Primal Fury (Primal Howlers MC Book 5)

by Piper Davenport

  2021 Trixie Publishing, Inc.

  Copyright © 2021 by Piper Davenport

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States

  Primal Fury is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Art

  Jack Davenport

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Back Blurb

  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

  Epilogue

  Book List

  Reading Order

  About Piper

  Liz Kelly:

  Thanks again. Your insight is always so spot on!

  Jack:

  Thanks for being my muse, and really great in bed!

  Gail

  You are a scholar and a saint, and I ADORE you!

  Brandy

  Thanks for keeping the timelines and characters straight. You are godsend!

  Mary

  Thanks for always being willing to do last minute reads!!!

  Jekyll

  People are expendable. They always have been. This personal life philosophy has made me a successful business owner, enforcer for the Primal Howlers MC, and opened women’s legs to me while keeping them at arm’s length.

  People are expendable. Words to live by. At least they were until I met her.

  Indigo

  I have worked all my life to give back. My mother died when I was six and I learned quickly that all life was precious, especially those of whom society has turned its back on. I believe that everyone deserves a second chance, especially those who never received a first.

  But we all know the world isn’t in the business of handing out chances to short-tempered hoodlums or workaholic do-gooders, so when family secrets cause my carefully structured world to collide with a hot-headed biker, I have to make a choice. Use the passion I feel for him as fuel to face the challenge ahead, or allow him to burn me to the ground.

  For Juliette

  You are just the right kind of crazy for us to be friends!

  Indigo

  I walked into my office and froze. A vase chock-full of red roses was center stage on my desk. “Ah…” I turned around, leaning out my door. “Bellamy?”

  My best friend, and personal assistant, pointed to the phone at her ear, indicating she was on a call, so I nodded, stepping back inside. Dropping my purse onto my chair, I looked for a card within the flowers, but I found nothing.

  This might make me sound like a bitch, but I hate roses. I find them pretentious. A complete waste of money. If you send them to me, I’ll judge you. And I judge harshly. Not fair, I know but I’m in a business that relies on donors to keep the doors open. When people pay for roses, all I see is money that could have been used for my kids. And that irritates me.

  “Hey,” Bellamy said, walking into my office. “You’re early.”

  I nodded, picking up the roses and moving them to the small table in the corner of my office. “I needed to get a jump on the grant paperwork before the weekend.”

  “It’s Wednesday.”

  I chuckled. “There’s a lot of paperwork. Any clue on who sent these?”

  “No. There wasn’t a signed card, so I called the flower shop, but they said someone paid cash and didn’t leave contact information.”

  I frowned. “What kind of psycho drops two-hundred bucks on flowers and doesn’t take credit for it?”

  Before Bellamy could comment, my office phone rang and I leaned over to check the caller ID, rolling my eyes before picking it up. “Hi, Cliff, were your ears burning?”

  Clifford Thayer was exactly that kind of psycho. Waspy, entitled, and rich as Croesus, he thought he could buy anything, including me. It didn’t matter how often I said no to his advances, he persisted. I’d ignore him, but he donated a hundred-grand to my kids twice a year in hopes of getting on my good side, and I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Nor was I above putting up with a horse’s ass like Clifford Thayer if it meant more money for the house.

  Bellamy let out a chortle, closing the door as she left my office.

  “Were you talking about me again?” he teased.

  “Did you send me red roses and forget to add a card?”

  “I didn’t forget,” he said. “I wanted to hear you say thank you in real time.”

  Douche.

  “Right, well, thank you,” I ground out.

  “You’re welcome. How about dinner?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “I haven’t even given you a date.”

  I sighed. “Cliff, I’m sorry, but as I’ve said a million times before, I’m slammed here. I don’t have time to date.”

  “I’m gonna wear you down, Indy.”

  When hell freezes over.

  “Look, I really need to get going. Thank you for the flowers.”

  “Okay, Indy, talk to you later.”

  He hung up and I shook my head as I dropped my purse into a drawer, then sat down. “Bellamy,” I called.

  She peeked in with a cheeky grin.

  “Don’t,” I warned.

  “Don’t what?” she retorted. “Sing? Cliff and Indigo sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s—”

  “Oh my god, I will smack you upside the head.”

  She made the shape of a phone with her hand and put it to her ear. “Hello? Human Resources? I’m in a hostile work environment.”

  I flipped her off and she laughed, sitting in the chair across from my desk and setting a stack of reports on my desk.

  “Thanks,” I said, scanning the numbers, then groaning. “Are these right?”

  “Afraid so.”

  I dropped my face into my hands. “Where the hell am I going to find two-hundred grand by the fifteenth of next month?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” she encouraged. “It’s not like we haven’t been here before.”

