CHEAP SMUT: Four Erotic Romance Novels (Boxed Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  Within five seconds, and as Sam began to walk toward Otis, Cash got in front of Otis and started screaming. Otis swung one punch and knocked him flat on his back. Dalton, Axton, and Toad walked toward them both and helped Cash up to his feet.

  Axton walked Cash into the house.

  “Holy shit. Guess he didn’t make it,” Avery said. “Axton didn’t like him anyway.”

  “But he did his part or whatever, right?” I asked.

  “Not that easy,” Avery said as she shook her head. “It takes a one hundred percent vote. Otis must have had a reason for not wanting him in the club. This is a tight knit bunch of guys, you’ll learn that. And to call them brothers wouldn’t even come close to describe the bond.”

  I nodded my head. “I see.”

  Cash’s wife began screaming out the back door of the house toward Otis. Almost immediately, Otis, Dalton, Toad, and Axton ran into the house. Sydney turned toward me and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Haven’t you ever had a friend that one day you decided wasn’t such a good friend?” Avery asked.

  I nodded my head. “Yeah.”

  “Well, imagine if you were stuck with your friends forever because you made some silly pact or blood oath. That’s what these guys do when they accept someone. They’re in for life. So, they’ve got to be careful about who they choose. You’re Biscuit’s Ol’ Lady, his brothers are your brothers. Be proud that your brothers are the best of the best,” she said.

  I nodded my head and grinned. “I will be. I mean I am.”

  Avery nodded her head and grinned as she turned toward the house. Dalton walked out the door, turned, and began walking our direction. His head hung low, as if he was upset about something.

  “We’re gonna need to get out of here. Cops will be here pretty quick. Cash offed himself,” he said.

  “Huh?” I said, confused at the phrase he’d said.

  He shook his head. “He killed himself, Kat. Right in the kitchen in front of his wife.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasped.

  He shook his head.

  “Cambio?” Sydney screeched.

  “Everyone’s fine. They’re covering up the body and talkin’ to his wife - it ain’t nothin’ you wanna see,” Dalton explained as he reached for Sydney’s shoulder and hugged her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Dalton shook his head. “Far as I’m concerned, just proves he was too weak for the club. Good call on Otis’ part.”

  I thought about the suicide, and what someone must be feeling to commit the act. Kyle’s suicide was no doubt a result of his guilt and grief for what he’d done. Cash’s was probably because he felt incompetent, or worthless. Maybe, the more I thought about it, Kyle felt worthless as well.

  As he should have.

  I stared down at the ground, closed my eyes, and said a small prayer.

  Bless them anyway, Lord.

  They were your children.

  KAT

  I sat nervously in the courtroom, waiting for the judge to enter. Dalton sat beside the court appointed attorney in the front of the courtroom, looking rather dapper in the clothes I had bought for him. Although he refused to wear slacks, he allowed me to buy him a pair of new jeans, a button-down shirt, and a pair of black boots. With is freshly waxed beard, slightly trimmed hair, and perfectly waxed eyebrows, he looked fabulous.

  “All rise,” the bailiff howled.

  We all stood as the judge walked into the room. I had asked Dalton to tell the club about his court date, but he refused. I felt having Avery with me would ease my mind, but he insisted that she not know of the hearing either. As I stood on shaking legs, the judge reached his seat and sat down.

  “You may be seated,” the judge said.

  I sat down and pressed my palms onto my shaking knees. After looking on the internet at the severity of the charges, I learned Dalton could very well spend five years in prison for beating the men he beat in jail. Hopefully the judge would see that he wasn’t a troublemaker, and although he’d been arrested several times, he’d never been tried and convicted of a felony or a violent crime.

  “Will the defendant please rise,” the judge said.

  I stared at Dalton as he stood, wondering what the procedure would be. I suspected no differently than on television, people would give their testimony, Dalton would give his, and the jury or the judge would decide the case. Maybe after hearing what everyone had to say, I would feel better about the entire situation.

  I gazed blankly across the courtroom with unfocused eyes. The thought of losing Dalton was something I chose to deny as even being a possibility. Raising our baby without him would be extremely difficult, and thinking about it made me cry. Even after Dalton gave me keys to the house, instructions on operating the pool equipment, and the combination to the safe, I refused to accept his incarceration as being even a slight probability.

  A hand lightly touched my shoulder, startling me. I turned to my right and glanced upward.

  Dad?

  “It’s getting ready to start,” I whispered.

  He raised his index finger to his lips and whispered his response. “It’s getting ready to end. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  Huh?

  I wrinkled my nose, shrugged my shoulders, and stared. He grinned. I slid to my left and patted the wooden bench beside me. He shook his head lightly, winked, and mouthed the words I love you as he reached for the door beside him.

  Before I could respond, he opened the door, slipped into the hall, and walked away.

  That was weird.

