Truck’s eyes light up, and Fergus gives a nod. It’s hard work prospecting, and the more hands the merrier. As Matt goes past me, I say in my sergeant-at-arms voice, “Beer and a soda. Jump to it, man.”
With one hand on the bar, Matt jumps over the top, and soon I have two drinks in front of me. I turn away and wink at the Prez.
He grins, then frowns. “Bad shit, Ma going like that.”
I’ve had a while to think about it. “You see that look on her face, Drum? She went happy, can’t dispute that. And a couple of months ago it could have been a very different story had Dollar not reminded us she was our neighbour.”
“There is that.” He orders a whisky, then resumes our conversation. “I was just getting used to having her around.”
“Won’t get told off for trackin’ oil in anymore.”
At that moment Sam walks in. “Drum, you clean your boots before you came in?” she throws at him as she walks past.
I spit out the mouthful of beer I’ve just unfortunately taken and start choking on the little that had gone down the wrong way. Prez slaps my back. “Fuck, Prez,” I start when I can speak again. “Think she might still be around.”
Drum’s staring after Sam with narrowed eyes. “Left a legacy, that’s for certain.”
“Yeah, about that. We gonna take her money?”
“Mouse has done some investigatin, and Dollar’s done some sums. They think it will be around two hundred thou. I suggest we should take it and invest in a new business.”
That’s a great idea. The more we have coming in legit, the less inclined we’ll be to slip back into old habits. “Any ideas?”
Drum shakes his head. “We’ll discuss it at the table. Now, I think your wife wants you.”
Throwing a glance her way, I see Prez is right. She’s motioning with her hand, showing she’s thirsty.
“Pussy-whipped.” Drum chuckles.
“Too right,” I agree, and start walking then turn back. “Fuckin’ love it.”
I leave him chortling, then go over to my wife and, as I pass, I hear Hyde and Sarah starting to make plans to rebuild Ma’s house. Looking to the future that she’s handed to them.
After I’ve given Flash her drink, and have just raised mine to my lips, Sandy comes over to join us. “Have you seen this, Peg?”
This being the recipe book Ma left behind, I nod.
Sandy’s eyes gleam. “It’s incredible. I’m going to try some of these at the Wheel Inn. There’s stuff here I’d never have thought of. Will certainly bring the customers in. My mouth’s already watering just reading about it.”
Sophie’s looking over her shoulder. “Oh, I fancy that. It looks bloody delicious.”
“We got the makings?”
“I believe we have.”
“Com’on Soph, let’s give it a try.” The two women disappear into the kitchen.
Grunt bounces in accompanied by Marcia, Heart, and the babies. Wraith appears and is throwing Olivia up and down in the air, making the toddler giggle and laugh. Jayden arrives with Amy, who immediately runs over and throws her arms around the dog. The arrival of the children lightens the atmosphere some more.
Joker comes in, holding hands with Lady. It’s become such a common sight recently no one says anything. He throws a chin lift with me, which I return. Since getting everything out in the open, Joker seems far more relaxed, and sees it as being me who forced the issue.
Prez is heading toward his office, then hearing a shrill shriek spins around and crouches. Eli lets go of Sam’s arm and runs to Drum, throwing himself trustingly into his arms.
I look around the room at my brothers, their old ladies, all the children, and not forgetting the fucking dog, coming together and being what I’ve always called them, a mismatched family.
Remembering not so long ago I used to be on the sidelines, looking at what my brothers had, never thinking I’d be so lucky that it would come to me. I hitch a breath, then reach out my hand and place it on Darcy’s flat stomach. She looks down at my arm, then up at my eyes, a slight questioning look on her face as I gaze at her.
Just one word escapes my lips, one word which carries so much meaning. “Mine.”
She smiles, and it’s like the sun rising on a dark morning as she lays her fingers over my hand, squeezing gently. “Mine.”
She’ll get no argument from me.
