The door to the boiler room opens and boots stomp down the maze until they reach us. Kayne, Blayde and Stryker come into view and look around.
“Did you catch them?” Ace asks.
Kayne nods his blonde head, “Aye, they ran right into us. They’re currently tied and subdued upstairs.” An evil smile spreads across his face I don’t want to know about.
I turn my attention back to Spencer, “Let’s get you up to see the medics. They need to look at those ribs.”
“I’ll be fine, I promise.” Spencer kisses the top of my head and pulls me against him. His arms lock around my neck and I wrap my arms around his waist. “What about Jed?” My body stiffens in his arms.
“Butch and Rooster are out looking for him now.” Kayne’s phone buzz’s in his pocket and he pulls it out, reading the text. An evil gaze enters his blue eyes, “They got him right where we suspected. Kyanna, you’re going to need to call the cops and explain exactly what happened down here. Then when you’re done, you’ll need to send them up to your old suite. That’s where Jed is being held. I’ll have Rooster and Butch stay there until they arrive.”
My fingers tremble as I reach for my phone in my back pocket. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, what if one of you get into trouble?”
“Positive. There are too many people at play here for us to clean up and you need to uphold your reputation. Besides, if you leave this basement looking like that, it’ll only draw suspicion. You’re covered in another man’s blood.” Kayne informs me.
I look down at my clothes and Spencer’s chest. We both have blood on us. Knowing he’s right I dial nine-one-one and speak to the operator. I’m still in shock at what happened down here and it’s portrayed in my voice.
The Vegas PD showed up a little while later and after taking all our statements, they release us telling us all not to go anywhere until their investigation is complete. Keith was barely alive and taken to the nearest hospital and then will be arrested for kidnapping, aggravated assault, intent with a deadly weapon and coercion. Jed has been arrested for the same thing. Kayne and the rest of Savage Saints are thrilled at spending more time in Vegas. Spencer was seen and released by the medics with bruised ribs and a few broken fingers. His fight is postponed for another few weeks until he heals.
We quietly make our way up to our room and the first thing I do is strip down and take a long hot shower, washing away all the blood and filth from my body. Emotions hit me hard as I watch the blood swirl down the drain. Everything that’s happened comes at me full force and I hold back a sob. Flashbacks flit through my vision of Jeff’s death. The death was my fault. The shower door opens behind me and Spencer wraps his warm body around mine, holding me together.
“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asks, kissing the side of my neck.
“I’m responsible for a man’s death.” Tears leak down my cheeks mixing with the water. “It’s my fault he’s dead.” I scrub at my hands trying to get the blood off. “I don’t know how to cope with it.”
Spencer grabs my hands with his own and turns me around so I’m facing him. He tips my head back and kisses me. “It’s OK not knowing how to cope. Just don’t hold it inside and keep me out. I will help you the best I can.” He kisses me again, settling my mind and soul.
“Thank you, Spencer. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” I splay my fingers over his jaw and the scruff of not shaving scratches my palms. “You’ve become an important part of me.”
We stand under the warm shower for a while just holding each other knowing we will get through this together. Together, we will be unstoppable. Together, we will be stronger. Together, we will be unbeatable.
Acknowledgments
Thank you from J. Lynn Lombard
First off I want to thank Elizabeth Knox for trusting me to get this novella done. Thank you girl for this opportunity and pushing me past my comfort zone.
Second, a big round of applause to all the amazing authors in this novella. Elizabeth Knox, Flora Burgos, Addison Jane, Sam St. James, K.E. Osborn, Barbara Nolan, Evan Grace, Kathryn C. Kelly, Rae B. Lake, and H.J. Marshall. Thank you for welcoming me into the mix and the fun messages back and forth.
Third, my girls always by my side, my tribe encouraging me and pushing me past my boundaries. Joy, Krista, Monica, Michelle and Sarah. You ladies are the best and I couldn’t do this without you.
My Badass Bitches Readers group. All of you have played a huge role in my success. Thank you for sticking with me, even through these changing and trying times.
Finally, the best for last, all you wonderful readers picking up my books and giving me a chance. I’m grateful for your passion in reading. Thank you.
My husband and kids. Thank you for supporting me in my work. Thank you for believing in me and asking about each book I write. It means the world to me.
I will be continuing this novella and will eventually turn it into a full novel.
Other Works
By: J. Lynn Lombard
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What Are The Odds
Addison Jane
Blurb
I was your typical dirty secret.
My father—a wealthy casino owner in Las Vegas.
My mother—once his maid.
It could have been the dirty biker blood that ran through my veins, I wasn’t sure. But I’d spent nineteen years forcing myself to be okay with the fact that I was never going to be good enough for the elite status he boasted.
