Scooter

by Marie James

  Table of Contents

  Scooter

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Synopsis:

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Social Media Links

  OTHER BOOKS FROM MARIE JAMES

  Scooter

  Cerberus MC Book 11

  Marie James

  Copyright

  Scooter: Cerberus MC Book 11

  Copyright © 2019 Marie James

  Editing by Marie James Betas

  EBooks are not transferrable. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgments

  Huge shout out this time around to the #1 man in my life! My dear, sweet husband, you are amazing! Thank you for making my dreams come true and supporting me relentlessly from day one. This wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t for your support!

  My amazing BETAs, you ladies are the absolute best! Laura, MaRanda, Brenda, Jamie, Michelle, and Jo thank you so much for the help on this book! Mary, you amaze me each and every time we work together! Thank you for your help and all of your support through this process!

  Laura Watson! Thank you! You keep my head on right. I couldn’t do this without you!

  Another shout out to RRR Promotions and Natasha for helping get this book out into the world. As always, you nailed it!

  A million thank yous to Wildfire PR for helping get this together.

  Readers, I can’t even begin to tell you what you mean to me. Without you, I’d have no reason to write these books. Thanks for your continued support of the Cerberus MC!

  Until next time!

  ~Marie James

  Synopsis:

  I’m no one’s savior.

  I work with the Cerberus MC for the thrills, not for the glory.

  Saving people who’ve been trafficked is just a side benefit, coming in second to the adrenaline rush of eradicating some of the evil in the world.

  Mia Vazquez didn’t seem to get the memo.

  When I pulled her out of Hell, she wouldn’t let go. She literally wrapped her arms around my neck and refused to release me.

  I did the only thing I could do; I held her back.

  For weeks I stayed by her side, comforting her and assuring her things would eventually get better.

  She managed to climb inside of me, and then she took off.

  Mia Vazquez didn’t get the memo.

  She’s mine, and letting go of me doesn’t mean I’ll let go of her.

  Prologue

  Scooter

  This mission is personal.

  I hate when shit gets personal.

  I love my job, and I love working for Cerberus, but things get squirrelly when emotions are involved.

  Emotions complicate everything. They leave room for mistakes, and since my ass is on the line this morning, it’s making me itchy. Today has to go well, not just for me and the other men putting their lives in danger to shut down Luis Jiménez but also for the women he’s entrapped in his Miami compound.

  So, I do my best to get my head in the game. This can’t be personal for me. This is just another mission to help rid the world of some piece of shit scum who thinks he rules the world with no oversight.

  He took the wrong girl this time, and for Max Vazquez, it’s personal. His sister is thought to be inside, and as Max looks on from the command center a few miles away, we breach the compound.

  This is a mission like every one before it, I remind myself as I follow behind Jinx.

  This isn’t personal for me. I’ve let that thought run through my head over and over. Dead girls in places like this aren’t uncommon, and even though everyone is holding out hope that today’s invasion is different, we all know in the back of our minds that there’s a good chance Mia Vazquez will be added to the body count.

  She’s been gone for seven weeks, and it doesn’t take long for men like Jiménez and his crew to ruin the women they abduct. These girls are used up and replaced like a carton of milk in a preschool.

  “Forty-five seconds,” Shadow says. “Godspeed, guys.”

  The familiar voice in my ear steadies me, and my mind goes blank, only leaving room for the main objective.

  My trigger finger twitches, anxious to engage, but doing so prematurely would only lead to havoc.

  We’re on the first four guards at the entrance before their brains can register we’re there, and they go down with barely a whoosh of air as their villainous lives are snuffed out.

  Like alley cats searching for prey, we make our way closer to the compound. I fan out with Jinx, Rocker, and Hound as the other guys split off to the other side of the compound. We studied the schematics of this place with laser focus, and we all have our separate goals.

  Taking down the semi-automatic-toting guards is child’s play as we split again. Jinx and Hound head into the rooms they’re responsible for, and I clear mine.

  More shots ring out around me, but by this point in my career, they don’t even phase me. Unless I get hit, those noises aren’t my concern.

  “What the fuck?” Jinx hisses.

  Another shot echoes through the compound, this one closer, heard with my own ears rather than through the mic.

  “He was fucking a gash in her side,” Jinx says.

  “That was Miguel ‘Toro’ Montoya,” Shadow says into his mic from the command room. “Keep moving, Jinx.”

  “Sick fuck,” I mutter as I delve deeper through the compound.

  A guy, too drunk to be carrying a weapon, stumbles out into the hallway, but I drop him before he can raise his rifle.

  “Piece of shit,” I mutter as I put another bullet between his eyes and step over his body.

