Outlaw Souls MC Box Set: Books 1-6

by Hope Stone

  I kissed him a thousand times.” When did you? How did you?” Shock was all my face could show.

  “When you were at work, of course.” He slid the rock onto my finger, completing our union of love.

  Life between us just got better after that. It became known in Merced, especially in the biker community, that we were the bridge between the divide of rival gangs. In fact, Outlaw Souls and Las Balas became known for their charity and community service partnership for wayward youth. Both of them donated to Doctors Without Borders and even made the national paper for their unified front. I would never forget the day.

  “Baby, I’m so proud of you. Thirty men in your chapter and the business is taking off. The sky’s the limit for you,” I gushed, looking deep into his eyes.

  “I learned that from you. You make me a better man. I couldn’t stand beside someone like you and be a bum. You wouldn’t have it.”

  I giggled. “You’re right, I wouldn’t! You did good, baby. Real good.”

  Ryder accepted us. Palo accepted Diego and the respect level between them was high.

  “Take care of my sister and we’ll always be good. You have my respect since Jimmy and Blaze.” I smiled as I remembered the day when Palo let his guard down. Meant a lot to me.

  “I will. She’s my heart, you’ll never need to worry. Between the both of us, we’ll make sure she’s good.” The Spanish way of two men standing on either side of me.

  So here we were, two years in, planning a wedding, sitting on our back porch.

  “I want a cupcake cake. What do you think, babe?”

  “Whatever you want, as long as I get the chocolate fondue foundation.”

  “That’s a lot of sweets, Diego.”

  “Well, we have big Spanish families. You know both of ours love their sweets. That’s how it is.”

  “Cupcakes it is.”

  “Who are you gonna ask to be your maid of honor?”

  “Shauna. Who’s your best man?”

  “Prolly Yoda. We go way back. He took me under his wing in the early days of the chapter.”

  “I know you have a lot of stories.”

  Diego looked at me softly as the Merced sun’s burnt-orange face faded behind the California hills.

  “I sure do, and you and I have plenty more to tell our children in the future. Speaking of babies, should we get busy making one?” Diego smiled.

  I giggled at Diego’s boldness, something I always loved. “And may they have your fearlessness and that full lion’s mane of hair.” I ran my fingers through his thick dirty blonde hair and he responded by scooping me up in his strong manly arms, lifting me to the threshold.

  One thing that’s for sure is I was willing to ride and die for mine. Will you for yours?

  Book 6: Colt

  Outlaw Souls MC

  COLT Book Blurb:

  A bad boy cowboy isn’t what I was looking for...

  But there’s deeper layers to Colt Winters that I yearn to know.

  He’s an Outlaw biker with a troubled existence. With a dead girlfriend, five year jail sentence and a baby girl waiting for him. Colt Winters isn’t exactly the type you take home to Mama.

  But… my brother is in trouble and Colt is just the man to help. In my world I save people like Colt from themselves. I fight for justice in an unjust system. Maybe this cowboy has a lot more to offer me than first meets the eye

  Can we get past all the obstacles long enough to make it work?

  Prologue: Colt

  Four and a Half Years Ago

  “You have the parts?”

  “Yeah, I do. When can I pick them up?”

  “You got ‘till noon tomorrow. They’ll be available at the usual meeting spot. Bring the truck around back, and make sure you’re alone. You have half an hour to load up.”

  I responded with a slow head nod. I understood the steps. I’d been following them for months without a hiccup. “Done. See you then.”

  The Merced sun was showing no mercy, beating down on the back of my neck. At the ripe old age of thirty-five, my bones ached as if they were attached to a fifty-year-old. I should have been used to the burning heat. After all, I grew up as a California farm boy, and I still lived on the farm.

  I would sit by the brook some days as a teenager and watch the rocks skim over the water. That was when I wasn’t getting on and falling off of horses.

  A man I’d looked up to all my life—Clive Winters, my father—would tell me every time I fell off, “You are not going to let that horse get the best of you, now are you? I didn’t raise a softie. Come now, son. Get back on the horse.”

