Dirty Salvation (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 1)

by V. Theia

  He could give a shit about his appearance. Who did he need to look good for anyway? Club bitches bent over for him regardless.

  Next, he followed it with a t-shirt that was slung over a chair, he stomped back into his boots, the only things he'd bothered to remove along with his cut.

  He was angry. One look at her and he'd needed to stroke it out of himself or rush her, driving her down to the floor and rut like a disgusting animal.

  The VP could just imagine how that would fucking go. He'd be riddled with bullets in seconds.

  The little bit of a thing would surely get him killed.

  Wearing his menacing glower when he walked out of his room, shrugging into a fleece lined leather jacket he zipped to his chin. The raging climax had done nothing for his mood if anything he was wound tighter.

  Tighter still when he caught sight of her laughing with Capone. The two had their heads bent and Hawk saw fucking Red.

  Killer Red.

  To execute his brother for daring to stand so close to the little bit of a thing.

  She tossed her head back, the remnants of her laugh still present on her clean face, not a smudge of makeup as far as he could tell, and her black hair in soft messy waves halfway down her back.

  So friendly, open, giving of her time.

  The hair he pictured grasping from behind while he growled for her to open her legs for him and to take it like his good girl. Shut the hell up, you don't touch her. If only he could listen to himself. Too far down that rabbit hole, wrapped in an unhealthy addiction, Hawk’s dark cloud followed him to the door, shoulders tense he needed out of the club, to go into town, find a bar, get drunk, choke a waitress into an orgasm before he lost all sense and killed Capone for talking to Gia.

  A few more steps and he'd be gone, out of sight, safe from her.

  Gia. Fucks sake. Hawk always knew he was an animal.

  Just a few more steps. He kept on prowling.

  Maybe it was fate that had them both looking the same way right before he stepped out into the hallway. Gia’s eyebrow rose in question, watching him. She mouthed are you okay? Hawk scowled at her and carried on.

  Ignoring how his dick ached. She had to remain a skeleton in his closet, the one pushed furthest towards the back.

  Of all things Hawk had done in his life, the downright evil and filthy, the man with no conscious was keeping a very dark secret, one that most definitely would get him killed.

  A Little bit of a girl. So pristine. So clean.

  Rider’s baby fucking sister.

  Off limits wasn’t new to him.

  No fucking wonder he was scowling

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “You do what you have to, son if it means bending a few laws you know it’s for the club.” - Uncle Jed

  Business was good. Business was great at least here in the mountains. But still, Rider had a shit ton on his mind while he sat his desk in the small cabin office just off from the bike shop. It was frigid cold, he could see his breath in the air when he exhaled on a sigh, he needed another space heater in here before he dropped dead of hypothermia. But the clubhouse had been too noisy for him to think when he’d woke up so he’d trampled over here before any real work would be done that day, he still had four hogs to work on before the day was out.

  Long tapered fingers drummed on a pile of invoices that needed chasing up for payments, he wouldn’t tell Zara he’d found them stuffed inside a drawer under a pile of protein bars Texas loved to chew on, he didn’t know why 'cause they tasted like cardboard dipped in sheep shit, the bills were probably from months ago, she’d only just caught up with all their backlog, he quietly left them on the desk she used, as his office manager she’d find them eventually and hopefully deal with it without scowling at him for ignoring the paperwork for so long, though her upturned lip was cute as fuck and he could use it as an excuse to fuck her over her the desk again.

  He dragged both hands through his hair letting go of an inhale. His mind was truly occupied if he couldn’t get lost in a sex fantasy or two.

  Business was draining some days and exhilarating the next. Outlaws were notoriously famous for preferring the rough and the illegal parts of their lives. One percenter's didn’t only straddle the line of the law, they more often than not stepped their boot over it. Rider liked making money, he loved his club, every chapter of it, thriving and when it wasn’t the shit weighed heavy on his shoulders. No president wanted their branch to close due to lack of funding and if he could prevent it, without scattering good men across into other chapters, then he went above and beyond.

