Down & Dirty: Crow: Dirty Angels MC, book 10

by St. James, Jeanne

  Trip nodded, shrugged out of his cut, handing it to Crow and then headed to the bench.

  Once the stranger was sitting, Crow relaxed a bit and turned to see Jazz standing behind his counter. He headed back toward the storeroom, the man’s cut in his hand and jerked his head when he approached Jazz, indicating she needed to follow him into the back.

  She did. One good thing about his ol’ lady was she did not give him a bunch of shit like the rest of the women did with their ol’ men. And thank fuck for that.

  Once they hit the back, Crow lowered his voice. “Kachina, call Z. Have him an’ Diesel stop over here. Yeah?”

  “Okaaaay,” Jazz drew out, then placed her palm on his gut, looking up at him with eyes full of concern. “You sure he’s safe?”

  “Yeah, think so. He’s a fuckin’ MC of one. Unless he’s lyin’. Want you to head home, too.”

  “Crow,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Kachina, gotta make sure you an’ the kid are safe. Got me?”

  “And what about you? I don’t want to leave you here alone. Can I wait until Z and D show up?”

  Crow glanced back toward the shop. “No. Want you to go home as soon as you call Z. Don’t give me lip about it.”

  Jazz frowned.

  He gave her a reassuring smile and touched his lips lightly to hers. “Love you, baby. And one of the reasons is, you don’t give me shit. Yeah?”

  Jazz nodded. “Yeah.” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll call them and then head home. Can you check in with me, please?”

  Crow gave her a smile. “Promise.” He placed his hand over her stomach. “Go home an’ take care of the hungry part, an’ when I get home, I’ll take care of the horny part.”

  “Promise?”

  He dropped his head and gave her a longer kiss this time. He pulled away just enough to say, “Fuck yeah, I promise.”

  “Okay,” she breathed. As she headed toward the back door to where her new SUV was parked, she threw over her shoulder, “Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Kachina.”

  Crow waited until the back door shut then headed back out into the shop.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, Crow paused while filling his ink cups. He had the outline drawn up for the piece and had applied the pattern to Trip’s back. The man now lay face down on the tattoo chair. Crow had blocked out four hours for this appointment so he figured he’d at least get the outline started while the man was in town.

  He glanced over his shoulder as he heard a couple sleds with straight pipes pull up out front. Through the large window he saw Z and Slade dismounting from their Harleys and coming into the shop, their bodies tight, their eyes wary.

  Both sets of eyes landed on Crow, slid to the man in the chair, then to the cut that had been left on the bench, colors facing out.

  Zak’s smooth swagger hitched a little as he read the back of the vest. And Slade came to a complete stop.

  Slade’s dark brown eyes landed on Trip once more. “For fuck’s sake,” he shouted.

  Crow froze as Trip planted his palms on the chair and pushed up into a seated position, facing the three of them.

  “Holy motherfuckin’ shit,” Trip responded, then got to his feet.

  Crow rolled his stool back, giving the man some space, not sure what the fuck was going on.

  Trip jerked his chin up. “You an Angel?”

  A huge smile crossed Slade’s face. “Fuck yeah. You still a big piece of shit?”

  Trip’s smile matched Slade’s. “Fuck yeah. Never thought you’d land anywhere other than underground.”

  Slade laughed. “Nope. Still fuckin’ standin’ on two feet with my dick in my hand.” They moved toward each other, clasped palms and bumped shoulders. As soon as they separated, Slade went over to the man’s cut and picked it up to turn it around. “Buck?”

  “Yeah,” Trip answered.

  Zak stood to the side observing both men with a deep frown on his face and a hand on his hip, but said nothing, letting shit play out. Which was smart. It was a good way to find out info without having to ask a lot of questions.

  “Why you carryin’ around your old man’s cut?” Slade asked, his brows dropping low.

  “Mine now.”

  Slade’s expression got serious. “What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”

  “Gonna get the club rollin’ again.”

