METTLE
A SPARTAN RIDERS NOVEL
by J.C. VALENTINE
METTLE
A Spartan Riders Novel
By J.C. Valentine
Smashwords Edition
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METTLE: A Spartan Riders Novel by J.C. Valentine
Copyright © 2016 by J.C. Valentine
Cover design by Sara Eirew
Edited by Mitzi Carroll
METTLE is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offence to the content, as it is FICTION.
Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademark status in this work of fiction. The publications and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Books by
J.C. VALENTINE
Night Calls
Stranded
That First Kiss
Surrender to Love
Trust
Wayward Fighters
Knockout
Tapout
unDefeated
Blue Collar
Sweetest Temptations
Noel: A Blue Collar Christmas
Forbidden
Dance for Me
Lie to You
Fall for Him
Forbidden Valentine
Spartan Riders
Grit
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Talia McKinnon said goodbye to love the day she signed the divorce papers and moved across the country looking for a fresh start. With work occupying her days and nights, a relationship is the last thing on her mind, until a run-in with a hot-as-Hades, leather-clad biker changes her mind. He’s everything she shouldn’t want but has to have. The problem is, he’s not that easy to catch.
Tucker “Country” Abrams believes in two things: brotherhood and women. He takes his job seriously and his women hard, but at the end of the day, the only loyalty he has is to his club. So when a night with a beautiful stranger threatens to change everything, he’s quick to apply the brakes. But when time reveals that Talia may be much more than a one-night stand, Tucker is tasked with an impossible decision. Will he push her away, or get closer to her than every woman before her?
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
What to say…So much has happened since I typed END on this book. Life threw me one hell of a curveball, and even now, I am having a hard time seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. But I will say this, I am so grateful for the outpouring of support I’ve received. For those in the know—my editor, my assistant, my friends old and new—THANK YOU will never be enough for all of your encouragement and support. I struggle every day, but every message and every kind word you send my way helps a little more toward making me feel better than I did the day before. This book wouldn’t even be available right now if it wasn’t for the hard work of my assistant and friend, Mia, who has seriously stepped up and done the hard work in making sure everything is where it needs to be to take those final few steps. I would be lost without you, lady. Truly.
PROLOGUE
Several weeks ago…
“One of our agents in the field has gone dark. We suspect they’ve been compromised.”
“When was the last time they were heard from?”
“It’s been more than a week without a check-in, but that’s not the concern,” the special agent in charge added when he read the look on his agent’s face.
“How do we know the agent isn’t dead? What if their cover was blown?”
The SAC ran stubby fingers through his oily hair, cringing at the feeling. He’d been at it for two straight days, fielding calls and pushing papers, all concerning the disappearance of one of his workers. This wasn’t good. Worse, they suspected a leak. Didn’t take much of a leap to know who might be behind it.
“The cover wasn’t blown, that’s one thing we’re sure on.”
The agent sat forward, interest in their eyes. “Surveillance?”
“Better. We placed a second agent on the ground, and they’re in deep enough to have a finger on the pulse of the operations. Says the agent in question is fully enmeshed in the club. Doesn’t go anywhere alone. Coupled with the radio silence, we can only assume the worst.”
The agent nodded. Rubbing their hands on their pant legs, they looked at the SAC with an eagerness to please that he was proud to see. “Send me in.”
“It’s not that easy—”
“Sir, send me in. I can do this.”
“This is a tough case. It’s going to take you far from home. I’m not sure if you’re ready—”
“Sir, this is what I have been training for. My whole career had been building up to this moment, and I’ve got nothing to lose. There’s nothing tying me here. Let me at least try. I want to make a difference, and these women that are being kidnapped right off the street, torn away from their families, need me. Please, let me prove that I can do this.”
Human trafficking. It wasn’t anything new in the world, to be sure, but it was new to their community. A plague that he intended to see wiped off the map, if he had anything to say about it. If the agent could pull this off, if they could get the lead they needed to shut down the operations and get those women home, it would be something for the record books. It was a career-making case, which was why everyone wanted in on it. Half the department had come begging on his doorstep when the case file had first landed on his desk nine months ago, making it difficult to know who to choose, who was right for the job.
He’d thought he’d made the perfect choice: young, fresh, good-looking. Exactly what the Spartan Riders club looked for when they were recruiting fresh blood.
Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Now he was interviewing replacements, looking to send in yet another innocent soul that would likely get chewed up and spit out by that group of hooligans. But what else could he do? Getting personally involved wasn’t an option. This was his job, these people weren’t his friends, and he wasn’t going to play favorites.
“This could very well be the last case you ever work, do you understand that?”
“I understand the dangers, sir. Send me in.”
