Her Ransom: Royal Bastards MC - Miami, FL

by Addison Jane

  Addison Jane

  Her Ransom

  Royal Bastards MC

  Miama, FL

  Addison Jane

  Copyright 2020 Addison Jane

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  Editing by Swish Design & Editing

  Formatting by Swish Design & Editing

  Proofing by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover Design by Jay Aheer at Simply Defined Art

  Cover Models by Araceli Velazquez and Tristen Esco

  Cover Photography by Reggie Deanching

  Cover Image Copyright 2020

  All Rights Reserved

  For Kim. BAE.

  When a new police chief moved into town, I knew there’d be issues.

  We’d had a clean run for years.

  Same shipments.

  Same week.

  Same time.

  Things could have stayed that way, except for the fact that the new guy had a hard-on for making my life a living hell.

  Fortunately for me, there was one thing he loved more than power.

  One thing that could possibly force his hand.

  His daughter.

  Sage Calder—she was beautiful, intelligent, and there was a deviance in her eyes just itching to be to lead astray.

  If I was going to protect the club, I would need to break her.

  And I was going to enjoy every moment of it.

  Her mind would despise me, but her body would plead for more.

  And once I was done, I was going to keep both.

  Dedication

  Blurb

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Check This Author Out

  More Books to Check Out

  Connect With Me Online

  About The Author

  SAGE

  My body lifted off the bed, and I gasped.

  My legs flailed as I fought that strange falling feeling, only to realize I wasn’t falling, I was being cradled.

  “Shhh,” my mom whispered as she held me against her body and shuffled out of my room and down the hall.

  I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but it was still nighttime and everything was dark—the only light shining was the tiny hallway nightlight that I used to see my way to the bathroom.

  Crash.

  The loud, destructive sound came from outside, and the sound of voices soon following.

  Mom froze, her entire body tensing and going completely still, except for the pounding of her heart that I could feel as she pulled me in a little tighter against her chest.

  She was shaking.

  The soft sniffle of tears forced me to look up.

  Mom didn’t cry.

  She never cried.

  Not when she hurt herself, or when Dad and her fought. She didn’t even cry when she broke her arm last winter trying to ice skate with me. Yet, all I could do was stare at her in shock as the twinkling teardrops dripped down onto her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away with her shoulder before she forced one foot in front of the other, hurrying across the second story landing and down the staircase.

  Each footstep was light, airy, and didn’t make a single sound.

  Not even that second step which seemed to creak with just a breath of air.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  The door.

  Someone was there.

  I just couldn’t figure out why.

  It was the middle of the night, and Dad was on nightshift at work. I gripped her nightgown tightly in my fingers, fearful tears clogging my throat. “Momma—”

  “Shhh,” she hummed softly, rounding the banister at the bottom of the stairs, practically running now.

  The sounds outside became louder.

  Things were breaking.

  Voices taunting.

  My heart felt like it could explode at any moment. It was beating so fast I was starting to feel dizzy. I was scared, and I knew Mom was too.

  “Get in,” she urged, dropping to her knees and placing me on my feet.

  My legs shook, my body feeling like I was suddenly standing naked in the middle of an ice storm, a chill soaking right in through my skin. Something was wrong, something was seriously wrong, and when Mom reached past me and yanked open the small door at the base of the stairs—that was fear.

  Smash!

  Glass breaking and the sound of voices suddenly grew louder.

  I reached out for her, but she pushed me toward the tiny space, ignoring the way I was silently pleading with her to hold me, to tell me that everything was going to be okay.

  Being scared was one thing.

  The feeling of absolute terror was another.

  It was heavy.

  I could feel it sitting on my chest as my mom shoved me toward the tiny cupboard door. Silently, I crawled inside, the cobwebs and dust tickling at my face and nose, forcing me to pinch it so I wouldn’t sneeze or choke.

  Or just plain freak the hell out.

  I didn’t like bugs.

  Spiders especially.

  With my body completely in the tight space, I suddenly paused, looking back out at her as the tears streamed down her cheeks. The fear grew heavier, choking me, making it harder and harder to breathe as I suddenly realized this cupboard wasn’t a hiding place for two.

  “No,” I choked, shaking my head back and forth. “Momma.”

  “I love you,” her soft voice whispered, her hand reaching for the cupboard door and quickly pushing it shut. I reached out, my fingernails scratching at the wood as I watched her through the tiny gap in the doorway. She picked up a large potted plant and placed it in front of the door before leaping to her feet.

  Disguising me.

  Hiding me away.

