STRENGTH FROM LOYALTY (Lost Kings MC #3)
Copyright 2015 © Autumn Jones Lake
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Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Designed by: LJ Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations
Edited by: Cassie McGowan at Gathering Leaves
Edited by: Marti Lynch
Formatting: Max Effect
Photography: Period Images
Models: James and Jax.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lake, Autumn Jones
Strength From Loyalty (Lost Kings MC, Book 3) / Autumn Jones Lake
STRENGTH FROM LOYALTY and the Lost Kings MC series is a complete work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This is an original work of fiction by Autumn Jones Lake. Published by Ahead of the Pack, LLC.
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ISBN-10:0990794547
ISBN-13: 978-0-9907945-4-7
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STRENGTH FROM LOYALTY (Lost Kings MC #3)
by Autumn Jones Lake
As a dark cloud descends over Hope and Rock’s already precarious future, will a long-hidden secret push them both past the point of no return?
Struggling attorney Hope Kendall loves her outlaw biker boyfriend Rochlan “Rock” North with all her heart, but the questionable activities his motorcycle club is involved in threaten her legal career.
But does she even want this career anymore?
As a near-death situation makes their professional differences seem insignificant, a cloud descends over their personal relationship’s already unsteady future.
Even though Hope seems to have finally found her niche in the club as Rock’s ol’ lady, can she mingle in politics with neighboring clubs as well? A trip to the Lost Kings MC downstate charter will put her to the test.
While Rock works hard to give Hope the honesty she craves without betraying his loyalty to his brothers, tension from outside forces threatens to push him to the brink. But it’s the one secret Hope has hidden all along that may finally drive them apart for good.
Acknowledgements
One
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Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Note from the Author
Also by Autumn
Keep in Touch
I know some people prefer to put these at the end. But I feel it’s important to thank the people who made Strength from Loyalty possible up front. So here goes:
My faithful critique partners, Cara Connelly, Kari W. Cole and Virginia Frost. You’ve entertained some very filthy questions from me with this book. Thank you for not kicking me out of the group! I’m sorry to say the next one won’t be any cleaner.
KA Mitchell, who has been as excited about my success as I am. Thank you so much for always taking the time to help me work through problematic scenes.
Angi J., Brandy, Chris, Clarisse, Elizabeth, Iveta, Katie, Krystal, Shauna, and Shelly. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me. Thank you for your wonderful advice, suggestions and sharing your stories with me. Tamra, thanks for taking a final look!
Shauna, thanks for listening to my crazy on an almost daily basis.
LJ, thank you for your patience and another beautiful cover!
Thank you, Cassie for taking me on at the last minute.
Marti, thanks for sticking with me and being so enthusiastic about my work.
Elizabeth, Terra, Jorja, Navene, and Grace, thank you for the time you spend promoting my books.
Not Another Damn Blog and Jordan Marie thanks for inviting me to my first author take overs. I always have a blast.
Readers who have taken the time to reach out to me in one way or another—thank you so much!
There are so many other people I’d like to thank, but I’m afraid I’ll forget someone.
Last and never least, my husband, who works so hard so that I can spend time playing with my imaginary friends—thank you. None of this would be possible without you. I’m tickled by how much you love the Lost Kings.
For those who have struggled with depression and loss.
The thought of Hope wearing my property patch gets me harder than a motherfucker.
It’s time for me to announce my intent at church. Technically, I don’t need the club’s approval. I can claim whoever I want. But if I’m going to give her the Lost Kings property patch, I need the votes of my officers. Even though she doesn’t yet realize it, being my old lady gives Hope a lot of power. She knows, or will learn, shit law enforcement would love to know. Giving her this patch is more than decorative. It’s more than my caveman need for everyone to know she belongs to me. It means not only am I taking one hundred percent responsibility for Hope, but so are my brothers. I trust her completely, and my brothers know I don’t trust lightly.
The clubhouse is quiet. All our guests from last night have departed.
Wrath looks downright exhausted as he hobbles in on his crutches and drops into the chair on my right.
“You feelin’ all right?”
For once, he’s not smirking. “Yeah. Fuckin’ cast is bullshit.”
“Slowin’ your game?” Z asks helpfully from my left.
“Brother’s got no game. Trinity’s been carrying his balls around in her back pocket for weeks,” Dex snarks. Everyone chuckles, even Wrath.
Instead of some pissed-off retort, my friend laughs and shakes his head.
Interesting.
