by Amber Morgan
Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2015 Amber Morgan
ISBN: 978-1-77233-420-3
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Katelyn Uplinger
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Margaret, who encouraged me shamelessly and enthusiastically.
TANNER’S WAR
Wild Blood MC, 1
Amber Morgan
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
There was nothing like a ride in a storm to make a man feel alive.
Tanner’s Harley roared beneath him, ripping up the road and spraying water in its wake. There was nothing but him and the crash of the storm all around him, exhilarating, wild, and as good a fucking buzz as any drug or woman he’d taken. Nobody else was out on the road so he was free to push the bike to its limit. The setting sun was lost in a rush of steel-gray storm clouds, so Tanner felt like he was riding into darkness, away from the light. It suited his mood perfectly.
As wind and rain lashed at him, he sped up and let out a savage holler. The bike moved like a dream, sheer perfection beneath him, handling the wet road with ease. Best fucking money he’d ever spent, no contest. It wasn’t just a machine. It was freedom, pure fucking freedom, and after the last two years, freedom meant everything to Tanner.
He was racing along so fast he almost missed the figure at the side of the road. In the growing gloom, she would have been invisible, but for the split-second lightning flash that illuminated her as she ran. She sure as hell wasn’t paying attention to him. She looked back as she darted into the road, watching the wide-open fields behind her, not the motorcycle careening toward her.
Horror and fury shot through Tanner. He slammed on the brakes and his bike tore to a screeching halt just a breath away from her. She screamed and stumbled, losing her footing and landing on her ass on the tarmac. Jesus fucking Christ, he’d been seconds—less than seconds—from hitting her. Adrenaline filled him, so red-hot it almost blinded him. He jumped off the bike, shaking with angry energy, and stood over the cowering woman. Hands balled into fists, he leaned down. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I could've killed you!”
She stared up at him from under a mass of dark, dripping wet hair, and Tanner’s heart tripped. She looked terrified. As well she fucking should, but she also looked so young and vulnerable that he felt guilty for yelling at her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked more gently. It was impossible to speak quietly if he wanted to be heard over the raging wind, but he guessed he didn’t have to scream at her either. She didn’t respond though, just kept staring. Big blue eyes, filled with tears, and sweet soft lips that trembled almost invitingly. “Lady, are you hurt?” He crouched down, putting his six-three frame closer to her. She whimpered and scrambled back, but Tanner grabbed her by the arm and held her in place. “Listen, if you’re hurt …”
“I’m fine. Let me go.” She tugged but couldn’t free herself. The terror on her face intensified and she glanced back the way she’d come. “Please let me go!”
This wasn’t just the rush of fear from her near miss, he could sense that. “Okay. Chill out.” He released her and stood slowly, hands raised to show he meant no harm. “Can you stand?”
She did, keeping a careful distance between them. Whatever she was running from, she was badly prepared for it. She only wore a thin T-shirt and ragged jeans. Her sneakers were dirty with age, the laces falling apart. He took it all in in a flash, recognizing the signs from the worn clothes to the wary look on her face. Soaked to the skin and shivering hard, she looked pathetic, but he’d bet if she was bone-dry and reclining in silks and satin she’d still look hunted, haunted. Someone had hurt this girl. A fresh wave of rage filled him.
He forced it down. Don’t borrow trouble, he told himself. But damn, he wanted to protect her. It was a primal impulsive, triggered by her obvious fear and her sweet face. He hated to see a woman cry. “Uh … Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asked. “Least I can do, when I nearly mowed you down.” He tried a smile, aware that with his unkempt hair and five o’clock shadow, not to mention the MC club patches, he didn’t look entirely reassuring.
“Where are you going?” she asked, still casting her gaze up and down the empty road as if she expected someone to jump out on her any second.
She needed to get warm and dry and she could probably do with a coffee— or something stronger— inside her. There was a diner a few miles away that could help with that. “You know the Five Mile Diner? No? They have the best fucking apple pie in the state. How’s that sound? Near-death experiences always make me hungry.”
She managed a tiny, frail smile. “Okay.”
He guided her to the bike, feeling like she’d agreed because she felt she had no choice. She was used to being ordered around, he guessed. Used to saying yes because nobody listened to no. It was clear in her hunched, defensive posture and the way she kept skirting eye contact. Here was a girl who tried to be invisible.
Tanner groaned. He was going to do it, wasn’t he? He was going to borrow trouble. His President would choke him out. He could almost hear Nash’s guttural snarl in his ear now. You like it better inside, boy? Real world not exciting enough?
Aw, shit. He raked his hands through his hair and stared at his mystery girl as she in turn stared at his bike. There was a mix of apprehension and wonder on her face that was just fucking ridiculous. She was like some wild animal seeing civilization for the first time.
Well, okay. It wasn’t like he was adopting her or anything. He could take her to the diner, see her right with a cup of coffee and some food, and then let her go on her way. Simple.
No trouble at all.
