Colton's Salvation: A Demented Sons MC Novel

by Kristine Allen

  Text copyright 2017 Kristine Allen

  All Rights Reserved

  Published in the United States of America.

  First published in May, 2017.

  Cover Design: Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations

  Cover Model: Courtesy of Vladimirs Poplavskis

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  The purchase of this e-book allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. This does not include the right to resell, distribute, print or transfer this book, in whole or in part to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (www.fbi.gov/ipr). Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. For information message kristine.allen.author@gmail.com.

  Warning: This book contains offensive language, violence and sexual situations. Mature audiences only, 18+ years of age.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Epilogue

  Enjoy a preview of Mason and Becca’s story…

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To my mom, who gave me my voracious appetite for books and to my dad who always has unfailing belief in me (but I still don’t want you to read this)…

  April 2013

  I WAS SO CLOSE. Nearly four years of late nights, no sleep, and running myself into the ground trying to keep up my scholarship and working a side job so I would be able to eat. I’m told that is a little important—eating. Who knew? Even though there were times I wasn’t sure I even ate. I was trying to study, but my roommate and best friend through all four years of hell, Becca, would not leave me alone about this year-end party. What was it about “I have finals coming up” that she could not seem to comprehend? I was stressed, I looked like total crap on a stick, I knew I had so much to study over the next few weeks that my head might actually explode, and yet she kept yapping on and on about this stupid party that I just didn’t have time for.

  “Come on! I don’t think you have done a single thing for yourself in the last four years, Steph. When was the last time you let go and just had fun?” she pestered. “This is the biggest get-together of the year. We’re almost graduates! It’s Friday night, and you have tomorrow and Sunday to study. Please? Please just go with me. I heard Brent might be there, and I need you to be my wingman. You know I can barely say three coherent words around him—I need you for support.”

  Guilt.

  Of course, she would lay on guilt.

  And when had I ever been a good wingman for her? Although, she was correct in saying I hadn’t done anything fun in forever. I could count on one hand the number of times we had gone out since we became roommates during our freshman year. I honestly didn’t know why she was still friends with me. We were nearly polar opposites. She was the bubbly, cheerful, passionate one; I was the studious, quiet, focused one. The only thing I had been passionate about was my cooking.

  Quite the ironic state of affairs, if you thought about it.

  I was a soon-to-be chef and restaurant owner—God willing—who had survived through college on mac and cheese, cheerios, and ham sandwiches. It was disgusting, really. I absolutely loved to cook, which was why I was at Iowa State pursuing my degree in Culinary Science. I was sure that I would be the next Emeril or Bobby Flay… maybe Rachel Ray. Lordy, maybe I watched too much Food Network in High School. Why couldn’t I have gone for teaching, accounting, or something “normal” as many of my friends did? But of course not. I had sworn to my grandmother, years ago, I would go to school to do something I enjoyed. With my minor in business management, I had dreams of owning my own restaurant someday—a restaurant where I was a world-renowned chef, of course. People would come from all over the world to sample my culinary masterpieces… Hey, if you’re going to dream, it should be big, right?

  “Are you even listening to me?” Becca whined.

  Um, no.

  Typical of me to get lost in my own little “food world.” Sighing, I pulled the end of my pen from between my teeth where I had been nervously holding it as I tried to study.

  “Becca, I can’t. I just can’t. I have to get a nearly perfect score on this Professional Communications test and the final if I want to maintain my GPA. You know Professor Higgins hates me because I was late to her class the first day. She has made my life miserable all semester because of that!”

  She looked at me with a deadpan expression. “Seriously, Steph? You have gotten a solid A in every class since freshman year. I think you will be fine if you don’t finish this class with perfect grades. Besides, after we graduate, it will probably be forever before I see you!” Then she pouted.

  Yeah, that did it.

  I knew she was right.

  She was heading back home to Council Bluffs, and I was headed to the “Big City” somewhere to follow my dreams. I blew a clump of my long bangs out of my eyes and buried my face in my hands with my elbows resting on the table.