  Protecting me.

  Then she ran.

  Her footsteps were heavy this time, pounding against the hardwood floors as the front door crashed open.

  “Find her,” a deep, raspy voice ordered.

  It was distinctive.

  A voice I knew I’d remember.

  But maybe that was simply because no one would ever forget the moment they met the devil himself.

  “Now,” he roared, boots marching like a dangerous chorus line, shaking the floor beneath me and moving in all dif
ferent directions.

  My mom was their prey.

  They were hunting her.

  “Go and see if the kid is here.”

  “And if she is?”

  “She’s thirteen. Get creative,” the devil announced with a hideous laugh. “We want to leave a message.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath, placing my hand over my mouth and holding it there, just in case with the way my stomach was churning, the contents of last night’s dinner made its return. Fear kept me from crying. It kept me from screaming. It kept me silent.

  I did nothing.

  I said nothing.

  I didn’t move.

  Not as I listened to those people inside my house drag my crying mother across the floor and into our living room just a few feet away.

  “Where’s the kid, Dove?”

  “Go fuck yourself—”

  The sound of skin meeting skin forced bile up into my mouth, burning my tongue as I fought to swallow it back down.

  That was my mother.

  A fierce lioness protecting her cub until her very last breath.

  I didn’t say a word or shed a single tear as I listened to them beat her.

  Or as I listened to her scream in pain.

  And not a single noise left my lips when they fired that final gunshot that I knew ended her life.

  And destroyed mine.

  HYPE

  “Goddamn!”

  I shook my head as I poured the expensive whiskey I’d found on the shelf into a short glass.

  This shit was older than I was. The rich fucking bastard was probably keeping it for a special occasion, but I was pretty fucking sure he didn’t anticipate his wife being gang banged at the moment this bottle was going to be popped.

  “Oh yes!” the old bitch screamed while Deep slammed his cock hard inside her. “Yes! There!”

  “It’s not tight,” Deep chuckled, digging his fingers into her hips as he pulled back. “But there’s something about it that feels so fucking good.”

  “She’s old enough to be your fucking mama,” I drawled while shaking my head.

  “Maybe that’s it,” Sketch added as he stepped around in front and grabbed her jaw with one hand, stroking his length with the other as he directed her mouth toward it. The kid was just a prospect, and while Deep got his fucking rocks off by fucking anything with a hole, the kid had effectively drawn the short straw when it came to who else was going to put their dick in this old bitch. “Mama’s home baking is always better. Her home cooking is always better,” Sketch rattled off with a shrug, pressing his hips forward. She opened her mouth and gobbled his dick down with a delighted groan, the sound instantly followed by gagging as it struck the back of her throat.

  Deep’s eyes lit up, and he clicked his fingers. “That’s it! It’s one of those home comfort things.”

  The bitch was your typical gold digger.

  She was a little older, but she’d had all the nips and tucks and pulls in order to appeal to those older men who didn’t want to admit they were no longer going to fucking pull a supermodel.

  “I’m gonna need you to stop fucking talking now,” Hatch scolded from across the room.

  Walking over to the armchair he was settled in, I handed him a short glass of whiskey and clinked my glass against his before I leaned back on the bookcase behind me.

  “I’m gonna second that,” I agreed, scrunching up my nose. “Nobody wants to hear about you and your mama’s pussy.”

  Deep’s smile dropped, and he narrowed his eyes at me across the room, not for a second halting the way his hips kept pounding forward. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m one hundred percent sure that’s exactly what you meant,” I threw back, fighting a smirk.

  Commotion in the hallway had me standing a little taller, the smirk on my face growing wider when the office doors swung open to reveal my good friend.

  Arthur Mitchell.

  Miami-Dade Chief of Police.

  Husband to the old bitch on her hands and knees right now.

  And the man who last night cost me upward of a quarter of a fucking million dollars.

  “What the hell is going on,” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. He rushed forward but Brew grabbed him, yanking his body backward and slamming it against the wall. “Elaine!”

  His wife screamed, this time not in pleasure but in shock, suddenly pushing both Sketch and Deep away as she scrambled to cover her naked body. “Arthur! Wh… wh… what are you d-doing here?”

  “What the hell do you mean what am I doing here?” he yelled, his hands clenched at his sides and his entire body shaking in rage. His full cheeks were a dark shade of rage red and his mouth was opening and shutting like a fucking fish. “What are you doing? What is happening here?”

  The boys laughed softly as they grabbed the wife by her arms and ushered her through to the connecting bathroom.