Rock
I’ve committed the ultimate crime, I’ve stolen from my MC. Now, I’m out in bad standing.
Cast adrift from all men I called Brother, I join a rival MC. They have welcomed me and want me to help them take out the Satan’s Devils.
Having to start from the bottom as a prospect is a shit job, but I’m grateful they’ve given me a new home in exchange for information about my old club.
The Chaos Riders are a completely different type of club, and as I betray the Devils, I slowly learn the Riders’ secrets. Including what they keep in the basement.
Becca
I’ve been kidnapped. Kept chained in this filthy place which reeks of blood. I can’t remember the last time I showered or had a change of clothes, and I’m fed only enough to keep me alive.
As time passes, my hope of rescue fades. But then a new man appears bringing me my food and emptying that disgusting bucket I’m forced to use. Could he be my ticket to escape? Or is being a member of this hateful motorcycle club more important than saving me?
Satan’s Devils #7: Rock Bottom
Aiza
As the youngest sister of the ruling sheikhs of Amahad my life has no significance except what I can bring to the country. A political marriage. To avoid my fate, I’ve stayed away from the country of my birth, and remained forgotten until it appears someone is looking too closely into my life.
To ensure my protection I reluctantly return to Amahad ignorant that my fate would fall into the hands of a terrorist, nor that I’d meet three men who equally attract me. One I know immediately is submissive, perhaps a yin to my yang as I’m a Domme. Another a Dom and while life with him would be fun, it would be a constant battle for control. The third, a man who doesn’t label himself, but dominance pours out of every pore.
Three men who want me. Three men who vow to protect me. Three men who I want. Three men who each want to fulfil all my erotic fantasies.
Spoilt for choice as I’m thrown into a world of violence and terror, each will demonstrate why they are the man for me.
A sneak preview of
Book 3 in the Blood Brothers series
Prologue
I’m no stranger to fear. Real fear.
It’s not that delicious fear that comes when watching a horror film, hiding your face in your hands while silently screaming for the heroine not to open that door. It’s not that vague feeling of unease when you hear an unexplained creak in the house. It’s that bone-deep fear when you’re anticipating something dreadful to happen, and there’s nothing, absolutely-fucking-nothing you can do to stop it, no way to escape the consequences of your actions. Like standing in front of an avalanche rushing down the hill knowing there is no chance of getting out of its path. Inevitable and unavoidable.
Deep-seated fear is my constant companion. No waking breath can be taken without it. No word uttered or action performed without my heart beating too fast, my palms sweating, and involuntary shivers trembling through my limbs in case I say or do the wrong thing. Fear haunts my dreams every night as I lie sleepless beside him. Each day the fear grows worse, knowing the time might be close where he goes too far and kills me. The possibility increases exponentially with the slightest thing I do that he could perceive as wrong. No, I’m no stranger to fear.
It didn’t start out that way, of course. The man I met and got involved with was a gentleman in every sense of the word—handsome, kind, caring, and rich. But then he began to change, and slowly, oh so slowly, his true colours began to emerge. It took me a while to notice, and even longer before I admitted the abuse; in the beginning making excuses for
his actions and blaming myself. Then, as the situation deteriorated, my sense of self-preservation told me I had to get out. But by the time I’d come to that decision, the noose had already tightened around me, strangling me as it held me captive, caught in his trap; his own personal plaything and punching bag.
Most people would find it difficult to understand the hold this man has over me and just how hard it is for me to break free. Until they hear his name. Then they understand. Ethan St John-Davies. One of the richest, most powerful and influential men in the UK.
Chapter 1
Zoe
Having a tyre blowout is frightening enough; the sudden lurching of the car, the loud bang making me jump, then the glance in the review mirror showing me rubber flying out behind. And all the while, I desperately fight the car’s natural inclination to pull to the offside, struggling to persuade it onto the safety of the hard shoulder, hopefully without hitting another vehicle or causing a major accident.