  I smiled wryly. I used to think he was surely out to get me, to see me fail. Now I knew something entirely different.

  I wouldn’t give up my country lifestyle for anyone. I remembered how the red, tawny dirt swirled in the air while I straddled the paddock fences, rebuilding them from years of wear and tear. All that work on the farm gave me the strength of a lion. That strength was distributed on my six-foot-one frame nicely. My hair was pretty shaggy and bleached blond from the Cali sun. I remembered the distant calls of wild coyotes in the cool of the night.

  On my farm, we ran with ten chickens, and all of them laid. One old rooster, affectionately known as Croak, was the alarm for first light and dusk. The horses on the farm were my pride and joy. I spent the most time with them. I had three purebred caramel Palominos and one sleek black mare.

  We grew all sorts of products on the farm, too—carrots, onions, strawberries, and green beans. I’d taken over the farm from my tired and weary parents in my late twenties. My parents were in their sixties, and they both wanted a break.

  “We want you to run the farm, son. Carry on the Winters name. Think you can do that for us?” my father asked me one day.

  “Yep. I got you, Pop,” I’d said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  I knew the farm and the lay of the land like the back of my hand, and I had since I was a kid. That became that. We got the papers signed so that the farm was in my name, and I kept successfully running it. I managed to run the place with a firm but fair hand and a tight-knit crew who were loyal to the Winters. When the end of the crop season finished, they all received nice bonuses to take home to their families.

  My other love, motorcycles, gave me the same freedom my horses did, which is why I had a custom chopper with a stallion drawn on the chrome. The moonlight sat behind the horse, which was rearing, its front legs in the air. When my bike developed some problems, I took her into the Merced motorcycle repair shop. That’s how I first linked up with the Outlaw crew. They were a really cool crew. So I joined and didn’t think too much about it. I got my vest a while later, thinking it was just a crew I would ride with every now and then. As time wore on, the business was revealed to me.

  “Hey, we got a job for you if you’re interested.” Vlad, the Outlaw Souls enforcer, stood solid, tall, and deadly in the warehouse quarters I worked at. It was a chop shop with really good prices for customers. Again, I didn’t think anything of it, and I didn’t ask any questions. I probably should have.

  “Sweet. What’s the job?” The farm was kind of slow at that time of year since we were between crop seasons.

  “I need you to collect some auto parts and ship them down to La Playa. Ortega Autos are going to utilize them.” When Vlad spoke, you listened. He represented death. His eyes penetrated your soul, and his dark aura let you know what time it was. He wasn’t the guy you wanted to fuck with.

  “Say no more. Where are the pickups running from?”

  “They’re running out of an old warehouse in Merced. I’ll give you the address. All you have to do is the stock inventory and organize the shipments. I’ve already set up the deal with my Russian counterparts.”

  “Okay. Sounds like a sure bet.”

  He pressed his large hand on my shoulder.

  “It is a sure bet. Just don’t fuck it up. These guys are executioners by trade, and they don’t give two fucks
about shooting you in the head. You’ll get a monthly kickback. Should help you with the farm expenses.” Vlad winked.

  “Sure would be nice. I could use the help right now. Things are a little tight between seasons. Plus, I have Bella’s kindergarten fees coming up. Anna is working a little, but not much.”

  Vlad winked again and readjusted his leather jacket. “Thought as much, which is why I offered you the job.”

  Anna was my Bella’s mother and a real fiery brunette rebel from the streets. Despite her flaws and for all her bravado, I could always see through to the heart of her, and that thing was golden, just like the California hills. I’d taken her off the streets. She was a meth cook, and since Bella had been born, she seemed to have settled into her purpose in life. On that day, like any other in Merced, I kissed her goodbye in the morning.

  “Bye, baby. Have a great day,” she said, and I bent my head to her lips. “Bella, say bye to Daddy. He has to go to work now.”