  Like most jobs we’re tasked with, there’s a kill order on every man in this place. If they even look at us wrong, we’re ordered to drop them. So, unless they’re literally on their knees waving a little white flag, they’re as good as dead, and even with surrender, my finger might slip on the trigger. None of these guys deserve to live.

  I move silently, coming close to Rocker as he trains his gun down the hall in front of me. I release a low whistle, so he knows who’s behind him, but before he can acknowledge me, he g
oes down.

  “Rocker’s hit,” I report into my mic without so much as a hint of emotion.

  “Report,” Shadow demands.

  “H-hit my vest,” Rocker wheezes.

  “Lie low, Rocker. Let them finish this, and then we can get you out of there,” Shadow instructs.

  A whistle sounds out from behind me just as three guys round the corner. Without aim or care where they’re shooting, the hallway is sprayed with bullets, but Jinx and I are low, prepared for the idiots, and they fall just as hard as the scumbags before them.

  “Clear,” Hound reports, and Jinx and I do the same.

  “Guess you’re buying the drinks tonight,” I tell Rocker as I lean down to inspect the lead in his vest.

  He chuckles on another wheeze and smiles.

  “Asshole,” he grunts. “Get my ass out of here.”

  “Come on, man,” Jinx says as he joins us, holding out his hand for Rocker to clasp.

  Jinx and Rocker head back toward the front as I nudge open the last door in the hall. I have two Cerberus guys at my back as we enter, probably Hound and Grinch going by our entry points.

  The air in the room is stagnant and filled with the tangy scent of fear.

  No less than a dozen women are huddled together against the far wall. Like usual, they don’t squeal or scream, and it only lends to the fact that they have been tortured and beaten down for so long that even though they’re scared, the end doesn’t seem as daunting as it may have been the first time men rushed into this room.

  I search the room, letting my eyes roam over each and every one of them. My vision isn’t hampered in the dark room due to my night vision, but it’s times like this that I wish I couldn’t see at all. Shaking with fear, yet not making a noise, the women are covered in cuts, bruises, and clear evidence of their abuse.

  “Mia?” I say softly, looking toward a woman who has silent tears running down her face.

  She’s filthy and trembling, holding a bandaged arm against her chest as she cowers further, no doubt praying that the floor will open up and transport her someplace else.

  “Scooter, do you have her?” Shadow asks.

  “Mia Vazquez?” I ask as I bend down closer to her.

  Although her features are the same, she looks like a ghost of the woman in the picture we were given before we got started tonight. She’s thinner, easily twenty pounds lighter, and the long, dark hair I stared at a little too long is tangled, and patches are missing. Dead eyes look back at me, and the poor girl is so filthy, she looks like she was forced to run through a muddy field.

  “I’m going to pick you up, Mia,” I tell her as I sling my rifle around to my back and reach out for her.

  She doesn’t freeze up or recoil when I lift her in my arms, but she doesn’t cling to me either. She’s dead weight in my arms as I carry her from Hell, weighing less than a sack of feathers.

  “I’m Ryan Gabhart,” I begin, hoping that my voice is calming. “I work for the Cerberus MC out of New Mexico. I’m thirty-four. I spent ten years in the Marine Corps before coming to work for these guys.”

  I walk slowly, tucking her head against my chest as we pass the dead men in the hallway.

  “I’m an only child. I hate pineapple on pizza, and I think men who hurt women should all die slow, painful deaths.”

  She wraps her arm around my neck and buries herself deeper into my chest. And for some reason, I do something I’ve never done while carrying a broken woman to safety—I hold her tighter, and I’m reluctant to let her go when we reach the medics outside.

  Chapter 1

  Scooter

  Waiting at the hospital as each woman is seen by medical staff and treated is the part I hate the most. It’s nearly impossible to keep your distance from what happened to them when it’s right in your face for hours afterward.

  “You gonna live?” I ask Rocker when he hobbles into the waiting room from being seen himself.

  He flips up his middle finger before falling unceremoniously into the chair beside me.

  “Getting shot always fucking sucks,” he grumbles as he moves and groans, unable to find a comfortable position.

  “That’s why I always aim not to get shot.” He huffs an incredulous laugh. “How many did you take?”

  “Three,” he answers. “All center mass.”

  “Thank fuck for top of the line Kevlar, am I right?”

  We fist bump, and he gives me a weak smile. Joking about getting shot is the only thing we can do. If we focus on the fact that if the shithead’s aim was a mere six inches higher, Rocker would be laid out on a slab in the morgue, we’d lose our minds. The fear would seep into us like cancer, making it impossible to continue doing what we do. I’ve seen great men succumb to the terror of getting killed while executing these types of jobs, and honestly, we’re all just one wicked thought away from it happening to us.

