police officer or she wouldn’t have been so cool with seeing an FBI agent murdered in front of her. This bitch is deep undercover. She’s probably on the phone right now with her team, making plans with the DA to have Olive released so that she can keep doing whatever it is she’s trying to do.

  I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of sins of my father, sins of my brothers, sins I’ve committed myself that they want to get us to cop to, but it has me itching to head straight to the stash house. If we’re going to go down, I might as well take the easy way out. Kill myself exactly the way that everyone expected me to.

  Your life is so much more than that, the voice in my head says, but I’m really grappling with that idea. I know people tell me that every day, I know it’s what I’m supposed to believe, but all I’m looking at right now is a life of crime, misery, and the constant urge to go back to my old ways.

  You need to protect your club, I remind myself. Even though I’ve been failed so many times in my life, it wasn’t for lack of trying by anyone.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch stirring in the bushes off the side of the highway. I slow down to a near stop. I’m not trying to hit a deer. Even if I feel like I have nothing to live for, it doesn’t mean I need to harm an innocent animal.

  It’s not an innocent animal I spy though.

  It’s Stacy Smith with her choppy hair and doe in headlights stare. She stands there on the side of the road, unmoving.

  “Where are you going?” I shout.

  “Home.” It’s a damn shame she’s a cop because something about the way she looks right now, the blood on her hands and the crazy on face, those tight leather pants, it’s kind of making me hard.

  “Get on,” I say.

  “I’m fine.” She waves me off and starts walking down the side of the highway.

  “That wasn’t a question. Get on.”

  It’s a tight squeeze on my Breakout, and the way she’s trying to basically perch herself over the back tire would be laughable in any other situation.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I growl, grabbing her arm and pulling until she’s pressed up against me. “Where are you going?”

  “The Bellmont,” she says. If she’s undercover, she’s deep undercover, because the Bellmont is definitely not a place for the weak or entitled. I’ve spent many a night there getting into shady shit, many days hiding out on the maroon shag carpet counting polka dots on the cigarette-yellowed wallpaper.

  I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket as we round the turn down the dirt road that leads to the motel. I’m sure the guys are back at the clubhouse by now. My heart is racing. I don’t know why everyone else is so trusting of this random stranger. I do know I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight unless I get some answers.

  I can barely stop the bike before she’s already off, sprinting towards room 4. I follow close behind her, catching up with her as she fidgets with her keys.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, her hands trembling as she reaches for the doorknob.

  “Making sure you make it inside safe. I’m kind of a gentleman.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, stepping inside, leaving the door wide open. I was just planning on sitting outside her room all night, waiting and watching, seeing who comes and goes, but she just made things a whole lot easier.

  “This place bugged?” I ask.

  “What?” she stammers.

  “You heard me. Give me your phone.”

  “I don’t have one,” she shrugs.

  “You don’t have a phone? I find that hard to believe.”

  She takes the pockets of her sweatshirt and turns them inside out, keys and a pack of cigarettes falling to the ground. She dumps her purse out on the bed, make-up, pretzels, and a pile of change falling onto the floral comforter, along with a Smith & Wesson Glock 19 Killer. The woman has good taste in guns, I’ll give her that.

  “What? You’ve never seen a pistol before?” she asks. “Go ahead, take it.”

  I hesitate as I pick it up, pointing it at her as she stands there with her hands in the air. She doesn’t look scared. It’s confusing. I look over my shoulder for headlights shining through the window. I’m staring right into the full-length mirror hanging from the wall behind her, half expecting to see a red dot trained on my head.

  “I know exactly what you think is going on here,” she says. “You think I’m a cop, don’t you?”

  “Why would you say that?” I ask.

  She gives me that ‘you have to be kidding’ look. Pretty ballsy for a girl that just handed me her gun.

  “Are you a cop? You have to tell me if you are and I ask, don’t you?”

  “I’m definitely not, but that’s a myth.”

  “And why would you know that if you’re not a cop.”

  “Because,” she says boldly, stepping closer to me. “I just know a lot of shit. Unless you’re planning on using it, can you stop pointing that thing at me?”

  “This?” I ask, stepping closer to her, pressing the pistol rig
ht into her stomach.

  “No,” she says, staring up at me with a pout. “That raging boner you have in your pocket. What, do you have a thing for lady police officers or something?”