  I turned toward the courtroom and blinked my eyes a few times as I tried to focus on the judge’s statement.

  “…therefore, considering the electronic files were damaged while in evidence, rendering them useless and leaving the court without video, we would be required to rely solely on the testimony of the plaintiff’s to prosecute this case. As fate would have it, both plaintiffs have no recollection of the events on the day in question.” The judge paused and peered over the top of his glasses.

  After a moment, he reached up, removed his glasses, and studied Dalton.

  “Considering your plea of innocence has been maintained, Mr. Biskette, it saddens me greatly to announce the county has no ability to prosecute this case. In the matter of Sedgwick County versus Biskette, the case has been dropped by the county due to lack of evidence.” He hesitated, pounded his gavel onto the wooden block and shook his head.

  “Mr. Biskette, you are free to go,” he said.

  Oh my God.

  I clapped my hands silently and stood. Dalton turned around and winked. I gazed at him for a moment, turned toward the door my father had walked through, and stared.

  With my gaze frozen on the door, I mouthed the words.

  I love you, too.

  KAT

  I couldn’t believe the time had come for us to find out the sex of our baby. As I scrambled to get my hair finished, Dalton stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He seemed excited, but by no means as excited as I was. I couldn’t seem to contain myself. Finally, I shook my head from side to side, let my hair fall slightly into my face, and settled for the loose ponytail I was wearing.

  “I’m almost ready,” I said as I ducked under his arm, ran past him, and into the bedroom.

  The room looked great in the new colors, but I had my doubts how long they’d last. The baby’s room was better than great, and I was so in love with it I brought my mother and father both over to see it. Seeing my father get along with Dalton, considering he was a cop and Dalton was an outlaw seemed almost too good to be true.

  They sure seemed to get along well, and my father laughed at his stories and jokes as he told them. Dalton never said one cross word about my father since the day he said my father stopped by to visit him. It was almost as if they’d somehow made peace with each other on that day.

  I pulled my shoes onto my feet and cocked my head slightly to the side.

  “Is the bike ru
nning?” I asked.

  He rubbed his beard in the palm of his hand his hand as he nodded his head, “Yep.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Ready,” I shouted as I sprung to my feet.

  “Grab your purse,” he said as he motioned toward my purse.

  I grabbed my purse, followed him through the garage, and stopped in the driveway. As I checked my ponytail, I glanced down at the back of his bike. Rumbling through the exhaust and shaking, the back fender shook from side to side.

  I glanced at the back of it with unfocused eyes, repositioned my purse, and started to get on.

  Something in my head registered a few seconds late.

  His plate was different.

  I stepped back, studied the license plate, and narrowed my eyes as I stared at it.

  “Your plate doesn’t say RFOF anymore,” I said as I stared down at it.

  He climbed off the bike, turned to face me, and crossed his arms. “Nope.”

  I read the letters out loud. “W.Y. M. M.”

  “What’s it mean now?” I shrugged.

  “Figure it out. Been on there for about three weeks waitin’ for ya to see it,” he huffed.

  I stared down at the tag.

  While. You. Might …

  Wont. You.

  What. You’re.

  I shook my head and stared. Shit like that had always bothered me. I hated not being able to figure out license plates. I gazed at it with unfocused eyes and thought.

  W.Y.M.M.

  Will. You Marry.

  Holy shit, no way. He’s not that…

  I glanced up at him. Standing with his arms crossed and his mouth covered with a full on smirk, he studied me. I gazed down at the letters, not certain of their order.

  W.Y.M.M.

  “Will you marry me?” I whispered as I studied the plate.

  I glanced upward after I spoke. I had said it louder than I intended to, and was slightly embarrassed. As the words escaped my lips, my heart raced.

  I wondered if I guessed right.

  “As a matter of fact I will,” he said as he reached into his jeans pocket.

  “Been carryin’ this fucker for three weeks, since right after I asked your father if it was okay. Had to spend my bond money on somethin’ when they gave it back, figured this was as good as anything. Katrina Chadsworth…”

  He paused as he knelt down in front of me on one knee.

  You asked my father?

  “Will you marry me?” he asked.

  I raised my hand to my mouth and nodded my head as the tears rolled down my cheeks. He reached out, held my left hand in his, and slipped the ring onto my finger.

  “Not as pretty as you, but damn close,” he said.

  I glanced down at the ring, still in shock over what had happened. After a few minutes of absorbing the beauty of the ring, I shifted my eyes to meet Dalton’s and gazed at him in a semiconscious state.

  “I love you, Kat,” he said as he kissed me on the lips.

  “I love…I love…you,” I blubbered as our lips parted.

  He glanced at his watch. His eyes widened and left hand immediately shot into the air. As he extended his index finger, he twirled it in a circle.

  “Saddle up,” he shouted into the air. “Let’s roll.”

  I laughed into my clenched hand as I climbed onto the bike.