But maybe people could change.
My father was getting remarried.
And he was suddenly determined to force me into his perfect new family.
With his new wife.
My new stepsister.
And the stepbrother from hell.
The sexy, arrogant, lights-my-body-on-fire, stepbrother from hell.
Chapter One
Coralie
“You come here often?”
An amused smirk curled the corners of my mouth while my eyes continued to focus on the glass in my hand, and the liquid sloshing into it from the tap. I quickly flicked it off as the small head of froth hit the brim, holding my breath for a second, hoping I wouldn’t lose a droplet over the side. I couldn’t help but love a perfect pour.
With my grin growing bigger, I lifted the glass of beer onto the tray that sat waiting, full of shots and fancy drinks.
“Thanks, Cora,” Avery chimed, slowly lifting the tray from the bar and balancing it precariously as she stepped away and disappeared into the crowd.
The clubhouse was full, the party loud and obnoxious and spilling out the large roller doors to outside.
Turning away, I moved to the counter behind me, pulling clean glasses from the tray.
“You’re not going to answer me, huh?” the low rumbling voice tried again.
I shook my head, throwing a look at the guy over my shoulder. “I’m just the bartender,” I told him with a shrug, trying not to be distracted by the young guy’s perfectly square jaw and the light brush of bristles that covered it. “There’s plenty of girls floating around I’m sure would be dying for your attention.”
“And why isn’t one of those girls you?” he continued, clearly not taking the hint.
Which sucked, because honestly, he was freaking hot and just my type.
A little forward.
A little rough around the edges.
And the cherry on top—a little forbidden.
I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d grown up around bikers that I found them so goddamn attractive, or whether it wasn’t so much the biker aspect of men that pulled me in. Maybe it was more that asshole vibe that they threw off.
It was like a fucking magnet.
The more untouchable they seemed, the more I wanted them.
Daddy issues? Maybe.
Or maybe it was more to do with the loyalty these guys showed when they finally found their person. Maybe that was what I was so drawn to.
“You must be new here,” I announced, leaning back against the counter and wiping my hands on the apron that sat low on my hips. I had to raise my voice to be heard over the thumping music and chorus of voices inside the small building.
The Brothers by Blood MC clubhouse was full of members visiting from out of town. It’s the reason why the club president, Shotgun, had asked me to come help out at the last minute. But on strict conditions. I rolled my eyes at the blank look on his face, a little annoyed at having to explain. “I stay on this side of the bar and make drinks,” I stated very slowly. “And you stay on that side of the bar and don’t try to pick me up.”
His eyebrow raised which was almost kind of cute. “And those are the rules, huh?”
“Those are the rules,” I chimed happily with a heavy shrug. “Sorry.” Being hit on wasn’t a new phenomenon. While I studied business at Phoenix College on weekdays, I also bartended at the MC’s nightclub downtown a few nights a week.
Every single night without fail there were drunk guys trying to ask for my number or climb over the bar to gain my attention. It got old fast, which is why I actually began to appreciate the subtle approach like my friend across the bar had taken.
Unfortunately for him, despite his club cut and patches, and the way my body tingled when his dark gaze watched me—there was one person who he was never going to make it past.
“And exactly who made these rules?”
“I fucking did.” The guy sat a little straighter as Huntsman rounded the edge of the bar.
Everyone knew Huntsman. Not only was he one of the scariest damn bikers in the country, but he was also the president of The Exiled Eight MC, and just so happened to be my uncle. “Now fuck off and leave my niece alone. Don’t make me piss of Shotgun by getting blood on his good floors.”
The club member stepped back from the bar, his eyes suddenly narrowed on the ruthless biker beside me, dismissing me within seconds as he backed away, disappearing into the thick crowd.
Nothing unusual.
But still such a shame.
Shaking my head, I turned back to the tray full of glasses, picking each one up and stacking them onto the shelves to cool before another wave of bikers rushed the bar demanding liquor. “I’m never going to get a boyfriend with you constantly scaring away every man who looks at me sideways.”
“Don’t be fucking dramatic,” he growled, tugging at his salt and pepper beard before snatching up a glass of his own after he had reached for a whole bottle of whiskey off the shelf. I wasn’t offended by his sharp tone. Not like others might be. I’d grown up around the man.
Huntsman was gruff and he was ruthless—an ex-Navy SEAL. His road name exactly all the dark and stomach-churning reasons you could possibly imagine for why it had been given to him.
The man didn’t let anyone get too close, because if you did, you might just see vulnerability in his eyes. The look that you knew he would do whatever the hell he had to do to protect his club and his family.