But that’s not the reason why, only seconds later when the implications of what’s happened hit me, I sit with my head resting against the steering wheel, violently shaking. I’m going to be late!
I’ve suffered the repercussions for not being on time before; what he called my ‘correction'. Shit! Let’s call it what it is: good old-fashioned abuse. Last time I was lucky to escape with a blow to my stomach and right kidney, followed by a brutal kick to my ribs. Lateness, for whatever reason, is a punishable crime in Ethan’s world.
Practicing deep breathing, trying to calm my nerves using techniques I’m so well versed in—a daily exercise to suppress my anxiety—I start to wonder whether it would be better just to sit here and let fate fall as it will. A person’s life expectancy is apparently only an average of forty minutes if you stay in your vehicle when broken down on a motorway. Will I be crushed by a heavy goods vehicle before he comes for me? He could find out exactly where I am; he has the ability to track my every move if he so wants. Every second of every frigging day.
For just a moment it’s tempting to wait in the car and take my chances, but despite the months of living in hell, I’ve still got higher expectations for my life than ending it splattered over the highway. So, pulling myself together, I grab my phone and step out. Then, multi-tasking while climbing over the safety barrier, I look up the contact for the AA. Changing a wheel is, I have to confess, beyond me, and even if I knew what to do, my hands are nowhere near steady enough to turn a nut. I can only hope the road recovery experts will be quick to help.
I select the right number, and am ready to dial when a truck pulls up behind my car, and a chap gets out. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with his vehicle, making it obvious he’s stopped close by me on purpose. Immediately I feel uneasy—I don’t know him from Adam. I’m a woman on my own, easy prey for someone with suspect motives. Then, as I realise no one could do worse to me than Ethan’s already done, my fear of the stranger begins to recede.
I stare at him curiously as he walks purposefully towards me. He’s not the type of man Ethan would send, definitely not. No, this man is well below his station. He’s wearing dirty and well-used navy overalls open to the waist and shrugged down around his hips, and a once-white T-shirt covers his chest. He looks tough and rough, but even so, as he stomps towards me, any worry about the legitimacy of the reason why he’s stopped disappears when I catch the concerned expression on his face, and hear his opening words uttered once he’s within earshot. His clear worry for my safety dispelling any lingering fears.
When I’m able to hear him over the noise of the traffic racing past, he assures me he means me no harm. “Hey, sweetie, need help? That’s your rubber all over the road, isn’t it? Want me to change your wheel?”
He might be my knight in shining armour, but things aren’t as simple as that. What is the right course of action? There would, of course, be consequences to a wrong decision. Or the right one for that matter, depending on Ethan’s mood tonight. Glancing suspiciously up at the traffic camera just a hundred metres further up the road, I can’t forget it’s relaying and recording everything I do. It’s all too easy for Ethan to get access to such systems; it’s even possible he has someone watching me at this very moment. But whether someone’s monitoring it in real time, or will call up the video to examine it later, the end result is the same. Ethan would be able to discover whatever decision I make.
Although it is kind of a stranger to stop and offer assistance, the right action is not to accept, and definitely not to include him in any escape plan. Oh no, I’ve already learned in the worst possible way how brutal Ethan can be if I involve anyone else.
So, staying dumb of my greater plight, I just wave my phone at him declining his offer of assistance. “Just calling the AA now,” I explain, “Thanks for stopping, though.”
He looks surprised that I’d refuse his aid, and then, misinterpreting my anxiety, he holds out his hands in a gesture of reassurance open and facing up as if to show he’s no threat. “Hey, love. I just stopped because it looked like you were in a spot of bother.” He walks over to the car and checks the rim of the now tyre-less wheel, then glances up. “The AA will probably take an hour or more at this time of day,” he scoffs, “If it’s just the tyre and you’ve got a spare I can have you on your way again in a few minutes?” His voice rises at the end of the sentence, so I know it’s a question.