  “The problem is, we’re here more often than I’d like.”

  “Let me do some research and see if I can find some places to cut costs.”

  “Thanks, honey, I’d appreciate that.” I gave her a sad smile. “You can take those flowers if you want them.”

  Bellamy grabbed the vase, then left my office and I stared down at the budget. I ran a half-way house for troubled youth, and it had always been a struggle to raise enough money to keep everyone warm and fed, but things just seemed to be getting harder as more and more kids needed us and yet, we were running out of room and money.

  Walker House had been started back in the late 1800s by a logging mag
nate who had a heart for kids in need. Walter Gerald Walker himself grew up on the streets after his poor immigrant parents both died, leaving no one to look after him. His life as a street kid would stay with Walker throughout his entire life, as would his heart for any child without a home. His story not only moved me but inspired me to get involved with the Walker Foundation. Walker House had obviously gone through a lot of changes since he set his vision in motion, but we all tried to keep that vision alive.

  The building that held my office had been a huge win for us. It was once an old SaveMart building that we’d converted into a safe, no cost, residential community. On the front was an activity center, complete with basketball court, open to kids of all ages for after school care at no cost to the families. It was funded by the state of Colorado, and we had volunteers who helped out with coaching, tutoring, and general support for kids ages eleven to eighteen.

  In the back of the building was the ‘home.’ We had beds for sixty kids. Thirty girls, thirty boys, plus rooms for the male and female counselors who lived in-house. We had a cook who came in every day, but mostly just to supervise, since the kids were required to make meals for everyone, gaining skills in the commercial grade kitchen that would help them out in the real world.

  They were expected to make their beds every day, keep up their bathrooms, and clean the common areas on a rotation. Each person got their own lockbox so they could keep the limited things they owned safe, and no boys were allowed on the girls’ side, and vice versa. We’d been extremely lucky to have had very few issues, but I tried to never let my guard down. Our existence here was because donors thought it was good for their bottom line to give a great deal of money to offset their taxes.

  It was also exceptionally good PR for them. Helping get kids get off the street on their dime, but in order for this to work, we had to keep them off the streets. They needed to be contributing members of society or the money would dry up, lickety split.

  And when it came to my kids, I didn’t have the heart to turn anyone away, but if we didn’t find a way to stop the hemorrhaging of money, I’d have to make some hard choices.

  I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. It was time to stop whining and actually figure out a way to make this work.

  * * *

  Jekyll

  “Wrath!” Sundance bellowed as we headed into Nocturn.

  Nocturn was a club downtown that the Howlers’ owned, and as its name might suggest, was typically a quiet place during the middle of the day.

  Today, however, a group of us had to leave a meeting in order to haul Wrath’s ass away from the building. He was shit-faced and hollering for his woman, Sierra, who he was convinced was holed up inside the club.

  “Sorry, Stoney,” our youngest recruit (who we’d taken to callin’ Boner for the moment), said. “Wrath told me he’d make sure I never got my patch if I didn’t bring him here.”

  “It’s alright, kid,” Stoney replied. “Better than if he’d tried to drive his drunk ass here himself.”

  “Where’s Scrappy?” I asked. “He’s the Wrath whisperer.”

  “Gettin’ ready to go on a run to Olympia with Squeaker and Grimace,” Stoney replied.

  “You might want to tell him to come down here instead,” I suggested.

  Even though Scrappy was Scooby’s brother, Wrath had been the one to put him forward for membership. Scrappy grew up idolizing his brother and therefore the club, but Scooby never wanted his kid brother to wear a patch. Wrath saw potential in Scrappy and took him under his wing as a recruit, which of course pissed Scooby off, resulting in a pretty good fistfight between the two veterans. In the end, Wrath lost a tooth, and the club gained a prospect. Now, a year and a half later, Scrappy was a full patch and was the only one who could calm Wrath down when he went off the rails like this.

  “Sierra! I know you’re in there, baby. Just come out and talk to me!” Wrath bellowed.

  “Come on, man. You’re scaring the staff,” Stoney called out. “Sierra ain’t in there. Let’s go back to the clubhouse and find something to get your mind off her for a little while. What do you say?”

  Wrath paused, and for a moment I thought he might surrender.

  “Sierra!” Wrath howled like a lost wolf pup.

  Sierra was Raquel’s best friend (Orion’s woman), and had disappeared into the ether to work on some sort of top-secret assignment and Wrath was losing his shit over it. The details of the mission were on a need-to-know basis, and he was not on the list of those who needed-to-know. Wrath was spiraling and Sundance was gonna need to reel him in or he was gonna do somethin’ rash. The only person, other than Sierra, who could talk Wrath down off the ledge was Scrappy, and it had taken him close to an hour to load his ass into the club van so that Scrap could drive him home.