  Slade’s mouth turned down even farther. “Club’s got bad blood, brother. Bad fuckin’ luck. You sure you wanna do that? You wanna be in a club, we’re always acceptin’ good prospects.” Slade turned to Z to explain, “Trip an’ I served together.”

  Now it made sense how they knew each other. Not because Slade’s pop was a Warrior. Thank fuck. It was the Marines which connected them, not both being born from outlaw blood.

  “Woulda recruited your ass to join me, but looks like you’re settled here?”

  It should have been a statement, and Crow didn’t like the way Trip ended it as a question instead. Almost as if he was hoping Slade wasn’t settled. That made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

  Slade’s gaze slid through Crow then landed on Zak, when he said, “Yeah. Got it good.” He turned his attention back to Trip. “Got an ol’ lady an’ a fuckin’ son now.”

  Trip’s eyebrows rose. “No fuckin’ way.”

  “Yeah. Hudson. Future fuckin’ Angel. Not plannin’ on goin’ anywhere any time soon.”

  “Or ever,” Crow muttered.

  Slade’s eyes slid back to Crow, but Diamond’s ol’ man didn’t say anything.

  Slade needed to stick in the Valley where he now belonged. There was no way he was taking Crow’s godson and Diamond anywhere.

  The brother came into the Valley as a rolling stone, but he settled nicely. The DAMC was his family now. He had his woman, his kid and ran a successful business, Shadow Valley Fitness, with Diamond. Crow had also inked their club colors into the skin of his back.

  He was fucking going nowhere.

  Zak stepped closer to the two of them. “My brother mentioned your club had bad blood. Sure you want to resurrect it? Like Slade said, we’re always lookin’ for quality prospects. Our club’s financially stable. Got good businesses. Good things happenin’ all ‘round. The DAMC’s solid as fuck.”

  “Appreciate the offer. But wanna give it a go.”

  “Whatcha got left to work with, Trip?” Slade asked. “Got any members? A clubhouse?”

  Trip shook his head, his long dark blonde hair brushing his bare shoulders. While he was muscled, he wasn’t as heavily muscled as Slade. But then a lot of men weren’t. The man also had no tattoos Crow could see with just his shirt off. That first one Crow was going to ink into his skin was going to be one fucking rude awakening when they finally got down to business.

  “Got nothin’ but my granddaddy’s place, a fuckin’ barn full of farm equipment that I have no fuckin’ clue how to work, and a run-down warehouse just outside of Manning Grove.”

  Slade nodded. “Out of the ashes rises the Phoenix. You wanna be that Phoenix.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Trip murmured. “Need something to call my own.”

  “How you gonna support this fuckin’ club?” Z asked. “Sounds like you’re startin’ from scratch.”

  Trip eyeballed Z’s front patches, then he lifted his gaze and met Zak’s directly. “Didn’t come down here just for the ink. You got a good rep. Was hopin’ you got some worthy advice for a fucker like me.”

  Zak tilted his head and studied the man for a long minute before saying, “Could carve out some time for a little sit-down.”

  “Would appreciate it.”

  Z nodded. “Will call my executive committee an’ set up a meet. Got a spare room above church if you wanna crash for the night once you’re done here with Crow.”

  Crow watched the surprise cross Trip’s face at the offer. “He’s trustin’ you only ‘cause of Slade. Don’t fuckin’ do anythin’ to break that trust,” Crow warned him. “Got me?”


  Trip stared at Crow for only a few seconds before nodding. “Yeah. Got you.” He turned to Z. “Thanks, brother. Appreciate it an’ will take you up on your offer.”

  Slade turned to their club prez. “I’ll stick here an’ then take him over to The Iron Horse for a drink an’ set ‘im up at church for the night. Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’ll set the meetin’ up in the meantime. Meet you at church later.” With that, Z turned and headed back toward the exit. Just before walking out of the door, he flicked two fingers over his shoulder.

