HONEY FOR NOTHIN'
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Summary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
Honey for Nothin’
Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance #2
Cathryn Cade
Windtree Press
Beaverton, Oregon
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by Cathryn Cade
Cover by Leah Kaye Suttle
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission from the author or Windtree Press, except brief quotations in critical reviews or articles. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of text, please contact author or publisher.
Contact Info: http://www.cathryncade.com
Or info@windtreepress.com
Windtree Press
Beaverton, Oregon
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2014 BookDesignTemplates.com
Honey for Nothin’
Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance Series, Book 2
Cathryn Cade. -- 1st ed.
ISBN: 9781943601905
Dedication
To my sisters
Vicki and Karen
I’m so blessed to have you both
Summary
HONEY FOR NOTHIN’
Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance #2
featuring Keys, Kit & Remi in a red hot ménage romance.
Kit hates making choices--life has taught her she makes all the wrong ones. So what’s a BBW redhead to do when she must choose between two hot bikers?
Kit Weeks is on the run from a sadistic biker who wants to own her. Keys Younger is a man who’s finally put down roots in the North Idaho woods. Remington Red Hawk is a man with no tribe and no home, searching for a place to belong.
When the BBW redhead is forced to hide out at Keys’ auto-restoration shop, passion hotter than his welding torch flames between them. But Kit can’t trust a man who calls her pursuer ‘brother’. And Keys has had too many temporary lovers to settle for less than all in from the woman he wants.
Remi wants both of them. When he moves in, should Kit move on? If she stays, what will she have to do to deserve both of them? And her choice must be made as danger brews in the biker brotherhood.
Her alpha heroes must prove to her that when she chooses them both, just for being herself she deserves all that’s sweetest in life ... honey for nothin’.
Chapter One
The day Kit Weeks’ mother tried to convince her to sleep with a dirty, chain-smoking, beer-bellied biker, Kit knew it was time for her to leave home.
This did not involve her actually leaving a place, since she and her mother had never had a real home, only a succession of small, messy apartments, trailers or other crappy living arrangements, all dependent on the good humor of whatever biker Deni Weeks was servicing at the time.
Each one she’d convinced herself was the man of her dreams, the hero who would carry her and her daughter off into a rosy sunset, far from the troubles that plagued a woman who couldn’t, to save her own life or her daughter’s, keep money from trickling through her hands like water.
When times were good, Kit and her mom lived high, eating out nearly every meal, buying new clothing and having their hair and nails done. Entertaining Deni’s current man with high spirits, bubbling laughter and on Deni’s part, any sexual act requested. To her credit, she’d never let any of her lovers or their MC brothers near her daughter ... until today.
“Kit, baby, you been with some guys,” Deni said, fiddling with the pack of cigarettes she had out of her purse, ready to light up the moment they hit the pavement outside.
She avoided Kit’s gaze, examining instead her chipped fuchsia nails and the remains of their breakfast on the restaurant table.
“That Rap was real cute, too bad he moved on to South Dakota. But you’ll find another guy, ‘cause you’re like me, a biker’s woman through and through. No surprise there, I guess, since your daddy was one.”
Kit was listening—barely. She could use another cup of the weak coffee served here. She’d hardly slept last night, with Jink and Deni screaming at each other on the other side of the thin trailer wall. She scanned for the waitress. Having no luck, she eyed the full coffee pot sitting at a nearby station. Maybe she could just get up, grab the pot and pour herself another cup.
“Anyways,” her mother went on, her voice firming. “For now, you don’t have to go lookin’, ‘cause a good one has his eye on you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Kit had realized as a teen who preferred to think about boys, clothes, the book she was reading, or anything but what her mother was saying, that as long as she answered now and then, she could pretend she was hanging on her mother’s every word. She tried not to do so now that she was an adult, but at times like this ... it was still a useful skill.
Now she shifted in the cracked, dingy booth and yawned. She wished she was in a nice, hot, steamy shower somewhere clean and private, with expensive shampoo lathering her hair like silk under her fingers, and the water drowning out the rest of the world, including Deni’s voice. Room to shave her legs without bending and twisting like an X-rated acrobat would be nice too. Trailers had showers for small people, at least Jink’s sure had. And since Kit was five eight and curvy, she did not qualify as small.
Neither she or her mother had showered or changed their clothing since the day before, when Jink Wessel had kicked them both out of his trailer in Airway Heights, giving them only time to grab a few things.
Kit had seen his final tantrum coming a long way off, so she’d had her meager belongings packed. Her cute but worn black-and-pink Nike sports duffel sat on the cracked vinyl seat beside her.
Her mother had only a purse and a leather jacket she kept fussing with, folding and refolding it as if it was Jesus’ lost robe or something.