Staring at him, I’m amazed a complete stranger would bother to fix an unknown person’s car; I’d almost forgotten there can be kindness in the world. But then his words sink through the fog in my brain, and I realise he’s offering me the chance to get back on the move again. If he can change the tyre quickly, maybe I won’t be too late home—and maybe the outcome won’t be as bad as I fear. Perhaps Ethan wouldn’t bother to check the camera feed if I get home on time? Quickly I make a decision. Nodding at him, I manage to summon up a smile, the expression feeling strange on my face, “Thank you. That would be fantastic.”
Taking the keys from my outstretched hand, he locates the spare fast; it’s only a space saver which will slow me down, but at least I’ll soon be on my way again. As I hover behind him I begin to shiver in the cold winter air, my hands wringing and twisting together. I bite my tongue to curb any words to hurry him along as I can see he’s working as fast as he can. He wastes no time swapping the wheels over, rolling the one with the shredded tyre across to show me. “Reckon you hit a nail or tack, love. Just bad luck.”
Bad frigging luck. You’ve got it, mate.
“You alright? You look a bit shaky. It can be a shock.” He’s staring at me, his face kind, open with concern. “You gonna be okay to drive?”
Yes, I’m in shock. I’m trembling, but can’t find the words to explain to this helpful man that the best way to alleviate my fear is to get back on my way as fast as I can. Putting as much confidence in my voice as I summon up, I reassure him I’ll be fine. From his expression, he doesn’t believe me, but I turn away before he can say anything else, throwing a quick ‘thank you’ over my shoulder. Digging around in the passenger footwell, I locate my handbag from where it fell on the floor during my mad swerve to get the car off the carriageway. Extracting my purse, I offer to pay him.
He laughs, waving his hands in refusal, pushing away the notes I’m holding. “Just happy to help a beautiful woman.” He smirks as he throws the compliment out, but there’s no malice or threat in his face. Reaching into the pocket of his overalls he pulls out a card, “Name’s Josh, sweetie. Give me a call if you ever get stuck again.”
Glancing down, I see he’s a mechanic from the local garage. Pocketing the card without thinking, and thanking him profusely once again, I take back my keys and go to my car. A flash from his headlights shows he’s waiting until I get moving, and then I see him following at a safe distance as I increase my speed along the hard shoulder until I’m going fast enough to slide out into a welcome gap in the rush hour traffic. A minute later, looking in my rearview mirror, I see he’s also successfully
navigated the almost constant stream of cars. By this time my saviour’s a few vehicles behind.
Flicking my eyes to the dashboard clock, with no further problems I calculate I’ll only be a quarter of an hour late; perhaps Ethan will overlook it. It’s not like I don’t have a good excuse. Allowing myself to relax a little, my eyes dart back to the road as a van speeds past, hoots, and the driver waves. I’m pootling along at fifty on the spare, and he’s got his foot down. I even manage a smile as I recognise Josh, and give a quick wave as my Good Samaritan disappears, merging with the vehicles in the fast lane.
But my optimism soon fades. It doesn’t take long for me to realise that I’d underestimated how quickly the rush hour traffic would build up. Nor had I made any allowance that the dark clouds, which had been threatening all afternoon, would unleash heavy sleet and hail; apparently providing more than sufficient reason to cause the whole motorway to come almost to a complete standstill.
By the time I pull up outside the large ornate gates and impatiently wait for them to slide open, I’m nearly an hour late. With a sinking feeling of dread, I make my way slowly along the sweeping drive leading to the front of the mansion, taking care not to kick any gravel up onto the manicured grass either side. In the mirror, I see the gates automatically close behind me, locking me inside my prison as securely as any high-security detention centre. My apparent freedom this afternoon was an illusion, a taste of normality solely to mock me. The GPS tracker in my car, Ethan’s illegal, but unlimited access to CCTV footage, together with the not unlikely possibility he could have had someone following me, curtails any thought of escape.
Peg's Stand (Satan's Devils MC #6) Page 41