“Time for you to go home.”
I choked out a laugh, propping my hip against the counter and folding my arms across my chest. “Ah, have you seen the number of people here?”
He turned a little to face me, that signature stern pinch to his features. “I’m sorry, did you think for some fucking reason this was a discussion?” he taunted, lifting his brows, trying to tempt me to argue.
I didn’t. Instead, I just gritted my teeth and scrunched up my nose.
I knew he was an asshole.
But he was also an asshole who cared about me and my mom when no one else gave a fuck.
“Prospect!” he called, ignoring the glass in his hand completely before lifting the bottle of whiskey to his lips and throwing back at least a shot. Tyler, a club prospect, appeared almost instantly, his eyebrow raised as he looked between us, before Huntsman even had the chance to swallow the sharp amber liquid. “Take Cora home.”
Tyler grinned.
The smugness in Huntsman’s face had not disappeared as he just turned and walked away, dismissing me completely, his decision made.
The crappy thing was, I knew there was no point in protesting.
He held the cards.
He was in charge.
Not many men in this room would have the balls to oppose him.
I tugged at the strings of my apron, huffing loudly as I tossed it onto the counter. “Come on, you can drop me at Holly’s place.”
Chapter Two
Coralie
“Cora!”
I paused for a second, a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cocktail shaker full of ice in the other. It was a Friday night at Empire and I was behind the bar, trying to mix ten fucking glasses of Sex on the Beach and get some of the crowd moving.
“Here…” Laken slipped in, taking the items from my hands and hip bumping me to the side. “Shake needs to talk to you in his office.”
My stomach instantly twisted.
It must have shown on my face as she began to laugh. “I don’t think it’s anything serious,” she called loudly, picking up where I left off and tossing a heavy dose of vodka into the silver shaker. “He seemed more a little concerned than anything. I’ll cover for you until you’re done.”
Stepping back, I wiped my hands nervously on my tiny black apron and nodded. Rushing for the end of the bar I barely missed Angel carrying a tray of beer. “Sorry!” I apologized with a deep frown while she just stood still, probably trying to get her heart to start again.
Shake’s office was past the bathrooms and toward the back of the building.
The club had always been amazing at working my hours around school and gave me time off when I needed it to study. They also paid me far more than any other damn bar or club in town would.
The boys, they had their finger on the pulse of Phoenix.
They were damn good at what they did—the business side, the way they treated their employees, and the way they handled issues. I guess that’s probably why they’d opened another club in town a few months back inside the old downtown theater.
I hadn’t worked a shift over there yet, but I’d heard it was just as damn busy.
Hesitating outside Shake’s office, I pressed my lips together and inhaled deeply through my nose, trying to calm my body. My heart was racing, and a wave of heat had rushed across my skin which caused sweat to build at my hairline. Feverishly, I dabbed it away, knowing it wasn’t exactly the best way to say, “Hey, I didn’t do anything.”
Another deep breath and I finally raised my shaking fist, slamming it forcefully against the hard wood a couple of times before pausing.
“Come in,” Shake’s voice called, and I once again wiped my hands on my apron before turning the handle and pushing it open.
Shake was sitting behind his desk, not looking at me.
I quickly closed the door behi
nd me and inched forward, one small step at a time until he finally looked up. The amused smile that formed on his face instantly had me letting out that large breath of air I’d been holding. “Sit down,” he directed with a light chuckle. “And don’t look so damn scared.”
Scooting around the two large armchairs in front of his desk, I dropped my body into one, like it was made of lead. “You do shit like this just to keep your employees on their toes, huh?” I accused, sinking further into the chair.
“It works,” he admitted with a shrug.
“It’s evil.”
“Do you know Alexander Presscott?”
The sudden question caught me off guard, but not as much as hearing that damn name leave Shake’s lips. I choked out a laugh, feeling like for a second, I’d been kicked in the gut. “Uh,” I spluttered, trying to clear my throat. “Yeah.”
His brow was raised, letting me know he was waiting patiently for me to explain the connection.
I didn’t want to.
Alexander Presscott was a man who I heard from twice a year.
Christmas and my birthday.
Which I guess was lucky for him given they were only a couple of days apart. The rest of those eleven months I got nothing. It hadn’t always been that way. There was a time where I’d spend summers with him, and where he’d attended my preschool graduation. But at this point I had become accustomed to life without the man who chose his third wife—who I’d fondly nicknamed Cruella de Vil—over his only daughter.
“He’s my dad,” I spat out, twisting my hands in my lap and feeling my brow pinch together. “Or a version of a sperm donor if we’re getting really specific. I don’t ever see him these days and I barely hear from him.”
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