He considered it for the span of another heartbeat. A second. Third. Then sighed deeply, resigned. “We’ll do everything in our power to keep eyes and ears on you at all times, but,” he said, raising his voice when the agent’s entire face lit with excitement, “there are no guarantees. The hard work is going to fall on your shoulders. You have to figure out the way in yourself, then you have to figure out how to stay in. Find your mark and play it for all it’s worth.”
“I will, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“Forget about me. Don’t you let those families down.”
The agent looked properly shamed, eyes downcast but no less eager to get started. “No, sir. I’ll do my best, you have my word.”
He grun
ted. Only time would tell. Rapping his knuckles on the arm of his chair, he said, “You’re dismissed. Make sure to go downstairs and let them know you’re on the case. They’ll take care of you, get you a plane ticket, make sure you have everything you need to get started.” Namely a backstory, some cash, proper identification, a car, a place to stay. Things the agent would need to build a false life that would hold up under inspection.
The agent nodded but made no attempt to leave.
“You have something you need to say?”
“Sir…” The agent hesitated. “Who was the agent? The one that went dark?”
He scowled. “That’s classified.”
“I understand that, sir, but how am I supposed to know who to look out for if I don’t know?”
“That’s exactly the point. If you don’t know, then you won’t be tempted. Keeping your identity protected is the number one concern while you’re in there. Knowing who the other agent is will only serve as a distraction we can’t afford. So just focus on the mission. Get in, get what we need, and get out.” With that said, he dismissed the agent from his office once again, and when he was finally alone, he slumped back in his chair, filled with worry.
His gaze strayed to the door, thinking of the agent who’d just left, as well as the one he’d likely never see walk back through, and felt an overpowering sense of defeat crash down on his shoulders.
He only hoped that this time he’d gotten it right; otherwise, God help them all.
ONE
Tucker had the utmost respect for women. His mother was one, after all. He loved everything about them—their soft curves, their gentle touch, their delicate features, and most of all, their backs. More specifically, he loved when they were on them. Legs open, wet, and ready for invasion.
As a man, Tucker had never had a problem getting a woman to spread for him. As a patched member of the Spartan Riders and Sargent at Arms at that, he had even less of a problem. Females were practically dropping from the sky like some kind of biblical plague to get between his sheets, but that didn’t mean they stayed there long.
That didn’t mean they didn’t try, though.
Take “Bambi” for example. She was a sweet girl, possessed all the attributes he liked about a woman. Young, beautiful, sexy…and dumb as a box of rocks.
Used to be that he didn’t mind that sort of thing. The fewer the brains, the quicker he got to fuck them. But Bambi had overstayed her welcome. His fault, totally. Blake, the Spartan’s president, had warned him that fresh meat tended to stick, and being that Bambi was a brand new bunny, and he’d been the first to break her in, she was sticking to him like crazy glue.
He probably shouldn’t have spent so much time alone with her.
Probably shouldn’t have been so nice either.
Probably shouldn’t have taken her out for ice cream after laying down the pipe so hard.
Hell, that private trip for two up on the open road probably hadn’t done him any favors either.
Now that he thought about it, he probably shouldn’t have put her on the back of his bike at all. It tended to give mixed signals.
Especially since the bitch seat was technically reserved for ol’ ladies.
And an ol’ lady he did not want.
Like, ever.
There was nothing wrong with having a woman to come home to every night, to cook and clean and raise up the kids, but Tucker “Country” Abrams didn’t want any of that.
He liked his freedom, and he liked his pussy like he liked his ice cream: sweet, creamy, and in all thirty-one flavors. Being tied to one person for the rest of his life wasn’t exactly exciting, and Tucker lived for excitement. It was the main reason he signed up for the military when he turned eighteen. He’d made a career out of the service, working his way up the ranks until he reached Special Operations Forces where he was given the lead, and his full potential was realized.
Then his father had his first stroke, and he answered a new call. Taking care of him hadn’t been easy, especially after the second stroke. Sickness like that stripped away any shred of dignity a person had left. His final days were spent in a way that Tucker prayed never happened to him. He’d put a bullet in his head if it came down to it before he’d let that happen.
With SOF behind him and not interested in becoming an officer or firefighter or any other type of city service professional, he hadn’t known what to do with himself. So, he’d drifted for a time, doing miscellaneous jobs to earn a few bucks to keep the lights on. It was a meaningless existence. Then he ran into the Spartans, asked the right questions, and he found himself on a new path.
The best part about being in the club was he got to do the two things he loved best: fuck and play. Being the Sargent meant he still got to put his tactical training to use—kept the mind sharp. And now, with the club looking toward a possible war in its near future, that meant he was razor sharp.