The rest of the guys seem to be having some sort of contest to see who can get their ass in their chair the slowest. Sparky is naturally the last one in. He’s jittery from being away from his plants for more
than five seconds.
We go through regular club business and get it out of the way. Teller reports to us that earnings are good. All club accounts are flush and balanced. He reads the numbers off a sheet of paper, passes it around for everyone to review, then shreds it.
Sparky reports a fresh crop is almost ready. We have an increased demand from Green Street Crew, but we’ll be able to meet it along with the new pipeline I lined up. Sparky is excited about his newest strain. Stash asks for extra help with packaging.
Z and Dex report Crystal Ball is doing well and they’ve secured a few new feature dancers to replace the void left by Inga.
Wrath informs everyone he’s decided on a trainer to teach his classes at the gym. He asks the brothers to help him keep an eye on things while he’s laid up, and we work out a schedule.
Murphy brings up a run that’s been scheduled for months. With Wrath unable to ride, someone needs to take his place. We still have a little time to deal with that, so I table it for later discussion.
Wrath offers to turn in his cut since he can’t ride. His offer is voted down with a “fuck no” from all members.
“There’s an exception in the bylaws for injuries, you fuckhead, so stop offering,” Z grouches at Wrath. Wrath flips him off, and that discussion is over.
Once general club business is out of the way, I excuse everyone except my officers: Wrath, Z, Teller, and Murphy.
Expectation is written all over each face.
No reason for a speech. “I want to give Hope a property patch.”
It shouldn’t really be a surprise, but they act like I dropped a fucking live nuke in the middle of the table.
After a few beats, Z asks, “You asking for our votes, prez?”
“Yes.”
Z nods slowly. I meet every one of their gazes head on, settling on my enforcer last.
“You lay it out for her?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Everything?” Wrath pushes.
Through clenched teeth, I spit out, “Not quite.”
Wrath’s eyes widen in a “what the fuck you waitin’ for” face that I want to punch.
“She knows enough. I trust her. You heard her the night of the party. It ain’t gonna rattle her.”
Wrath nods slowly and turns to the rest of the guys.
Teller is the first one to raise his hand. “She’s been real good to Heidi. Trinity too. She’s got love for the club. Prez is happy. She gets my vote.”
Wrath’s shrewd gaze focuses on Teller as he takes that all in. That’s fuckin’ right, brother. She jumped in to help one of us out.
Murphy raises his hand next. “She’s a classy girl. Doesn’t give anyone grief. She was ready to rip those cops’ heads off after Heidi’s party. Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Yeah, my girl got herself pretty worked up that night. The memory of her standing in my front yard, hands on her hips, giving those pigs hell still makes me smile.
Z has been good to my girl. He’s taken on more of a friendly, brotherly role to counteract Wrath’s dickishness. He’s enthusiastic with his praise. “She keeps her shit locked down. Took that bullshit the club girls heaped on her with class. Treats Trinity with respect. Never cops an attitude in public, even though I know she gives prez hell when they’re alone. Fuck yes.”
His little endorsement makes me chuckle, because even when she’s pissed at me, I still want to stick my dick in her so bad I ache.
Wrath can make or break this. He’s been my best friend for a long damn time, but I also know he’s got a lot of reservations about Hope’s innocence when it comes to the MC. The club comes first, but if he kills this for me, I’m gonna have a hard time looking at his face for a while.
He levels his cool enforcer stare on me. “You trust her?”
“You know I do.”
“You trust her with your life? Our lives?” He points to everyone at the table.
“Yes, she’d never spill club business.”
Wrath nods, and my tension level ratchets down a notch. “How much club business you gonna let her in on?” he asks.
“She understands but said she doesn’t want details in case she ever ends up having to represent one of us in court.”
Wrath seems surprised by my answer. “Okay. You got my yes.”
Thank fuck.
I point to Z. “Order it up.”
I’ve just stepped out of the shower when I hear a thump-thump on my front door. Dripping water and muttering a bunch of curses, I grab my robe and scurry down the hallway. By the sound of the fist against my door, it can only be Rock. My mouth turns up and my belly flutters with excitement, imagining him on the other side.
Flinging open the door, I greet him with, “Why haven’t I just given you a key?”
The hardened expression he’s wearing breaks with a smile. “‘Cause we’re never here, baby doll.”
Wrapping his arms around me, he picks me up and plants a hungry kiss on my lips. I take in his crisp outdoor scent and savor the sensation of our bodies pressed together, his arms holding me tight. Every time we touch, I swear it’s as exciting as the first time.
