by Jc Emery
a Bayonet Scars novella
Real love is always the cure.
JC Emery
Series & Titles by JC Emery
Bayonet Scars
Ride (No. 1)
Thrash (No. 2)
Rev (No. 3)
Crush (No. 4)
Vow (No. 4.5)
Burn (No. 5)
Crave (No. 5.5)
Ladder Company
Fall for Me
Men with Badges
Marital Bitch
The Switch
Praise for JC Emery’s Bayonet Scars series
“5 HOLY CRAP I couldn't even breathe Stars!!!!”
Book Drunk Blog’s review of Ride
http://bookdrunkblog.com/
“This book is so good. I give it 5 hearts. Oh so goooooood. I want more!!”
Books, Chocolate and Lip Gloss’s review of Thrash
http://www.bkschocolateandlipgloss.blogspot.com/
“Holy crap does J.C. Emery know how to keep readers on edge! This is the 3rd book in the series and it's getting even better and better and.... yep, you guess it...better! Talking about keeping you glued to the reader and sitting up on edge...even at times yelling at character or two... You're really missing out if you have not started this series yet!”
Undercover Book Reviews’s review of Rev
http://undercoverbookreviews.blogspot.com/
“I absolutely fell in love with this series the moment I began reading Ride. The MC and the women they love are great characters, full of humor, sass, ruggedness, strength, love and passion. Crush was as no exception.”
Naughty Moms’ Story Time’s review of Crush
http://naughtymomstorytime.com/
“If you love MC Romances as much as I do, then this book will not disappoint.”
Battery Operated Book Blog’s review of Burn
http://www.batteryoperatedbookblog.com/
Crave (Bayonet Scars, No. 5.5)
Copyright © 2015 by JC Emery
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
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 a reputable third-party website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Find JC Emery on the web
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Cover Design by Brenda Gonet at Gonet Design
Formatting by JC Emery
Editing by Michele Milburn
Mature Content Warning
The Bayonet Scars novels are a dark and gritty romance series which features graphic sexual content, violence, and foul language that is intended for a mature audience. Each novel features a different couple, though it's not recommended that they be read out of order due to the series story arc.
For Brittany.
Because you’re cool enough to support me even though I write dirty books that make you blush.
a Bayonet Scars novella
SHE'S HEARTBROKEN. HE'S A HEART-BREAKER.
Elle Phillips's relationship with the Forsaken Motorcycle Club is strained, much like the relationship she had with her father, a Forsaken brother, before he died. The only piece of Forsaken that Elle wants to hold onto is their sergeant-at-arms and her former lover, Sterling “Bloody Knuckles” Grady. Unfortunately, Grady's moved on and he doesn't seem to be coming back. With her heart hurting over one man who's died and another who's practically dead to her, Elle throws herself into her work as a private investigator and tries to keep a low profile where the club's concerned. But when a case comes along that she can't refuse, she finds herself embroiled in club business in a way that leaves her questioning everything she thought she knew about Forsaken.
Diesel knows that keeping tabs on Elle Phillips is going to bring him trouble. He already loves her even though he barely knows her, but when Grady asks Diesel to keep her safe, he can't say no. His patience has run out and he's going to do anything to get Elle to realize he's the man she's been craving-- even going behind the club's back to help her solve a case she shouldn't be working.
Real love is always the cure.
May 2015
11 months to Mancuso’s downfall
Prologue
THEY’RE EVERYWHERE, THE motorcycles I mean. I can’t step foot over city limits without running into a fucking Harley. I love Harleys. Any other town and I’d welcome the sight, but not this one. At least they don’t look like Forsaken bikes. That’s something. Fort Bragg is home, I guess, but it doesn’t really feel so much like home these days. As long as my mother’s here, though, I’ll keep coming back.
I pull into The 101 Club’s gravel parking lot slowly, careful not to hit anything. The lot is packed today, with no open spaces in the front that I can squeeze this stupid truck into. I’ve spent so many years on my bike that driving Louis’s big-ass truck throws me for a loop. It’s also just too goddamn quiet. When I’m on the road with my girl, she’s so loud that she blocks out the racing thoughts I can’t seem to shake.
I shouldn’t complain. If not for my mom’s boyfriend, Louis, and his big-ass truck, I wouldn’t be able to take some of the jobs that come my way—jobs I want to take regardless of the fact that they’re more likely to bring in casseroles than cash. It’s hard to threaten to hog-tie a man and deliver him to the county sheriff if he doesn’t make good on his child support if you have no way of getting him to said sheriff.
There’s one open space right next to my mom’s sedan, but it’s too small for me to squeeze into. As much as I’d like to freak her out by parking that close to her, I won’t do that to Louis. I have his truck for the next month—and while I know he likes having Mom drive him around everywhere, he’s as sneaky as hell because his generosity isn’t about them spending more time together as much as it is about Louis getting Mom and me to spend more time together. I love my mom, but she’s nosy and has been hinting at things I’d rather she not. Like the job I’ve been on for months now and refuse to tell her about. Not that there’s much to say since I’ve gotten basically nowhere with it.