  The innocence of my baby girl softened every part of my heart as I held her in my arms. Her sandy brown hair was in pigtails. Her big brown eyes were the same color as her mother’s, but she had my tight cheekbones. Her tiny lips reached the side of my cheek for a peck.

  “Okay. Daddy has to go earn the bacon. See you and Mommy tonight.” I grinned at her.

  “Okay, Daddy. I love you. You can put me down now.”

  She wriggled free of my arms, and I laughed. There was never a dull day with four-year-old Bella.

  The dirt scuffed my tan leather cowboy boots as I kissed my horses goodbye in the stables, a morning ritual I’d carried with me since my days on the farm with my father.

  Today was the standard pick-up day. Nothing shaking. A normal day like any other. I straddled and mounted my bike, heading into the Merced warehouse. When I pulled up, the radio was blaring, and the warehouse door was open.

  Diego greeted me with a smile. “Hey, brother. How you doing?”

  “Doing great. About to head out to this pick-up. We are moving these parts hard. Must be a lot of repairs coming out of La Playa.”

  Diego, with his dirty blond hair, blew out a breath. Diego was the maestro of bikes. He could bring any bike back to life. He’d built the chapter from the ground up, and now it was forty members deep. He stood another inch taller than me, and if you didn’t know us well, you would say we were brothers. Diego’s Argentinian heritage made him a shade darker than me, though.

  “You’re telling me. There is a ludicrous amount of parts being used. They need more people in the chop shop. It’s so busy. They ain’t got the room. I run my motorcycle repair shop, though, so I don’t want to be involved with the parts.”

  “For real? Guess it’s cheap for La Playa. We are getting them at a heavily discounted rate. As far as being involved goes, sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.” I sneered.

  “You got that right.”

  “Okay, I’m going to go ahead and ride out. The truck here yet?”

  Diego wiped down one of the bikes he was working on, stepping back to assess it.

  “Yup. It’s out back. Here are the keys. Be careful. The only reason I’m giving them to you is that Vlad isn’t here.” He reached in his pocket and threw the keys at me.

  With one hand, I caught them.

  “See you when you get back.”

  I strolled to the small truck and cranked the engine. On the way over, my stomach turned. A pressure sat in the cavern of my lungs as the green and gold California hills rolled by. As I approached the gate, my breathing became labored. I pulled into the warehouse and reversed in for easy access. I had the key to the roller door, but for some reason, it was already open. That sinking feeling came back. Maybe they’d left it open, ready for me. I sat in the truck for a minute, shaking off the paranoia.

  Languidly, I let my cowboy boots hang out the side and stepped out of the truck. I came around the back and opened the latches. The warehouse was cold and dark. Again, nothing to worry about. A standard at this stage. Only two Russians met me, and they stood in the dark with long leather jackets and gloves on. Only the long strip of light from the outside door made them visible.

  “Good. You’re on time,” I quipped.

  “We got those parts you need.”

  “Perfect, I’ll get them right now.” I started toward the back of the truck. In the shadows, I witnessed their horror-stricken faces along with mass confusion.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked them.

  I missed the light footsteps behind me, but I didn’t miss the barrel of the pistol to the side of my temple. I balled my hands into fists, ready to knock this motherfucker out.

  Then the words of the law rang through my ears. “Freeze! You’re under arrest. Put your hands in the fucking air, now!”

  Several navy blues raided the place like worker ants, snatching the duffel bag from my fingers. The two Russians looked at me closely. One of them mouthed, “Don’t snitch,” and ran a line across the bottom of his chin.

  I put my hands behind my head, and all I saw was Bella and her cute toothy smile flashing through my brain. Anna and her raven hair. I didn’t know if she would cope if I went in. I couldn’t hear their muffled voices as they read me my rights. They faded away at that point. The sirens and the lights surrounded me as I said nothing. On that day, my luck ran out, and so did my time.

  Colt

  “Let’s go, cell block six! You got half an hour in the yard! Let’s go. Let’s go!” a burly prison guard’s voice perforated D-block.