  “Jekyll!” Stoney bellowed as we walked out of the building.

  “Yeah?” I replied.

  “Some kid’s fuckin’ with your bike.”

  “What the fuck?” I growled, pushing forward, and heading down the stairs.

  A kid in his teens was currently standing by my Harley attempting to look nonchalant. He was failing. The fuckin’ state of Colorado required we have a mirror on our bikes and this little shit was tryin’ to snap it off.

  “Block his exit,” I snapped to my brothers, and made my way to the kid. He hadn’t seen me yet, but the second he turned, his face went ashen, and he tried to run.

  Suddenly, Wrath, now having joined in on the fun, caught him by the collar of his denim jacket, practically lifting him off the ground. “Where you goin’ Junior?”

  “Let me go,” he squealed.

  Wrath handed him off to me and I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck. “What the fuck did you think you were doin’ to my bike, asshole?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His eyes were darting around the parking lot, and I noticed the ass end of another delinquent disappear around the corner. I gave Orion a chin lift and he took off after him.

  “You tryin’ to earn cred?” I demanded, shaking him when he didn’t answer. “Huh?”

  “No!” he rasped. “Let me go!”

  “Who the fuck do you belong to? Where are your parents?” I growled.

  “None of your business.”

  “Hold him, Wrath,” I said, dragging his hands behind the little punk’s back, kicking the back of his knees. He dropped to the ground, and I made quick work of patting him down, pulling out a ratty ass wallet with a school ID card, and a flip phone that was at least ten years old.

  “Leon Croft,” I read out.

  “Nobody calls me Leon.”

  “Oh, yeah? What do they call you?” I asked. “Dipshit?”

  He scowled but didn’t respond.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Says here, you’re a sophomore at Ace Academy.”

  Ace Academy was an alternative high school in Monument and the students there typically had anger issues, among other problems.

  I flipped open his phone and the first number that came up was someone named Indigo. “This your girlfriend? Or your sister?”

  He shook his head, saying nothing, which indicated to me that he might not be as stupid as he looked. I dialed the number.

  “Dude, please don’t call her,” Leon begged.

  Too late.

  “Leo?” the feminine voice answered on the first ring. “You’re supposed to be in school. Are you okay?”

  “Your kid was fuckin’ with my bike, so, no, he’s not okay,” I growled.

  Leon whimpered, but it wasn’t one of pain, it was one of fear. And that fear wasn’t directed to me or my brothers. It was directed at whoever this woman was.

  She gasped. “Where is he?”

  “Nocturn.”

  “The nightclub?” she asked.

  “Yup.”

  “What the hell is he doing at a nightclub in the middle of a school day?” she snapped.

  “S’pose you need to ask him that yo
urself.”

  “Please don’t hurt him,” she begged. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  The phone went dead, and I flipped it closed. “Well, Dipshit. Looks like we’ve got you for fifteen minutes,” I said.

  “Shit,” he hissed. “She’s gonna fucking kill me.”

  “Not if I kill you first,” I growled.

  “No offense, dude, but she’s scarier.”

  I glanced at Wrath, who was trying not to laugh. Sundance had already let out a few guffaws and I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine what kind of troll would be scarier than a group of bikers outside a notorious nightclub in the middle of the day, but I was kinda lookin’ forward to finding out.

  “Can I get up, dude?” Leon whined. “The gravel’s digging into my knees.”

  “Call me dude one more time and you may never get up again,” I said.

  “Sorry, man,” Leon sassed.

  “Jesus, the pair on this one,” Stoney said with a chuckle.

  I dragged him to his feet and could feel him tensing, like he was going to run. “Don’t fuckin’ think about it.”

  Sundance stepped in front of him, crossing his arms. My president was a giant, and until you got to know him, you’d swear he was a beast. And he was. But he was also a family man, wholly devoted to his wife and kids, one of whom was Orion, currently dragging the other delinquent back to us by the scruff of his neck.

  “Get off of me!” the other kid growled, fighting against Orion’s hold without success.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the other half of the fuckin’ blunder twins,” I said to the pasty, blond, thug wannabe.

  Orion shoved the kid over to Leon and the rest of us formed an impenetrable circle around the pair.

  “So, if he’s Dipshit,” I motioned towards Leon. “That must make you Pissface. Is that right?”

  A few minutes later, the squeal of a failing fan belt could be heard just before a beat-up, lime-green Kia sedan turned into the parking lot.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Leon bit out under his breath.

  The car came to a grinding stop, and the door opened, producing the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. My breath left my body for a second as she slammed the door closed and made a move toward us before freezing in place.