  Rider had come a long way from the dreamer he'd been. But he'd known one day he'd get here, it wasn't an option not to. He'd known one day he would be the president of the mother chapter of the Renegade Souls. And not just that, he'd be the president that dragged the MC's sorry ass into the twenty-first century.

  Long before his prospect days, when he was just a young boy no longer wet behind the ears, the club had well and truly opened his eyes to what MC life was all about, waiting eagerly to patch in for his club and family, Rider saw how opportunities were not being utilized to their fullest potential.

  The thing with the older members, they never did like change, they wanted to ride, have booze and pussy on tap and they were happy fat old men, not caring if the club brought in a dime. No ambition what-so-fucking-ever.

  Rider's ideas had sat dormant until he was in a position to put change into practice. As a prospect he hadn't held a voice, you follow orders without question, he’d cleaned toilets until his fingers bled, ran errands, stayed up nights guarding old ladies. It was the prospect life and he’d done everything asked of him knowing what he was aspiring to, only Hawk had shared in his plans.

  As a VP he had held more sway, but the then president still wasn't in favor of turning their outlaw operation into something legitimate on the outside to make more money than a few meager fucking dollars.

  The last president had liked the bad reputation the club had. Fucking moron.

  He'd waited, making contacts, laying the groundwork, ideas growing. Rider had wanted a real business, a whole fucking fleet of businesses. Cutting out the dead wood had taken longer than he'd estimated but he'd got there. He was surrounded by his boys he trusted to death, all on his same page. It would take longer to drag the Souls reputation out of the mud the previous bosses had dug it into, but since Rider wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon, he had time to turn things around.

  To help build the other chapters.

  It had been Rider who had brought about evolution from within his ranks, Texas came along by chance with his help and a savvy eye for investments the finances had begun to swing in the right direction. Next he'd recruited Preacher, a hard worn ex-veteran who didn't trust a fucking soul, had looked at this young club President like he'd sprouted a third head, but he'd been sponsored by Grinder and silently followed his plans just to see what the fuck he was doing, taking to his bike as road captain, scouting out businesses for Rider and after a while even Preacher, the great loner nomad since leaving the military who had wanted that same brotherhood again placed his trust in Rider.

  Within a year the club owned five bike shops dotted around Colorado earned with the illegal money they made from weed. The day the club could sustain the kinda money the smoke made he would happily let it go. He kept stock low, only sold out of the city, never within his own territories, all his chapters followed the same rule, you don't shit where you eat.

  Survival was a hard bitch.

  The club was going to survive.

  He'd make sure of that.

  There were smarter ways to run a business than dancing so close to the line but it got the job done. It was anarchy if even outlaws didn't have some rules. For the first time in thirty years, the Renegade Souls were not only making a profit, it was fucking flourishing.

  And if they pushed those nice clean dollars into something felonious then all the greater for the Souls pockets to fa
tten.

  It was all about the turnaround and how fast Rider could do it.

  It took a lot of cash to keep them going. A little under the table illegal never hurt any outlaw, really.

  He was unyielding as fuck though no guns, no hard drugs, and no selling sex of any kind.

  Anything else was free rein if it made them a dollar.

  Under the radar, the Renegade Souls had funded pawn shops, their own loan shark business, and then there were the bookies. All perfectly profitable illegal businesses shrouded in clean. To the outside world, the Renegade Soul MC was all above board, stand up citizens paying their taxes, even if they were still dragging with them the reputation of old..and that’s how Rider liked his outlaw status.

  It was so much easier to be on the up and up with folk not knowing a thing.