  When the door shut behind Zak, Crow smiled. No matter what Z endured over the years—prison, the Warriors, Pierce being a traitor, even his own blood turning on him—their president’s goal had always been to make the DAMC prosperous, keep the club above board (for the most part) and turn it into a big fucking family that had each other’s support and loyalty.

  Crow had to admit, the man had been successful at all of that.

  Even if their “family” was dysfunctional as fuck.

  But, hell, they could all live with that. And they happily did.

  As Crow turned back to look at Trip, The Blood Fury MC’s current president and sole member, he sure hoped like hell that the man heeded Z’s advice.

  If not... Crow shook his head and silently wished him fucking luck.

  Turn the page to read a special note from the author and a sneak peek of

  Guts & Glory: Mercy

  (In the Shadows Security, Book 1)

  Author’s Note

  Thank you, readers, for coming along on this journey with me. Crow’s book is the last book in the Down & Dirty: Dirty Angels MC series. It’s been a helluva ride and I never expected the members of this MC to be so loved.

  However, don’t despair, you’ll see more of the DAMC in the near future. Diesel and Jewel will appear the upcoming Guts & Glory series. The first book in that series will feature Mercy and then the rest of D’s Shadows will each have their own book. Expect cameos of the DAMC members in those books, too.

  After that, Trip’s story will be the first book in my all-new MC series: Blood & Bones: Blood Fury MC! That club will be based just outside of Manning Grove, PA, where my Brothers in Blue series was based. So expect to see the Bryson brothers (Max, Marc and Matt) as well as TEDDY showing up in that series. And I will also have a few more surprises for not only you, but for my characters!

  Once again, thank you for being a part of this family and loving my boys (as well as their women) as much as I do. I hope you’ll come along for the next journey. Happy reading!

  I also have to do a BIG shout-out to all of my peeps in my FB readers group: Jeanne St. James’ Down & Dirty Book Crew. They are all supportive and we have a lot of fun. Come join us!

  Turn the page to read a sneak peek of Guts & Glory: Mercy (In the Shadows Security, Book 1)

  Guts & Glory: Mercy

  Turn the page for a sneak peek of

  Guts & Glory: Mercy

  (In the Shadows Security, Book 1)

  Sneak peak of Guts & Glory: Mercy (Unedited)

  You must fall before you can rise.

  Chapter One

  With his fingers curled around her delicate skin and the fragile frame of her neck, he increased the pressure.

  “Harder! Do it harder,” she hissed at him.

  Mercy had a feeling she wasn’t talking about fucking her. Fuck no, she was one of “those.”

  His grip twitched but he didn’t do as she demanded, instead he pretended to misunderstand her demand and slammed his dick deeper. His pounding rhythm became mindless. Because that’s what she was, just another mindless fuck.

  One that had a freaky side, though.

  He seemed to attract those types of bitches.

  Random snatch he picked up at the bar. A woman who saw him as a freak and had someone like him on her fuck-it bucket list.

  Or one who thought they could bring the life back to his eyes. They saw him as a challenge.

  Those he tried to avoid since they became the challenge. Especially when it came to scraping them off at the end of the night.

  But nights like this were typical for him. Him doing the using, and him being used.

  Just busting a nut into some, what the DAMC brothers called, “strange.”

  No numbers exchanged.

  No after-fuck cuddling.

  No deep conversation.

  Hell, he didn’t even bother to ask their names.

  And if they asked him, he just told them his name was John.

  It didn’t matter if he was John, Joe or Jack. They just wanted to fuck a cold-hearted, dead-eyed, scarred freak. They got off on that shit. And he let them for the moments it took for him to get off.

  Then it was over.

  A few nights later it would happen again. New night, new woman.

  Rinse. Repeat.

  But the one he was sliding his dick into now?

  Fuck. Total fucking freak.

  He realized she was still talking. Why didn’t she shut the fuck up?

  “C’mon. Show me what you got! Don’t be a pussy. You look like you’d like it rough. Squeeze harder.”