I turn the corner in the gravel lot and instantly regret it. Sterling fucking Grady is leaning up against the side of the building with three of his brothers, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and his wavy hair half in his eyes. It doesn’t matter that he’s closing in on forty—he still looks the same he did when we started hooking up. Grady pulls the cigarette from his mouth and shakes his head at Wyatt, the vice president of the club. Wyatt rolls his huge-ass shoulders and turns to Ryan and Diesel. God, Ryan Stone. He’s a pain in the ass if ever I’ve met one, but he’s family. I used to babysit him and his brother, Ian, back in the day when they were just a little too young and irresponsible to watch after themselves, and I was a little too young and a little too stupid to realize that keeping Ryan and Ian out of trouble wasn’t worth the fifty Aunt Ruby and Uncle Jim slid my way for the effort.
There’s plenty of space in the side lot, so I have my choice of parking spaces. I choose one that’s as far from the guys as possible and try to climb out of the truck as quietly as I can. I don’t think any of them know Louis’s truck, so they may not even notice me weaving through the parked vehicles. From
what I can see, it looks like there’s only the four bikes parked along the side of the building next to where the guys are standing. I spot Grady’s bike with ease. I’d know his bike anywhere. He still hasn’t painted over the scratches I accidentally put on the gas tank when we were putting on a new set of rearview mirrors. I used to smile at those memories.
My right foot twitches in irritation. I’d much rather back out and turn the wheel in the direction of his precious fucking bike and floor it into the side of the building, destroying her in the process. Lucky for him, I have too much respect for the bike to do that. Instead, I turn the truck off, climb out, and head quickly for the front entrance.
I’m not that lucky.
“We can see you sneaking away,” Ryan calls tauntingly from across the lot.
I still in place for too long. I’m being awkward, and it’s too obvious by now. Taking a deep breath, I spin on my heels and head over to say hi.
I’m less than five feet away when I raise a brow and smirk in Ryan’s direction.
“How’s the nose?” Okay, that’s not very mature of me, but I don’t much care. I broke his nose the last time I babysat him, and even though it earned me a month’s grounding, it was worth it. The little fucker gave me a titty twister, and I guess he thought he’d get away with it. Dad didn’t ground me and neither did my mom. It was Aunt Ruby who sentenced me to a month of yard work for making Ryan bleed on her new rug. Had I dragged him outside and busted his face there, I would’ve gotten off scot-free. The memory makes me smile. Ryan snarls at the comment and turns toward me.
“How’s your tit?”
“Better than your girl’s, I bet. You still like manhandling underage tits?”
“Shut the fuck up, Phillips,” Ryan growls. “She’s legal.”
“Sure she is,” I say with a disbelieving nod.
Wyatt gives me the manly silent head nod he always does, but I barely notice him. I might be verbally sparring with Ryan, but it’s Diesel who has my attention. He hasn’t looked my way even once. He’s like this a lot—quiet and brooding. We used to be cool, but then something changed a few months ago and now shit’s just awkward. Not as awkward as it is with Grady, though. Maybe I’m just being awkward in general and has nothing to do with anyone else.
“Well, I got lunch with my mom,” I say and nod my head a few times. It’s my tell, and I fucking hate it. Grady’s kept his eyes downcast since before I walked up, only raising them once to greet me, but when I start with the head-nod business, he lifts his face to stare directly at me. His deep green eyes penetrate mine in a way they never have before. He’s looked at me with lust, with irritation, and with ambivalence. But this is brand new—this looks like guilt. It’s the same look he’s given his daughter, Cheyenne, when he can’t fulfill one of her many wishes. I don’t want him looking at me this way. It’s unsettling, and so instead of standing here and feeling like shit, I take a few steps back and excuse myself.
“Elle.”
It’s a single word. My name. People say it all the time. Grady’s said my name hundreds of times in the years we’ve known each other, but he’s never said it like this before. Six months ago I would have loved to hear the emotion in his voice. I would have almost begged for it. But not now.
I keep walking, picking up the pace in an effort to ditch him. Not that I’m going to be able to ditch him, but I’m going to try. I get around the corner to the front of the building when he grabs my arms and spins me around. It’s not this romantic, intimate thing. It’s cold and calculated. He isn’t Grady in this moment. He’s Forsaken’s sergeant-at-arms. I don’t fight him as he pushes me up against the wall and cages me in. This isn’t how I imagined it for so many years, where Grady would get a fucking clue, realize he’s in love with me, want me as much as I want him, and tell me how we’re going to be together.