  Life with Dalton Biskette was a lot of things.

  Wild.

  Crazy.

  Fun.

  Adventurous.

  Full of love.

  But there was one thing it wasn’t.

  Predictable.

  Money Shot

  Scott Hildreth

  DEDICATION

  No matter how old I get or how many children I have of my own, I will always be a little boy.

  My mother’s little boy.

  Mom, this one is for you.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION.

  All names, locations, club names, and incidents in this book are a figment of the author’s imagination, and are depicted in a work of fiction. Any likeness to fact is pure coincidence. The club depicted in this book does not exist; it was created for this book. Lastly, the colors depicted in the cover and described in this book are a creation of graphic artistry, and are not actually the colors for any Motorcycle Club known to exist by the author.

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  Money Shot 1st Edition Copyright © 2015 by Scott Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichita@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Cover design by Jessica www.creativebookconcepts.wordpress.com

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  PROLOGUE

  June 6th, 2013

  I believe there comes a time in every man’s life when he questions the loyalty of his wife or girlfriend. Right or wrong, it eventually happens. A pattern of strange disagreements, her taste in music changing drastically, and a constant need to stay late at the office had raised my eyebrows, but it was when she cut her hair that I actually knew.

  Her long blonde hair had been her trademark since we met, and as many times as I asked her to change it, the answer was always the same. After ten years, I stopped asking. Roughly five years since I had last asked, she came home with her hair cut well above her shoulders and colored bright red.

  I remember standing there admiring her as she walked in, wondering what had changed. As she walked past me and turned toward the bedroom with a bag of new clothes swinging from her elbow, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

  She hadn’t done it for me.

  She had done it for him.

  Now, standing in his driveway glaring at him through the window of his truck as he fumbled to find what I was sure to be his gun, I felt incompetent, incapable, useless, and half sick at my stomach.

  I lowered my chin slightly and shook my head. “If I were you, I wouldn’t.”

  “Look, I uhhm,” he said as he shifted his eyes toward me.

  “I told you once, get out of the truck, Motherfucker. Just get out, and don’t reach for that console again. I ain’t planning on killing you, but I sure as fuck will if I have to,” I said flatly.

  I could have brought a few of the fellas, or the entire MC for that matter, but as far as I was concerned, my soon to be ex-wife’s lover wasn’t club business, it was personal. As much as I loved my club brothers, and as much as I trusted them to watch my back, I also knew the importance of keeping my personal life just that, personal.

  He glanced down at my clenched fists and did his best to reason with me. “Look I don’t want to…”

  I had never been a patient man. Even as a kid, I would peel the wrapping paper away from the Christmas presents and see if I could get a peek at what was underneath long before the day arrived to unwrap them. Often, while sitting on my motorcycle at a stoplight, I lose my ability to sit and wait, and simply ride through the red light.

  My mother always said I lacked tolerance.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  I pulled his truck door open with one hand and grabbed a fistful of his hair with the other. Although I had a reasonable amount of practice pulling men from their vehicles by their hair, attempting to pull him out by his provided
an entirely new experience altogether.

  As his head followed the force of my hand pulling him toward the open door, his eyes widened and he began to scream. A short second later, and I had his entire head of hair in my hand, and he sat free of my grasp in the seat of his truck.

  And he was as bald as billiard ball.

  Quite confused at what had happened, I gazed at my hair-filled hand and tried to make sense of it all. The amount of time it took my mind to understand I was holding his hair hat and he had become a free man was just enough for him to do what I had clearly told him not to.

  I tossed his toupee toward my bike, leaned inside his truck, and reached for his right arm. As I squeezed his wrist with my left hand, preventing him from reaching for the open console, I began to punch him in the face repeatedly with my right hand, all the while continuing to pull him from the truck and explain why I was doing what I was doing.

  I felt fifteen years of my life had been wasted, and that I had been devoted – and loyal – to a lie. With every ounce of frustration packed into each swing of my fist, I continued to pummel him until he was a bloody mess.

  When I finally released him from my grasp he fell to the ground. Covered in blood and with both eyes swollen almost shut, he was still conscious. I stared down at him, wiped my knuckles on my jeans, and drew a long, slow breath.

  Looking back on the events of my past, there seemed to always be things that I had done in fits of rage or in a moment of desperation that I later regretted. I’d always referred to them as brain farts, and I had plenty of ‘em in my days. Several of the fellas would later claim that this night produced a brain fart, but I didn’t agree with them.

  I believed my actions were justified, considering I was married to the woman for fifteen years. If nothing else, I felt it would cause her to remember me for who I believed I was.

  A very loyal man with an extremely short temper.

  As I gazed down at him, I reached for my pocket, pulled out my knife, and flicked the blade open. As he continued to moan and attempted to roll on his side, I pressed my boot down onto his shoulder and held him in place.