  “Come on, Elaine,” Deep cooed as he pressed her through the door, Sketch following behind. “Let’s let the big boys talk.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle, throwing back the last mouthful of whiskey in my glass before placing it on the shelf behind me. “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur…” I sighed disappointingly as I walked forward. Hatch allowed me to take the lead on this for now, since I ran this specific part of club business. “Let’s chat for a minute about what happened last night.”

  The anger in his face instantly changed.

  Disappearing completely.

  He knew he’d fucked up, his eyes flicked to me.

  Nervously.

  “They’re forcing me to retire next week,” he rambled, shaking his head and scratching at his curly white beard.

  Rolling my shoulders, I stepped forward again as my agitation grew a little more. “And when were you going to tell me about this?”

  He swallowed hard, his double chin jiggling as he shook his head back and forth. “They had the party early yesterday afternoon. I didn’t realize they’d already organized someone to take over from me. I didn’t know that someone else was changing my orders for last night. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Wasn’t your fault?” I repeated with a scoff, pausing for a second and looking over my shoulder to Hatch.

  “Prez, he said it wasn’t his fault, so I guess we can just leave it alone.” Hatch braced his hands on the arms of the chair, pressing down and hoisting his hulking body from the small piece of furniture. Hatchet—or Hatch as I called him—was the president of the Miami Chapter of the Royal Bastards Motorcycle Club. He was closer to seven-foot than six and had long, black, mountain-man-looking hair that hung down well past his shoulders when he didn’t keep it tied back. For the most part, it was kept in a long braid down his back.

  He was as intimidating as they fucking came. Tall, tattooed, angry-looking bastard who didn’t speak unless he had something important to say. It was what made him a great brother and an even more fucking amazing leader.

  Hatch and I had been friends since we were kids. He was the reason I was here and not fucking dead somewhere.

  Hatch’s dad, Keys, was the president back then. So, when my mom died of an overdose when I was fifteen, Keys and his ol’ lady, Jazz, took me in so I wouldn’t be thrown into fucking care. The club had practically raised me anyway. During my teen years, I spent more time there than I did at home with my drug-addicted mother and the revolving door of men she spread her legs for daily to feed her habit.

  “See,” Hatch growled as he came to stand beside me. “I think it was your fault.”

  Arthur kept his thin lips pursed, his face growing redder with every damn second, like at any moment it might fucking explode.

  We’d been dealing with this fucker for close to eight years. He found us a clear window with the water police and the coast guard, so our boats floated through the safe space with fucking ease every two weeks.

  We unloaded.

  I handed him a small cut.

  And all was fucking perfect.

 
; Until last night, when the window was not fucking open.

  And the coast guard took a whole shipment and arrested one of my best drivers.

  “Like I said,” Arthur mumbled frantically. “My orders should have never been cha—”

  I swung.

  My fist collecting with his ribs. The unmistakable cracking sound almost sending a cooling sensation over my burning skin. He wasn’t just fucking with my shipment, he was fucking with my club, with my family, and with our fucking income.

  “Hype,” he choked out my name as he curled in on himself, holding his gut painfully. “Hype, I didn’t fucking know.”

  “I don’t give a shit!” I roared, pulling my fist back again and driving it into his face. My knuckles and his cheekbone collided painfully, forcing him to his knees, but I didn’t care. This was my livelihood. This was how I supported my fucking family and now, suddenly, it was under scrutiny, under a watchful eye, and shit was going to hit the fan.

  Grabbing his face in my hand, I pulled him to his feet and leaned in, making sure he could clearly see my steeled gaze. “Listen, Arthur. We haven’t had many moments like this since we started business together all those years ago,” I murmured, rolling my hand and wrist to stretch it out. “So, this is why I’m going to let you walk out of this one alive. That, and you’re gonna set me up a meeting with whoever the new fucker is in charge of this.”

  Shit was about to get tense.

  Arthur Mitchell had been easy as hell to manipulate because he was a greedy and underhanded fucker already. The bastard had been doing illegal shit since well before I decided to use his lack of morals to my advantage. But believe it or not, there were a reasonable number of squeaky-clean police officers around. One’s who thought it was their duty to protect and defend the world from assholes like me.

  The assholes like me who didn’t play to the rules of the world.

  The Royal Bastards MC—we had our own rules, our own laws.

  The kind that often didn’t fit with the demands of fucking society.

  “This new guy, Jason Calder, I know him from way back,” Arthur agreed, dabbing at the blood that had settled just under his nose. “He hasn’t got the cleanest reputation, so he may be open to something.”