****
Bethany had never been on a motorcycle before. It was scary and exciting at the same time, like some great beast throbbing between her legs. She clung to her rescuer for dear life as they ripped down the road, rain slashing at her face. He was warm and solid, an anchor against the wild weather and the danger she’d fled, and she didn’t want to let him go. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d nearly run her down—she guessed that was more her fault than his, and he’d seemed genuinely kind despite his gruff voice and dirty mouth. He was so big too, bigger than any man she’d seen before, and there was something deeply comforting about that. A man his size could be a shelter, a defender …
Stop it, she scolded herself. It was senseless to let her imagination run away with her. He hadn’t even told her his name, or asked hers. He’d dump her at this diner and she’d never see him again. And that was fine, that was as it should be. She’d run away because she wanted to avoid being tied to a man.
Still, while they drove, she did allow herself the brief fantasy of staying with him. She rubbed her cheek against his faded leather jacket, loving the masculine scent. There was something raw and real about it, far removed from the sterility and coldness of the home she’d left behind.
She shivered, unable to resist glancing back even though they were going far too fast for anyone to catch them. The road stretched out behind them, open and blessedly empty. By now, Abram would know she was gone and he’d have the men of the Serpentine Cross looking for her. How far would she have to run before they gave up?
And where would she run to? She didn't know
the world outside the Church. She had no money, skills, nothing but the clothes on her back. All her life she'd been told what happened to bad girls who couldn't obey. Drugs. Prostitution. Death. Probably in that order. And all her life, fear of the fate that waited outside the Church's walls had kept her in her place.
But last night ...
Last night she'd decided anything was better than staying. She just had to make sure she outran Abram and the others. A motorcycle seemed like a good start.
She quickly lost track of time, with the road falling away behind them and the storm raging all around them, but it didn't seem long before he was pulling into a roadside diner. Trucks and bikes filled the parking lot, and the building looked warm and inviting from the outside. Of course, anywhere probably would, given how cold and wet Beth was.
"Come on," her rescuer said, slipping off the bike. "Let's get you inside and warm."
His apparent concern for her welfare had her torn between suspicion and gratitude, but the warmth and light the diner promised outweighed everything else. It was quiet inside, country music playing low on the speakers and just a few people occupying the booths. Her stomach growled as they entered and the homely smells of fresh-brewed coffee and sizzling burgers hit her. She hugged herself, embarrassed.
He didn't seem to notice, just strode up to the counter as if he owned the place and slapped his palm down on it. "Mia! A pot of coffee and two slices of apple pie."
A Latina with glorious chocolate curls bustled up to the counter, giving him a friendly smile. "Alex Tanner, where are your manners?"
He pulled a conciliatory face. "A pot of coffee and two slices of apple pie, please."
"Better." Mia looked Beth over, her smile melting into an expression of such dismay that Beth wanted to hide from her. "Jesus Christ, Tanner, this girl is going get pneumonia standing there like that! Coffee? Pie? What's wrong with you? She needs a hot bath and some proper clothes!"
"Well, I don't have those things," Tanner snapped.
Mia scowled at him, and then fixed her smile on Beth. "Don't mind him, honey. As we've established, he has no manners. What's your name?"
"Bethany," Beth said, ducking her face to avoid eye contact. It was a habit so deeply ingrained, she didn't even realize she'd done it until Mia tapped her hand, making her look up again.
"Listen, I don't want to assume, but it looks to me like you need a helping hand. And since Mr. Tanner here isn't going to offer you any dry clothes, I will."
"Oh no ..." Beth started helplessly.
It was too late. Mia was already coming around the counter, her body language entirely business-like. With Tanner scowling ineffectually at her, Mia took Beth by the arm. "Lacey," she called to another waitress, "keep an eye on things for a second, okay?"
The other girl tipped her a salute, and Mia dragged Beth off toward a door at the back of the diner. Tanner followed, which Beth was desperately glad about. Mia's no-nonsense attitude wasn't intimidating, exactly, but it was easier to bear with Tanner's bulk at her back.
"What on earth are you doing out in this weather dressed like some homeless kid? You're not a homeless kid, are you?" Mia asked her. "Tanner, where did you find her?"
"In the middle of the road," Tanner said.
Beth flushed. "I'm not homeless," she said, feeling an inexplicable need to defend the Church. It was ingrained, like the impulse to bow her head and avoid eye contact. The Church was—had been—her entire world. It was hard to speak badly of it, no matter what she might think of it.
Mia pushed open a door to reveal a small, neat bedroom. The scent of lavender perfumed the air and everything looked clean and fresh, from the white bedspread to the flower-patterned curtains. Beth was surprised and impressed. The Church houses were so lifeless and spartan.
"Wait here a second." Mia disappeared again, leaving Beth alone with Tanner. In a bedroom. Her cheeks got so hot she was sure she'd spontaneously combust. He stood in the doorway, watching her carefully, arms folded across his chest. It was a pose she associated with anger, but he didn't look angry. He looked thoughtful, his ruggedly handsome face softened by whatever was on his mind.