  That’s why Cerberus only recruits the best of the best. All members were once active Marines in their prime with commendations from their commanders and the ability to look death in the face and smile.

  That’s why sitting in the hospital waiting room is the worst part. These women give names and faces to the brutality we’re fighting against. It makes it dangerous for us.

  “Fuck,” I grumble as I stand.

  Rocker just chuckles as I walk away. He’s one of my closest friends in Cerberus, and he knows how this part makes me antsy.

  I roam the hospital, still geared up in combat gear minus the weapons. Nurses and doctors alike stare as I walk past them, but no one opens their mouths to tell me I need a pass or permission to travel the halls. Many stop and thank me for what we did today, and I merely answer them with a grunt and quick nod. I don’t do this for the praise, and even though it makes me an asshole, I didn’t join Cerberus with a clear focus on ridding the world of pieces of shit. I’m in it for the adrenaline rush and the thrill of the job. The women we rescue are just a bonus; the cherry on top of the adventure. At least for me, it’s always been that way.

  Shouts echo around me, and instead of standing there and watching the drama unfold like numerous people I pass, I head straight for the action.

  The screams get louder as I approach, and it isn’t until I’m standing in the doorway that I realize I’m in Mia Vazquez’s room. Max is sitting beside the bed, his mother and father clinging to each other as they both cry. A man I don’t recognize looks torn between going to her and running the hell away.

  Mia is so tiny on the hospital bed. Covered in bruises with a new dressing on her broken arm, she screams as she tries to ball herself up.

  “What the fuck?” I hiss as I push inside of the room.

  Her head snaps in my direction, and dark brown eyes look over me, assessing as if she’s trying to figure out who I am and if I’m another threat she’s perceived.

  Her pupils dilate the second she recognizes me, and even though she’s screaming at her family as if they’re the devil incarnate, her wails stop as she reaches out for me. I don’t know why I close the distance between us. Maybe it’s her quivering chin or the utter devastation in her eyes, but before my brain can register the action, I’m at her bedside.

  “Shh, Mia. I got you,” I whisper as I climb into the bed with her.

  I’m cautious of the wires and cords monitoring her vitals as I pull her to my chest. She fastens herself to me like our time is limited, and I’m going to disappear if she blinks her eyes.

  “Do they know each other?” the unfamiliar man snaps.

  My jaw clenches with his questions, and if I wasn’t trying to stop this poor, broken girl from trembling, I’d snap his head back with the impact of my damn fist.

  “Yes,” Tug whispers. “He’s her savior.”

  I want to roll my eyes and tell everyone in this damn room that I’m no one’s savior, but Mia’s tiny fists cling to my shirt, and she becomes my only focus.

  She’s cleaner now than she was hours ago, but the noxious scent from being held in captivity
for so long still lingers in the air. In the better lighting, it’s clear part of her abuse included the destruction of her gorgeous hair, and even though there are chunks missing where it was sheared down to her scalp, I run a calming hand over her head and down her back. I do this over and over until her wailing softens to hiccupping sobs.

  “I like the mountains more than anything else,” I whisper to her, knowing that she can hear my low voice. I ignore the tears wetting my clothes and hold her tighter. “I like to hike and ski, but a nice calm beach has its place as well.”

  “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” the stranger whisper-hisses.

  I don’t even lift my head. I press my mouth to Mia’s head and continue to whisper mundane details about my life.

  “Has she been having an affair with that man?”

  It’s takes everything I have not to chuckle with the ridiculous question. This woman was abducted seven weeks ago, held in what could be considered a dungeon, and had God only knows what happen to her, and this asshole is worried that she’s having an affair? Some men are complete idiots, and this one is clearly a selfish twat who has no business even being in the room.

  “That’s it,” I hear Max hiss, but instead of a fist meeting the douche’s face, Tug drags the jerk out of the room by the collar of his shirt.

  I keep my lips moving, telling Mia about my life back home in Indiana but keep my ears open in an attempt to hear what’s being said in the hallway.

  He’s livid as evident from his tone, but then the word fiancé filters to me, and I kind of feel sorry for the schmuck. I’d be livid if my girl was wrapped around another man, but if he was who she wanted right now, she would’ve reached for him instead of me.

  I’ve seen this happen in the field. In the Middle East, although uncommon, sometimes, the women of the village would attach themselves to the military guys. Although most women kept their distance, mainly because of religious reasons and upbringing, some saw the soldiers as their only hope for freedom or escape from the lives they were born into.

  But that’s in a land filled with oppression and limited means. We’re in Florida for fuck’s sake. Mia has her brother, and both of her parents here to lean on. Hell, her fiancé is throwing a fit in the hall because he wants to be the man she leans on for comfort. Yet here she is, snuggled in my arms and finally breathing evenly.