Deni would have to hope Jink didn’t dump her things out into the gravel and weeds that surrounded his trailer before she could gather them up, which she hadn’t done this morning because when Jink said get gone, a woman better go, and stay gone until he was passed out drunk or off somewhere so she could sneak back in. And he’d still been there when they cased the area this morning.
But although Kit and her mom looked a little rough, the Pancake Palace was just off the freeway in the rough area of downtown Spokane, so none of the restaurant’s other clients looked any better. Some looked—and smelled—a whole lot worse, as if they’d been living on the streets, where Kit and her mother might end up.
They’d spent the previous night in the back bedroom of Cherie, another biker’s old lady, but she’d awakened them early and advised them to disappear before her old man came home, a
s he was one of Jink’s MC brothers. They’d slipped out the back as he was pulling up to the front of the little house.
“Yeah,” Deni enthused, in the voice mothers universally use when they really mean ‘Oh, hell no, you’re not gonna like what’s coming but I will do my level best to convince you otherwise’.
She tilted her head and gave Kit a look of mingled pleading and determination. “You know I hate to ask, baby girl, but ... the time has come. You need to help us out.”
Kit forced down her last mouthful of pancakes, butter and syrup and set her fork on her empty plate. She hadn’t been that hungry, but who the heck knew when she’d get another meal, so she’d consumed everything on her plate. Now she felt full as a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey ... and it was only June. She longed to have that shower, and then curl up in one of her friends’ clean, safe apartments and lapse into a carb-and-sugar induced coma.
But instead she focused on her mother with growing suspicion. The last time Deni had given her this look Kit had ended up doing janitorial duty at an MC clubhouse in exchange for their food—and bikers did not care what kind of mess they left in a bathroom or kitchen. But it wasn’t like she’d had a choice, when the club was letting them stay there and feeding them.
“Help us how?” she asked.
“Well,” Denise said, smiling at Kit as if conferring a gratifying secret, her green eyes lighting up with a sparkle of the child-like optimism she never seemed to lose no matter how hard life smacked her down. “Last night, Jink told me Bouncer has an eye for you. Good thing Jink let it slip before he got too deep in his bottle, ‘cause that bastard’s a mean drunk. If I’d only known that, I’d never climbed on the back of his bike, you better believe me.”
Kit didn’t believe her. She hadn’t liked Jink from the start and she’d told her mother this, but Deni had tossed her head and said she could keep Jink sweet so he wouldn’t take out his alcohol and drug-fueled rages on her or her daughter. And for a few months she had.
“Bouncer?” Kit repeated now, her lip curling in revulsion. “You think I’m gonna be happy that some fat, old sleaze of a biker wants in my pants? Geez, Mom.”
Yes, she’d had sex with two younger guys in the club, Rap and before him Trey, and yes, her mother knew this because there were no secrets in the MC world. Bikers and their women gossiped like they were in high school—which made sense since that was the farthest most of them had made it in school.
Deni’s lips pursed, and her chin went up, signs of temper. “Yes, Bouncer. And let me tell you, Ms Hoity-Toity, that man is loaded. He’s not just the club’s sergeant-at-arms, Jink says he has plenty of deals goin’ on the side. Always flashin’ big bills, and buyin’ the house a round. And he had an old lady for a while—kept her in jewelry and nice leather. She even drove a brand new gold Firebird.” She nodded emphatically, as if that settled everything.
“If he’s such a prize, you go for him,” Kit said. “I’m not touching him.” She shuddered at the thought of Bouncer’s beefy, grimy hands and nicotine-stained mustache. Not to mention the way he looked at her, his gaze crawling over her hot and greedy.
Kit had forgotten her mother’s speed when sufficiently riled. Also, she hadn’t realized how frightened the woman truly was. Quickly as a striking snake, Deni lunged across the table and grabbed a hank of Kit’s tousled auburn curls, yanking so hard Kit yelped. Deni used the painful grip to pull Kit closer, glaring through tears.
“Don’t you go gettin’ too good for us, missy,” Deni hissed. “I been supportin’ you your whole life. Never asked for nothin’ in return, now have I? Well, now you have your chance to get a good man, who’ll take care of you. I just want this for you, Kit. And I ain’t lettin’ you throw it away. You hear me?”
“Yes,” Kit said, tears flooding her eyes. “I hear you. Let go—you’re hurting me.”
“You want more coffee?” asked a bored voice.
Deni let go of Kit’s hair and slid back into her seat, avoiding their waitress’ gaze, chewing her lower lip. Not that the woman looked at all interested in their disagreement.
Kit sniffled. “Yeah. I want more.” She’d throw it at her mother if she got grabby again. Her scalp stung like a bitch.
Deni waited only for the waitress to fill both their cups before giving Kit a look of mingled guilt and pleading. “Baby girl, you know I wouldn’t ask if I—if we wasn’t in trouble.”
“What about Evelyn?” Her mother’s friend, who ran a small hair salon in North Spokane, had let them stay with her last winter for a month.