  “You’re out of your mind,” I say, staring into her glowing green eyes. “Do you want to die tonight?”

  “Meh,” she says nonchalantly. “I don’t really have any plans for the near future. I’m probably unemployed after tonight’s events. I don’t even know if I have enough change in my purse to pay for another night at this shithole. If you’re going to shoot me, can you make sure you do it really messy so that whoever stays in this room from this day forward will have to find little pieces of me wherever they look?”

  “You’re not a cop, are you? You’re just a fucking maniac.”

  She walks over to the bed and begins picking up her stuff, putting it back in her purse, leaving the change and a couple crumpled up dollar bills off to the side.

  “Why aren’t you scared of me?” I ask.

  “Oh I am. I hope I’m not offending you. I just have my own way of expressing my emotions. My daddy raised me to be a soldier.” She’s talking with a thick Southern drawl now.

  “Your accent.”

  “Well, I suppose if it’s all coming out, it’s all coming out.”

  I slip the gun into the waistband of my jeans. I don’t know if I trust this broad more or less than I did when I walked through that door. She’s definitely not right. My phone won’t stop vibrating in my pocket, and I’m sure the rest of the crew is starting to get worried.

  “What?” I say into it without even looking at the number.

  “Where are you, Goob?” It’s Esther. She sounds concerned. “Everyone is at the house. Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Stacy is pretending like she’s busy counting quarters, but I can see her watching with interest. I step outside, keeping the door wedged open in case she decides to lock it behind me.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Bellmont.”

  “Fuck,” she whispers. “Are you on one?”

  “Esther, I’m fine. I’m clean. I followed Stacy here.”

  “Oh thank God. Brooks told me she ran off. I swear these morons don’t fucking think ahead of what’s in front of their faces. Do what you gotta do. I’ll let ’em know.” I know exactly what my sister thinks needs done. She might have a heart of gold when it comes to those she loves, but the people she’s leery of are disposable. It comes with the territory of growing up in the club. Our dad might have fucked us up real good, but he raised us to be soldiers.

  Holy shit.

  “She’s not a cop,” I say.

  That tattoo on her hip.

  She’s not a cop. She might be something worse. These soldiers might be planning a war, and Stacy Smith could be the first cannonball fired at our fort.

  “Well that’s a relief. Who is she?”

  “I don’t know, Esther. I’m about to find out, though. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” I hang up the phone before she has a chance to make any suggestions. I don’t want the gang getting involved until I know exactly what we’re dealing with here. Stacy might not care if she lives or dies, but I’ve lived my life actively trying to kill myself. If she wants to play games, she’s definitely met her match.

  Chapter 10

  Stacy:

  I’m really not sure what the rest of this night is going to entail. I have to admit, this dance, it’s scary as hell, but it kind of turns me on. I forgot how exciting it was to see a man protect his patch. I kind of forgot how much I liked being afraid for my life, even if my life was in shambles right now. It’s sexy knowing that one wrong move could determine whether I live to see another day.

  I guess I’m kind of fucked-up. A product of my environment. What can I say, I like pretending like I’m brave in the face of fear. I’ve always been the kind of chick who liked haunted houses, horror movies, having a gun pointed at me.

  I could see why he’d think I was a cop.

  Instead, I’m just a simple biker barbie who found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two times in less than three months, even. Right now kind of feels like time number three. I don’t know what’s about to happen, but the hairs on my neck are standing on end. Fight or flight pours through my veins, only I have nowhere to go. There’s no way out of this one. He’s got the only exit blocked off as he talks on the phone to lord knows who, probably telling the rest of the crew to come here and clean up a dead body.

  Maybe we can just talk like rational humans, I think. Certainly, he’ll understand my predicament. I’m sure we actually have a lot in common.

  I don’t know if I’m just so hyped-up on adrenaline that I feel drunk, or if I am literally losing my mind, but that idea makes me laugh so hard and loud that I nearly fall over. I hear the door close, and he’s standing there staring at me.

  Rational human beings, that’s a real hoot. If he was cut from even a similar cloth that I was, there’s probably not a rational bone in his body.