  The warning came just before the cell doors clicked open. I licked my chapped lips and stepped out of my cell cautiously. I bent my head down and stepped straight into line. That was the drill. I did a headcount and saw that about thirty other guys were being let out to the yard or the common area. One small window of freedom is all we got every day at USP Atwater. I welcomed the time out. My spot in the jail was cemented, so nobody would touch me. When I first came in four and a half years ago, I’d had to prove my spot really quickly.

  The sneers had come through the cell bars when I’d arrived.

  “Look at this, Roger. We got ourselves a new little bitch to play with.”

  A jail roughneck who was known for making new inmates his playtoys got the word of my arrival. I looked that motherfucker in the eyes as I passed his cell.

  “Listen up, you piece of shit. I’ll kill your mother, your father, your brothers, your cousin, and anyone else that tries it in here. You hear me?” I let him feel the cold chill of my eyes on his face while I held the fury of twenty men in my balled-up fists. He took a beat to size me up.

  “Tough guy, huh? You talk like that, you must know something,” he replied, lifting his chin at me.

  He was a huge guy with shoulders like small boulders merged into his neck. He gave me a gruesome smile with his big dirty eyes. From the looks, he wasn’t in the pen for armed robbery. He had a quote tattooed across his neck and multiple face tattoos. I knew his type. Plus, he was too big to take me down. Prison law versus street law was different, I found out.

  “You got that right. I’m an Outlaw ‘till the day I die,” I yelled loudly as I passed the guy’s cell.

  The weedy guard who brought me in was silent the whole time. He opened my rusty cell door, where one other guy lay on a bolted bunk bed. In the corner was a single basin. The tap dripped continuously, and the toilet smelled, well, like shit. One single TV on a swivel was up high in the corner. The faint lime green paint was peeling off the walls, and a few books were stacked on two simple shelves.

  “Welcome to your new home for the next five years,” the prison guard snarked as he pushed me in the back and into the hellhole.

  So any time I could get out of the cell was my version of heaven.

  I moved around a small grassed area with four walls. It was big enough to fit about fifty men comfortably. The first thing I did was stretch out my neck and look up at the open blue sky. Not far from me was a weight bench that had two guys gett
ing in their reps. I knew them. I’d seen them in the yard a time or two. Both of them were in for petty-theft type charges, nothing life-altering.

  “C’mon, Marty. We got three to go. Max rep sets.”

  Grunts came from the guy underneath the barbell as he strained to lift. I watched as the veins pulsed against the side of his neck, threatening to burst. Eventually, he heaved the barbell off his chest.

  One other guy toward the back of the jail was skipping in a nice rhythm, dripping sweat on the grimy pavement. A stiff-looking correctional officer stood in the corner, watching us all like a hawk. He had a baton firmly slotted in his holster and a taser on the other side. His mouth was opening and closing with the gum he was popping.

  The guard’s name was Chester, and he was a complete sucker. If I got my farm hands on him on the outside, I would have snapped his neck in half like we snapped our chickens’ necks back in the day. Chester put me in the hole for three days for this one time when I got in a scrap. That shit wasn’t my fault. The guy tried to pull a fucking razor out on me. That’s before I knew the prison hierarchy game. I flashed back to the memory, not a time I would forget easily.

  “You talking back, boy?” Chester had hissed in my ear.

  He had me in a strong chokehold. My air supply was tied up as I grabbed his forearm to release it for breath. Lopez, being the bitch he was, tried to blame me for his drug shipment being smuggled into the wrong cell. Yes, you could still run drugs in the jail, provided you were in good with the correctional officers.

  I was well-matched, physically, to take Lopez. He was about six foot tall like me, heavily muscled, and quick with his speech and movements. He ran with a drug crew on the streets called the Merced Mercenaries. A lone teardrop sat right under his left eye. His caramel complexion and honey-colored eyes made him a target for those who wished he would drop the soap in the showers. He didn’t worry about that, as he was the drug insider and supplied over half the jail, including the correctional officers.