  Mercy adjusted his grip on her neck, his fingers curling tighter into her flesh, and he pumped his hips faster and harder.

  She was just a “her” to him because if she had told him her name at the bar earlier, he hadn’t paid attention. Or even fucking cared.

  “Pretend I’m the enemy, soldier, and your life’s on the line.”

  Yeah, bitch, if you were, you wouldn’t be breathing or yapping those flapping gums.

  “That’s it, fucker. Give it to me like you mean it.”

  He did his best not to sigh out loud.

  “Fuck me hard while you tell me how you got those nasty scars. I want to hear every detail.”

  Since she could still talk, he apparently wasn’t squeezing quite hard enough.

  But choking her out or telling her about his past was never going to happen. Just like he was never going to end up in this bitch’s bed again.

  Suddenly out of nowhere, she just out and out clocked him right in the face.

  His head jerked back from the impact, and his body went solid. His hips stilled, and his eyes met hers.

  Her brown eyes surrounded in thick mascara widened, and her red lipsticked mouth became slack. He dropped his gaze to his fingers and realized he’d finally done what she asked for. Only now, he could see the fear in her expression.

  Total fucking panic.

  When a gurgle bubbled up he willed his fingers to release her and, luckily for her, his brain was still connected to his digits. He pulled out, rolled away from her, yanked off the condom and threw it on her now heaving stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed, a chill sweeping through him at how close she came to dying.

  He could have killed her and not had a second thought about it.

  Her voice was raspy when she demanded, “What are you doing? We didn’t finish!”

  Mercy scrubbed a hand over his short hair.

  “I’m not done, you... you monster!”

  “You’re done,” he growled without looking at her.

  “No, I’m not.”

  He pushed to his feet, found his pile of clothes and methodically pulled them on, making sure his knife was still in the back pocket of his jeans and his .38 still tucked in his boot. The only weapons he usually carried into a bar since they were easily concealable.

  He strapped on the ankle holster after yanking his cargo pants up over his hips.

  Mercy ignored her sitting up in bed, glaring at him.

  “Are you seriously leaving?”

  He ignored that, too.

  “Why are you taking what I said personal?”

  He concentrated on lacing up his combat boots.

  “Hey! I can have any guy I want!” she screamed as he straightened and focused on the door to his freedom. “Asshole! You ugly-ass freak! It was only a pity fuck!”

  A few strides later, he was out o
f her apartment door and jogging down the steps. At the bottom, he hooked a right and saw his true love waiting for him under the halogen light.

  His Harley. A Jag Jamison custom he paid a fortune for. But his sled was more steadfast and loyal than any female.

  The only thing he appreciated more than his bike was his Terradyne Gurkha RPV. Every time he drove that sweet bitch, he got a hard-on.

  As did other men simply by looking at it.

  He had needed to relieve some tension tonight. And also to forget another female he’d had on the brain lately. One who would never be his.

  Normally, there’d be two ways to relieve his pent-up frustration.

  A round with the punching bag or anonymous fucking. Tonight, the fucking didn’t work since his balls were still heavy and in need of some relief. Which meant he now had only one other option.

  His fists.

  * * *

  With a grunt, he struck the well-used, patched-up heavy bag that hung in a dark corner of the warehouse with as much power behind it as he could. The impact jarred his bones and teeth. Not that he cared.

  He adjusted his stance and put his weight behind the next punch as well. Sweat dripped off his brow, soaked his sleeveless tee both front and back, and mottled the concrete floor beneath him.

  The exertion was just what he needed to get that bitch’s face and words out of his head. He needed to stop picking up females in bars and start looking elsewhere.

  He just didn’t know where.

  He thought of Jazz and how he would’ve stopped his midnight trolling for her. But Crow had claimed her before he could, and the brother wasn’t giving her up without a fight.

  Not that Mercy blamed him.

  If he had that in his bed, he wouldn’t give her up without a fight, either. Fuck the fight, there would be total devastation before Mercy would let anyone else have what was his.