“I’m bored.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over lacing his boots, Tucker grunted. “Then go find something to do.”
“There’s nothing to do around here, except…”
He felt the little nubs of Bambi’s fingertips walk up his back, her ragged nails catching on the fabric. “I’m headin’ out in five. I’m sure one of the girls can find somethin’ for you to stay occupied while I’m gone.”
“But all they do is clean. Besides,” she said as she drew up onto her knees, her arms tying around his shoulders, “I’d rather be here with you.”
Her meaning was clear. “I just spent the whole morning with you. Now I got shit to do.” He was being a dick, he knew that, especially since he was the only one between the two of them who knew she’d worn out her welcome. Again, totally his fault. He’d fostered the false connection because she was a sweet piece of easy tail and he’d been too busy running recon for Quick, the Spartan’s president, to put in the time and effort for a fresh piece.
“You’re so grumpy lately,” Bambi complained. Using his back as leverage, she shoved away and rolled onto her feet on the opposite side of the bed.
Fuck. She was pissed, and when bunnies got pissed, shit got busted. Combing his fingers through his hair, Tucker blew out a long, drawn out breath and prepared to issue a lackluster apology that would result in a—hopefully—clean break. The last thing he wanted or needed was drama. He tried hard to keep that shit out of his life.
Glancing over his shoulder, Tucker saw that she was pulling on one of his t-shirts. His favorite “I Am A Worst Case Scenario” t-shirt to be exact. It was a nod at his SF skills, highlighting his sarcastic and completely witty sense of humor. Fuck if he was going to let her walk out with it.
“Excuse, darlin’, but I’m gonna have ta ask ya’ to hand over the shirt.”
Pausing with it halfway down her trim thighs, her hair mussed and her pussy on full display, Tucker couldn’t deny that she was hot. His dick twitched his appreciation. “Are you kidding me?”
He’d let her wear his shit before, but that was when he thought it was cute and knew he was coming back for more. Only a fool let a woman near his prized possessions moments before a breakup. That’s how shit ended up in a pile on the front lawn covered in gasoline. “It’s my favorite.” He made a face. She made a face back.
With an impatient huff, Bambi ripped the shirt over her head and threw it in his face. He captured it, withholding an appreciative smile as he watched her tits bounce back into place.
After that, Bambi dressed quickly, spouting off at the mouth with each article of clothing she put on, but Tucker tuned her out. He didn’t need to listen to her nonsense when it had no bearing on his future.
Shrugging his shoulder holster on, followed by his cut, followed by his jacket, Tucker motioned toward the door for her to go first. Every one of her steps were packed full of attitude, the kind that women threw at men they considered theirs as a means of punishment. But what Bambi didn’t realize was that he wasn’t her man, and he wasn’t playing her games. He was a free b
ird, and no amount of silent treatment was going to get under his skin. In fact, if she didn’t say another word, he’d be just fine.
He waited until they were outside his room and the door was locked before letting her down easy. “Thanks for the lay, babe. This is where we part ways.”
Her mouth opened, and she looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Did you…just break up with me?”
He flashed her a placating smile and bussed her cheek. “That’d require us to have been datin’.”
She jerked her head back in offense, and he could practically see the thoughts churning behind those glittering brown eyes. “I thought that’s what we were doing. The picnic, dinner, riding together.” Her voice wobbled a bit, and Tucker cursed inwardly.
She was a crier.
Tucker fancied himself a gentleman, and it wasn’t as if he was completely heartless. Taking pity on her, he softened his voice and reached up to brush a hand over her apple cheek, but before he could get that far, she slapped him away.
“Fuck you, Country!” Her eyes grew misty, and she shoved both hands against his chest, barely moving him. “You bastard. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for your lines!”
What lines? All he’d told her was that she had a nice ass that he’d like to tap and then took her by the wrist and led her to his room. If that was a line, then he was seriously on-point.
“Well, no more! I hope you enjoyed yourself, because that”—she jabbed a finger at the closed door behind him—“was the last time you’ll ever touch any of this.” She ran her hands down her body, then whirled around, her long, sex-tangled hair smacking him across the face.
“Take care,” he called out, a small smile creasing his cheeks.
Marching away, her hand shot up, her middle finger taking center stage over her right shoulder. Tucker just shook his head. That had been easier than he expected. Being in a club packed full of enough testosterone to fill the Grand Canyon, Tucker had seen his fair share of falling-outs among the brothers and their women. They’d replaced doors, windows, beds, and a ton of general furniture sprinkled around the common area. As far as he was concerned, he’d gotten off easy.
Mettle: (Spartan Riders #2) Page 1