  “What the fuck is so funny?” he growls. He looks strangely sexy standing there, his hand on his waist like he’s about to pull a gun on me. He wouldn’t need to shoot me to kill me. He could probably easily strangle me with one hand. His blue eyes are squinted. He obviously doesn’t find this situation as amusing as I do.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, picking myself up off the ground, smoothing my shirt.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Stacy. Stacy Smith,” I say with a shrug.

  “Quit the bullshit,” he says, towering over me. He smells like leather and mint, an equal mix of sexy and sketchy. My heart is racing, my mind is trying to tell my legs to run, and the rest of my body is giving me mixed signals. Something about this moment makes me want to rip off that white T-shirt of his and see where that tattoo that peeks up over his collar goes.

  Instead, he’s pulling at my shirt. He grabs my tank top by the bottom hem and starts to pull it up.

  “What the fuck?!” I shout, pushing him away, pulling my shirt down. My tattoo. He must’ve seen it.

  “I know your name isn’t Stacy, I know you’re not looking to start a life away from the city or whatever the hell you told my brother; now show me the fucking tramp stamp you got there.”

  He’s got me backed into a corner, quite literally, and I suppose this is it. The only thing I can do is spill my guts and hope for the best. Best- or worst-case scenario, he kills me.

  “Debaser, huh? What’s that all about? Your old man send you here to spy on us?” I’ve seen him fifty shades of pissed off tonight, but right now, I feel genuine fear. He looks so calm, tracing his fingers over my tattoo, his touch making me damn near crawl out of my skin.

  “My old man is dead,” I say.

  He looks down at me, those cool blue eyes staring right through mine, as if he’s trying to read my mind.

  “My name is Azalea Phoenix. I need protection.” Rational is completely off the table now. If I’m going to get him on my team, I’m going to have to pull out the big gun.

  I grab him by his neck and press his lips to mine. He doesn’t pull away, even when I shove my tongue in his mouth. The scruff of his beard grazes my chin, and his fingers dig into my hips harder and harder until I back off.

  “You think you’re the first broad who tried to fuck herself out of jam?” he asks.

  “I’m not,” I say, grabbing his hand, sliding it up my shirt until he’s got my breast in the palm of his hand. “I just figure if you’re going to kill me, the least you can do is let me go with a smile on my face.”

  “Who are you hiding from?” he asks, groping at my breast until I throw my head back and moan.

  “My father,” I gasp. “My brother. The whole club. Everyone. They’re going to kill me.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he asks, tracing his fingers up and down my neck, squeezing just hard enough to let me know he’s not fucking around.

  “You
don’t, Goob,” I say, reaching for the button on his jeans. I can feel his hardness pressing into my thigh, and I want him more in this moment more than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life. I haven’t been touched in so long, I feel my skin pebbling into goosebumps, eager for whatever he has to offer.

  “Don’t call me that,” he says. “You’re not one of us. I’m Hank to you.”

  “I’ll call you whatever you want,” I groan as his hands roughly tug down my leggings, nearly ripping the stretchy fabric in half. He pulls my thong aside, his fingers seeking my most intimate spot. “Fuck,” I purr, “If you keep that up, I’ll call you God.”

  “Tell me what you’re doing here,” he demands as he slips a finger inside me. I didn’t realize that interrogation was such a turn-on. That, coupled with the fact that the man knows exactly what he’s doing, tracing his thumb over my swollen clit until I nearly punch my fist through the wall behind me.

  “I’m on the run. I swear. I need to start a new life. That’s all this is. Now please,” I beg, sliding his pants down his muscular hips, licking my lips as I catch a glimpse of his rock-hard cock tenting in his boxer briefs.

  He picks up his wallet off the floor with one hand, his other hand still pressed into me, controlling my every move with two fingers, and I slip the condom out of the back, ripping it open without hesitation. He steps out of his boxers and I shake my head, thinking that a dick like that will surely kill me. I will definitely get my last wish, though.

  I slip it on. I’m going to die a happy girl.

  “Do you always fuck strangers who point guns at you?” he grunts into my ear, sliding his dick back and forth across my slit as I thrust my hips to him, dripping and eager.

  “I don’t,” I moan. “Stacy does, though.”

  He slips his cock inside of me in one hard thrust, and even though I want it, even though I’m ready, my walls struggle to adjust to his thickness. I cry out in that delicious mix of pain and pleasure as he presses my back into the wall.