But then he met Holly Mercer. He stopped calling me when his body needed me. No, not me—when his body needed somebody. He stopped engaging in bullshit conversations. He stopped being him. It was the final nail in the coffin, and I had to stop being me. And it hurt. It still hurts. And I’m not so much as angry at him as I am angry at myself. I spent a decade trying to be who I thought he wanted me to be. I toughened myself up. I shut down all those silly, girly fears and feelings I used to have. My father molded me into his perfect little tomboy, and Grady fine-tuned me into his perfect biker bitch. I should have learned with my dad because he left every woman he ever met—including me—and yet I still believed Grady would finally appreciate the woman I’ve become. He didn’t, and I’m the idiot who’s left standing here, hating herself for letting the men in her life determine who she is.
“We got a problem here?” Shit. He looks angry. His voice doesn’t vibrate and the muscles in his neck aren’t strained, so he can’t be too angry.
“I don’t know. Do we?”
“Quit being such a bitch and we won’t.” He snarls, getting right up in my face.
My body relaxes, and I let out a breath. The next thing I know I’m laughing. I can’t make sense of my reaction, and I don’t try. This is the first fucking fight we’ve ever had about my attitude, and of course it happens after there’s no longer a we—not that there ever really was a we so much as there was just two consenting adults hiding their physical relationship. We’ve fought plenty about his being a control freak—or, as he’d say it, we’ve fought plenty about me poking my nose into club business. God. The more I think about how he is, the more I want to stab him in the eyes with a pair of spoons. The brothers are all a bunch of assholes who expect anyone who’s not patched to see everything, report what’s important, not ask questions, and keep their fucking mouth shut. Well, fuck them and fuck their bullshit. That goddamn patch fucks all our shit up, and they have the nerve to expect us to just sit on the sidelines and wait to be rescued—something they’ve been doing a bang-up job of lately.
“Are you fucking laughing?” Now he’s incredulous. What an asshat.
“Why don’t you stomp off and pull your macho bullshit with that bitch you’ve got at home?”
I’ve never been good at the whole keeping-my-mouth-shut thing.
Oh well.
“What did you just say?” Very slowly, his right hand leaves the wall beside my head, and he places it over my throat. He’s not squeezing and he’s not going to hurt me. I don’t give a shit what the outcome is, but if he clamps down, he’s going to have to kill me to stop me from killing him first.
“We both know you’re just pissed because I’m not falling all over your precious Holly like everybody else is. You can’t tell me I’m disrespecting you in front of your brothers, because it’s just us here. I walked away and didn’t start shit with you. You’re the one who stopped me and wants to talk. You just don’t like what I have to say.”
“That what this attitude is about? This about Holly?”
He doesn’t move his hand, but his eyes look like they clear somehow. It’s like the rage that settled in is gone and he’s back to being a normal person—well, as normal as he ever is. I can’t look at him, not with me caged in like this. He’ll see the truth in my eyes. If I look at him, he’s going to know everything I can’t bear to tell him.
“Fuck,” he whispers and lifts his hand from my neck to cup my cheek. He tips my face back so I’m stuck looking at him. “Babe. We need to talk about this?”
“Talk about what?” Playing stupid doesn’t work with him, but it’s better than being honest.
“Yeah, we gotta talk,” he says quietly. “What we were was friends who were convenient. Did I ever promise you more than a good time?”
I stay silent.
“Answer me.”
“No, you never promised me anything,” I say. I’m tense from head to toe, dying on the inside, wishing I could escape.
“If you wanted more, you should have said something. Not gonna lie, babe. I don’t know if it could’ve worked between us, but I would’ve tried if you had asked for it.”
> Why in the hell is he being nice now? Why is he trying to make me feel better? He’s moved on. Now I have to figure out how to move on, and this shit is not fucking helping. I know him too well to presume he’ll stop without getting what he wants first. So as painful as it is, I give it to him.
“I didn’t know,” I say.
“Know what?” His brows pull together in confusion.
“I didn’t know you could fall in love.” Once the words have left my mouth, I regret them. His lips work in a silent frenzy like he’s trying to say something but can’t figure out what. Seeing him like this flips on some kind of chatty switch in my brain, and I can’t shut up even though I desperately want to.
“I thought after Layla that this is just who you are. I thought you were broken and I was getting as much of you as anyone ever would. I thought I meant something to you. I thought you were worth it. But then Holly came along, and it was suddenly so obvious. You’re not broken or dead inside—it just wasn’t me. It was never going to be me, and I don’t know why, but it doesn’t matter, because now that I’m looking at you—really looking at you—I know that you’re not it for me either.”
I stand in place, wide-eyed and stunned by my own realization. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest, which feels wonderful. But then there’s this sharp pain that feels like my heart’s being ripped out at the same time.
“Wow,” I say and close my eyes. It takes a few breaths before I feel him leave me. Heavy boots stomp on the pavement, sounding like a wild caravan about to pass me. I open my eyes just in time to see Wyatt, Ryan, and Diesel approaching. Crap, I bet they heard us. Diesel stops in front of me, letting Wyatt and Ryan walk in without him, and turns to face me.