She fidgeted, uneasy under his scrutiny. What did one say to strange men in these circumstances? "Thank you for bringing me here," she said finally.
He smiled. It was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. "Well, couldn't just leave you in the middle of the road, could I?" He closed the distance between them. Beth resisted the urge to step back—mostly because doing so would have landed her on the bed. But when he touched her face—gently, so gently— she flinched and turned away.
"Please don't," she whispered. Being alone in a bedroom with a strange man was bad enough; letting him touch her was ... well, it was a lot of things. Immodest. Sinful. Never mind that his rough fingers were so careful and his light touch made her tremble.
He scowled, but she sensed it wasn't directed at her. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said.
"No, but ... It isn't proper." She gazed up at him, pleading silently for him to understand.
Before he could reply, Mia returned with an armful of towels. Tanner dropped his hand and stepped away, and Beth felt a pang of relief and regret.
"Here we go," Mia said, handing Beth a towel. "Now you get dry and let's see what I've got in my wardrobe that will fit you. Then we'll take care of coffee and pie."
Her breezy generosity made Beth feel guilty. "I don't have any money ..."
"Never mind that. Dry yourself." Mia opened her wardrobe and started rummaging. "Tanner, you go wait in the diner. Give the girl some privacy."
Tanner opened his mouth to protest, but closed it quickly when she glared warningly at him. He left the room, almost stomping out, Beth thought.
She started drying her hair while Mia pulled things out of her wardrobe. "You're about my height, but that's where our similarities end," Mia said apologetically. She handed Beth a plain white T-shirt, a black and blue flannel shirt, and a pair of jeans. "You're going to be a little swamped in this stuff, but it's better than what you're in now."
Beth flushed again, embarrassed by her worn clothes. Still, she was privately glad that the clothes Mia gave her were a little large and plain. Some of the other stuff she could see in Mia's wardrobe was bright and fitted, the kind of garments Abram would say prostitutes and fallen women wore. The Church taught that women's bodies were sinful, a source of temptation, and not to be celebrated. It also taught that frugality was purity. Beth wasn't sure she really believed that, but she hadn't been given a choice about it. Everything she owned was designed to cover her up and had been handed down by other women. She'd never owned anything new.
"Thank you," she said, taking the clothes.
"I'll give you a minute to change," Mia said. "Then you come on through and we'll get you fed."
To her horror, Beth felt tears sting her eyes. "Why are you being so kind?" she blurted before she could stop herself.
Mia looked momentarily troubled, then smiled and patted Beth's arm. "I'm kind to everyone, sweetie. It's my job."
She left and Beth couldn't hold it in any longer. She sat down on the bed, buried her face in the damp towel, and cried.
Chapter Two
Tanner drummed his fingers on the counter diner and tried not to think about the girl. Bethany. He tried not to think about how much pain and fear those blue eyes expressed. He tried not to think about how timid she acted. He tried not to think about how much he wanted to hold her and promise her that whatever, whoever was hurting her, he'd make them stop.
Fuck. What was wrong with him?
Mia came back out, a worried expression on her face. She poured him a cup of coffee, leaving it black how he liked, and pushed it toward him. "Where'd you find her, Tanner?"
He winced at the grit in her voice. Mia looked soft, all lush curves and big smiles, but she was made of steel underneath. None of the guys in the Wild Blood MC messed with Mia. Probably all of them would like to, under the right circums
tances ... He shook that thought away. "I told you, in the middle of the road. She almost ran right into me." He went cold, thinking again of how easily he could have killed Bethany.
Mia wiped at an imaginary stain on the counter. "Well she's running from someone, or something. What are you going to do with her?"
Protect her, he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. "I don't know."
"Think of something," Mia advised.
Tanner ran his hands through his hair with a groan. "Nash will kill me."
Mia cocked an eyebrow at him. "You scared?"
Scared of Cullen Nash? Fuck yes. Tanner wasn't an idiot. The President was a scary dude, and Tanner respected the big dog. Nash didn't have many rules when it came to the MC, but one of them was iron-clad: don't draw attention. Tanner had broken that rule once. It had put him behind bars, and he knew he was lucky Nash had let him back in the MC.
And Bethany ... Jesus fucking Christ, you didn't have to be a genius to see that Bethany was on the run from something. That meant trouble. That meant attention.
If Tanner really wasn't an idiot, he'd get right back on his bike, drive home, and forget all about Bethany.
Then she slunk back into the diner and he knew it was a lost cause.
The clothes Mia gave her didn't do her any favors. The flannel shirt hid the curves he'd felt pressed against his back on the ride, and the baggy jeans gave her a boyish look. The girls who hung around the Wild Blood clubhouse, the old ladies and the ones looking to become old ladies, they generally wore much more revealing gear. And five seconds ago, Tanner would have said that was the way it should be.
But for all that the clothes made Bethany look like a kid playing dress up with her brother's gear, something about the sight of her made Tanner's cock twitch. Maybe it was just that he wanted to peel the clothes off, find out what she was hiding underneath. There was something to be said for a little mystery, after all.