  Rider had gotten so close to skirting the law he was even acquaintances with the local sheriff. Charlie wasn’t dumb, he knew what was going down, most of the time as long as Rider pumped money back into the community the good sheriff turned a blind eye to things spilling over on his turf not because he was afraid of Rider, or that Rider was flaunting his crimes, the opposite, Charlie wanted the best for his patch, him and Rider had that in common, and as hard as the law looked into Rider's club they could never find anything to stick for long.

  If they got away with the Rebel's fire ... that was something else on his mind, though they'd heard nothing about it for days he still had his ear to the ground for any whispers that were coming his club's way.

  As tight as Rider’s ship was, shit sometimes became public, you couldn’t beat a man half to death and break his legs dumping him onto Main street from a moving vehicle for not handing over his loan repayments on time and not have some backwash come at you when the little weasel sang like a canary.

  To the Armado Springs community, his club was a Harley aficionados MC who just had a bad reputation through no fault of their own. Of course, individuals who crossed them knew the hard truth but fortunately for them, they weren’t flapping their gums to shed light on the Souls. A reputation, as he knew, was often harsher than the truth. Word of mouth and people knew not to mess with him or his boys.

  It took a lot of brainpower, steel determination and a fist of fucking rock to drag a dying club out of the Red and into something bigger, better that profited on the regular.

  Truly fucking exhausting some days.

  All down to Rider and his loyal men. If he was getting sprinkles of gray in his hair, he could lay blame to his lifestyle. No outlaw was decent enough for a good night’s sleep.

  "You look’n tired, boy" A white nondescript mug came at him from the left and Rider grasped it, casting a look sideways at his uncle who perched against the desk.

  He pointed to a chair so the old man would park it, his bones were not getting any younger

  "I'm good. You should head back in, it's too cold out here for you."

  His uncle snorted, sipping his own black coffee. "The day a bit of chill in the air bothers me, son, is the day you can plant me under the tomato bush Helen keeps watering even though it hasn't bloomed one damn thing all season. And now I gave you a minute to avoid, you wanna tell me what's got you pensive today?"

  Rider smiled.

  Jed had always been in his shit, always the one to check things were good with him, yacking his ear off on nights he'd rather not talk. He was closer to Jed than most of his blood family. With a spike of white hair once jet black, his Tee pulled tight against his chest and arms, a pair of ray ban aviators always hooked in the collar no matter the season, no one would assume Jed was nearly seventy.

  "Thinking 'bout expansion."

  "You got ideas for Nebraska dontcha?" His uncle was perceptive. Rider admired he never had to dumb shit down for him to understand.

  Last reports from the Lincoln president was their chapter wasn't doing so good moneywise. Wasn't surprising since they only had one real business to speak of with the auto repair, and even that was flagging way under its potential. He made a rumbled hmmm noise, slurping his drink not really tasting the hot coffee.

  "I'm thinking of having Red Light take a trip through, he's stationed in Kansas right now, but you know the turnaround he did for their chapter, fuck, from what Mason says he wants to marry Red Light to make sure he sticks around."

  Jed chuckled.

  "The boy has the magic touch with engines same as his daddy did. Don’t think he’d accept a ring from Mason, no matter how big that rock was. Pity his wandering spirit can't stay still for more than five minutes, he could have his own Trump Towers if he applied himself."

  Rider agreed.

  Even since he'd met Red Light ... the name given to him because he didn't believe in stopping for very long ... he'd known the nomad wouldn't patch for the mother charter, though he would have loved to have him around on a daily basis, Jed wasn't wrong, Red Light was a fucking magician, almost as if cars repaired themselves under his touch, and his custom designs for bikes were always in demand among their crew.

  The bike Rider owned was built from the ground up by Red Light and she was a dream to ride.

  "I doubt anything will get him to settle in one place longer than a few months ... fortunately we still benefit from what he does. Nebraska needs something before it sinks without hope, and H wants him there like yesterday. I told him to let me think on it. Maybe send Preacher with him..."

  Silence. And then.

  "You think that wise? what with what happened the last time they were both in the same place at the same time? I mean, how much bail money you got lying around these days?"