“She’s got a new man, and wants to hold onto him, so she doesn’t want y—I mean, us around. She was real sorry, but ...” Deni shook her head. “So we ain’t only out of money, we got no place to stay.”
Kit nodded, but she couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze. She drank her coffee, hardly noticing as the steaming brew burned her tongue.
It seemed everyone considered her all grown up. Her mother’s oldest friend didn’t want her around to divert a new boyfriend’s attention, and her mother wanted her to use her body to help them keep their place with the MC. She wanted Kit to whore herself.
Not that Kit was a virgin--she wasn’t, not by a long shot—but at least the guys she’d had sex with had been by choice ... mostly. She still wasn’t convinced that rock’n’roll drummer at the downtown club last summer hadn’t laced her drink with something. She was lucky she hadn’t come out of that pregnant or with a case of STIs. But he’d been hot in that lean, smoldering way musicians had, so she’d gone to his hotel with him. The next day he’d been gone with the rest of his band.
Bouncer ... ugh. She’d rather clean club bathrooms for the rest of her life than be his old lady.
Deni sighed, as if put upon by her daughter’s silence. “All right then, let’s go. I’ll call one of the guys, have ‘em come pick us up. If we’re lucky, Bouncer will come himself. He prob’ly won’t want a recruit puttin’ you on the back of his bike, although they might bring someone’s pickup truck.”
“Mom, no,” Kit pleaded. “I’ll ... I’ll get a job. I’ll get two jobs. We can stay at a shelter till we get enough money for a room. We’ll be okay.”
Deni gave her one look, shook her head as if unable to believe her daughter’s stubbornness, and stood, setting the exact change for their breakfast on the table with the bill.
Kit set her coffee cup on the table, barely noticing when the dregs splashed over her fingers. Numbly, she picked up her purse and her duffel, so full the zipper was in danger of bursting. Felt like her chest—panic was a living thing in her middle, ballooning outward and pushing the pancakes and coffee back up her throat.
Swallowing, which was hard when her mouth was suddenly dry as dust, she scooted out of the booth, and followed her mother through the restaurant. But when they neared the front, Deni slowed in the small foyer, poking at her phone with a finger. “I’ll just call Bouncer, ask him to bring that nice Bullet with him. That way we’ll both have rides.”
Kit cast a wild look at the dirty restaurant windows, half-fearing there were already a pair of chopped Harleys idling outside. Instead, a young woman in a waitress uniform pushed in through the front doors, popping her gum loudly as she brushed by them to duck down a short hallway.
Kit watched her disappear around the corner, wishing she were like the other girl, just having an ordinary day in the life. Yeah, waiting tables was hard work, but with a regular job a person had her own money, and thus independence. The waitress got to decide what happened in her life.
“Hey, big guy,” Deni said into her phone. “Me and my baby girl could sure use a ride. You up for coming to get us?” Her voice dripped with sweetness, and she posed, hand on her out-thrust hip as if whoever she was speaking to stood before her to be beguiled.
Suddenly Kit saw herself in twenty years, standing in this restaurant or one just like it, wearing a cheap leather jacket, too tight jeans and a sweater made for a teenager, attempting to use sex to get some rough, dirty bi
ker to rescue her from her own bad decisions.
And what if she had a daughter? Would she lower herself to pimp her out the way Deni was with her? She knew her mom loved her, and she’d protected Kit thus far from the roughest edges of their life, but now ... it seemed that protection had come to an end.
Deni didn’t want this just for Kit, but for herself, too.
The only thing that saved Kit from hating her mother was that she knew Deni believed she was doing Kit a favor--setting her up to be the old lady of an MC officer. Bouncer’s old lady would have status in the club, power over the other women, and money to burn. Only one problem—Kit wanted none of that, if it meant being with him.
Her stomach rebelled again, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth as hot liquid burned the back of her throat. She closed her eyes and swallowed, hard. When she opened her eyes, she stared at her mother’s back through a blur of tears.
No. No way in hell would she end up like her mother, at the mercy of whatever man chose her, and for no amount of money or any other luxury would she allow Bouncer to get near her.
Which meant she had to not be here when he arrived, or she’d be out of choices. The people in this restaurant were beaten down by life—they weren’t going to get in the way of bikers hauling a girl away. Likely no one would even call the cops.
Holding her breath, Kit eased away from her mother, who luckily still had her back turned as she listened and then murmured into the phone in a tone that meant she didn’t want Kit to hear her words.
Kit used this as a gift, sidling away several more steps. She bumped into the corner of the wall, then turned and scurried down the hallway after the waitress, expecting any second to hear Deni demanding to know where the hell she thought she was going.
But no strident mother’s voice followed her. Heart pounding, breath shuddering in her throat, Kit burst into a tiny ante-room where the young waitress was fluffing her hair before a mirror.