As he sets me down, his gaze skims over me, from wet hair to bare feet. His grip on my hips tightens. “Do you realize when I see you fresh from the shower, it makes me want to get you all filthy again?”
His words, combined with the lascivious gleam in his smoky eyes, cause my breath to catch. I wish I were wearing something sexier than my ratty old terrycloth robe.
Not that he seems to mind.
Before I can come up with an appropriate response, he pounces, picking me up and scanning the area. By some silent agreement, we’ve never really ventured into my bedroom together. Like Rock said, we’re rarely here. And there’s a whole lot of other surfaces he enjoys defiling.
At the moment, he’s eying my dining room table with less-than-noble plans. Since I usually eat alone when I’m here, the only thing my dining room table is doing right now is supporting a pile of mail I’ve yet to go through and a basket of laundry I was planning to sort after my shower.
I never know how long Rock will be when he has “church,” and I never ask what the club discusses at the table. I trust if he wants me to know, he’ll tell me.
Let’s face it. I probably don’t want to know.
He kicks out one of the chairs and sits down, setting me on my feet. His hands immediately go to my robe, working the knot loose in no time. A shiver works through me when the material parts. His hands cup my hips, his thumbs stroking my belly. He nudges me in small increments until my butt is resting against the edge of the table.
“I’m starving, baby.”
I open my mouth to answer, to tell him I’ll make him something for dinner. But the white-hot scrutiny of his gaze tells me he’s not talking about food. His hands travel up, smoothing my robe off my shoulders. He flicks the material over the table and stands. Tipping my head back, his serious face comes into view, storm-gray eyes darting from my lips to my breasts and lower. My heart thuds in my chest as he leans in, his lips finding mine.
No matter how many times we kiss, each time is electrifying. Full, firm lips press hard against mine. One of my hands dives into his thick hair, pulling him closer. He responds by tugging me against him tighter. A lick against my bottom lip, and I respond with one of my own. Rock groans, and the sound sends shivers through me. I’m very aware of my nakedness and the fact that he’s still fully dressed. My beaded nipples rubbing against the soft fabric of his shirt sets me on fire.
Big, rough hands skate up my sides, cupping my breasts, thumbs rubbing my nipples. My hips shoot forward, grinding against him, and I gasp for breath, breaking our kiss.
“Lie back for me,” he commands, voice low and rumbling with need.
My mouth opens to protest, but I decide I’d rather see what he has in mind first.
Because I know whatever it is, it’ll be good.
Before I do what he asked, my hand reaches out and brushes against
him. He’s hard, erection straining against his jeans.
I can’t fucking wait.
He helps me lie back on the table, pushing mail and stuff out of his way. I flinch at the soft flapping of fabric and envelopes hitting the floor, and he presses a finger to my lips.
“Stop. We’ll take care of it later.”
I nod. Who can think about mail when a man like Rock wants to do all sorts of delicious things to you?
He slides one finger down the length of my body as he walks to the end of the table and sits back down. One of his hands wraps around one of my ankles and lifts my foot to the table. Feeling much too exposed, I hesitate when he goes to lift the other one.
“Hope,” he warns.
“Rock, don’t,” I plead. I haven’t been to the waxer or anything in too long.
He sighs. “When will you learn?” Then he picks up my other foot, placing my heel on the edge of the table.
My knees slam together, and he traces a hand down my calf, his mouth following the same path. “Open,” he murmurs against my skin.
I can’t resist. His voice, his touch, his hot breath tickling over me. My legs part, but he doesn’t dive right for me. His hands slide up the inside of my thighs—hard enough not to tickle, soft enough to send pleasurable tingles through me. My legs part a little more.
“That’s better.”
I can’t speak, so I respond with, “Mmm.”
His thumbs rub over my quivering outer lips, massaging and kneading my warm flesh. The first touch of his fingertip over my clit makes me hiss and bump up my hips.
“So sensitive and ready for me.”
I nod my head but can’t get out any words as I fall into the sensation. His thumb teases over the tip of my clit again. My back arches with ripples of pleasure, offering myself to him. He lets out a satisfied grunt and pushes closer. Suddenly, his tongue laps at me, and my hips shoot off the table.
“Easy, baby.”
But, oh, that feels good. Hot caresses with his tongue subtly pressing down. Wave after wave of heat crashes through me as he keeps applying soft pressure, stroking in a steady pattern. So close. My body is so close. I strain, needing a little more. The lapping stops. Sealing his mouth over my clit, he sucks, and I scream out.
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