  Rider stood, stretched his aching spine. Hated sitting behind this desk trying to make paperwork seem like it was fun. It was not fucking fun. At all. Ever. Thank god, he'd taken Zara on as his office manager, she loved playing with numbers, crazy…she seemed to truly love it.

  As for Red Light and Preacher. Fuck. Jed was right, but that was a headache for another day. "They can get over it, club comes first."

  His mind was made up; the decision would be taken to church for the vote. He'd then call the nomad and ask him to take a trip to Lincoln, check out what they needed to make a turnover profit worth counting this year.

  If Rider left it to the yearly annual get together with all the clubs coming together for an end of year blowout, then the Nebraska chapter might very well be forced to close, sending their members across the country to patch in elsewhere if they even decided to stay on, some didn't and that was a sorry shame.

  Before that happened, reluctant to have his club dwindle even one chapter while the other meagre chapters of Rebels were still in some sort of shape to hit back what with the cocksucker Hades' out there somewhere, he needed to keep them going, even if it meant pumping fucking cash down to Lincoln from his own pocket.

  Fuck. He sighed, ran both hands through his hair, he could feel a headache trying to push through the back of his skull, reaching into the desk drawer he pulled out a half packet of tums, tossing four into his mouth on a loud crunch, if his head didn't explode first then surely the ulcer brewing his gut would get him.

  The life of a fucking president. It wasn't all glamorous.

  He stood to his full ropey height, left the empty cup on his overflowing paperwork strewn desk, scowling at it one last time.

  Zara’s problem now, and if she blamed Texas for its existence. Rider grinned slyly, he'd toss his brother under that bus no problem.

  "C'mon, old man, chow time. Tiny’s making some fancy shit eggs today, saw it on the food network, to get your gums around. Let's head back."

  Zara had been helping his brother there as well.

  She was becoming a part of them. Perfect old lady.

  The dark thought made him smile.

  Jed chuckled and followed him out, giving a shrewd smirk Rider's way as he matched his long stride. Jed might be one of the senior members now, having been there on day one of the RS conception, but he could keep up with the young kids ... even if his
arthritis was killing him and that was something Rider worried about, not that the old man would slow down. Rider saw every time he winced if he grabbed onto something too quickly with his gnarled fingers, but he never pointed it out to the old man, he was too prideful for that to have his nephew know he was in pain.

  "Dontcha mean you wanna get your eyes all over your girl, what's it been, an hour since ya seen her? Ah, can’t beat young love, son. Enjoy it while it lasts, then they all turn into my old lady with the nagging. But..I still get a boner every time I see my Helen." he laughed again and waved to the boys who were trudging over to begin working at the shop, who waved back.

  Rider just smiled. His uncle wasn't wrong. His addiction to Zara now he had her taste back in his mouth was growing by the fucking day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Stake your fuckin’ claim on my cock, Icy. It’s yours.” – Rider

  It had been a flying visit with his sister. She needed to get back to her psychotherapist practice. As usual, Gia poked her cute nose into his business, why she couldn’t have used the phone and asked him what was going on his life, he didn’t know, but he’d been happy to see his baby sister. Because of the animosity with his father, the times between visits with the family he did like were few and short between.

  “You love her?” she’d asked him when he’d dropped her off at the airport to head back to her job and life in Texas, he absolutely should have left her at the door instead of waiting at the gate with her, he could have avoided her Marinos inquisition. He didn’t need to ask which her Gia was talking about since she hadn’t shut up about Zara for the entire twenty-four hours she’d been in town.

  He was a secure alpha-guy enough in his feelings to be able to admit to his sister he was in love.

  That wasn’t enough for her. She’d pressed on. “Are you making her your old lady?” Gia might not be in the club life and he was glad of it, he didn’t want his sister with someone like him, but she knew how it worked, knew making someone your old lady meant he was in for the long haul.