  “Okay. Fine,” I said, “but I’m not staying all night and I’m not drinking!”

  Oh, the best laid plans…

  WHY THE HELL HAD I agreed to go to a stupid college party?

  I
would have rather headed to a small bar to have a few beers and just chill.

  Shit. Mason may be my battle buddy, but he sure knew how to fuck up my plans.

  I figured heading home with him while on block leave would be a good distraction from our pending deployment, but I did not plan on hanging with a bunch of college pukes. Over eight years and five deployments in the Army as a Ranger Sniper, and I was on a totally different level than these kids. Making it through Airborne training then Ranger training, and Sniper School was hellacious training in itself, and I’d probably seen more shit in six months of a single deployment than they would see their entire lives.

  Shit they couldn’t imagine seeing.

  I leaned back against the old barn, slowly drinking my beer, and watched Mason as he attempted to put the moves on a cute blonde over by the bonfire. She was a hot little thing and seemed to be falling hook, line, and sinker for his smile and flirting. Typical.

  Looked like someone was getting lucky tonight, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.

  If you asked me, he put too much effort in that shit. Either the bitch wanted to get laid, or not. I preferred chicks who knew what the score was and didn’t need sweet words and roses. Truthfully, tonight I just wanted to enjoy a cold beer and relax, which was exactly why I wanted to hit a small bar, not some crappy college frat party at a farm in the middle of Nowheresville, Iowa.

  Fuck me.

  As I tipped up my beer, I enjoyed the cold, slightly bitter, brew as it washed across my tongue and down my throat. Sitting in the cool grass, with the old wood of the barn pressed to my back, I continued to quietly scan the area as I rested my arms on my knees, the bottle dangling loosely from my hand.

  Some habits die hard.

  I took a deep breath, letting it out slow, trying to maintain my cool with the crowd milling around and the loud music and laughter coming from the barn. The early April night air was cool on my skin. I could feel the bass resonating through the wood of the barn to my spine, causing my heart to beat in tempo with the music. Everything felt a little too loud, a little too hectic.

  Yeah, definitely not my scene.

  Looking around the crowd once again and scanning over the people dancing on the makeshift dance floor under the trees strung with those Christmas-y looking white lights, I noticed a fiery redhead dancing with her arms in the air as a blonde football-star type held her waist from the back and ground against her ass. Fireball, as I dubbed her, seemed to be eating it up as she threw a coy, seductive smile over her shoulder to him. She was hot as hell, and I was surprised Mason hadn’t gone for her since he loved redheads so much. When she danced to the side a little, I noticed her friend. She was dancing with another blonde dipshit football-star type behind her.

  What? Did they mass produce these guys here, or what? Jesus.

  Her friend was smiling and laughing until jock-face got touchy-feely and let his fingers do the walking up her waist to her tits. They were nice ones, but fuck if it wasn’t almost obscene the way the sequins sparkled between his fingers as he cupped his hands with splayed fingers over them.

  Damn asshole.

  She obviously wasn’t cool with that, because she grabbed his wrists, trying to bring his hands back down. That’s when I saw him scowl and jerk her close as he said something in her ear. She didn’t seem to like what he had to say because her smile completely vanished and she looked troubled as he began to back them slowly away from her friend. He grabbed her arm, dragging her over to a picnic table away from the rest of the party.

  Of course, that happened to bring them within my earshot, but the darkness along the side of the barn concealed me from view so they didn’t seem to notice me sitting there in the obscure shadows. I could hear him telling her she shouldn’t be such a tease as he pushed her to sit on the end of the table. When he forced his body between her legs and ran his hand up her thigh, I felt my heart race and started to get a little pissed.

  No, highly pissed and I didn’t know why.

  Hell, I didn’t even know this chick, and I was sure she was entirely too young for the likes of me, but my momma raised me to be a gentleman as best she could before she died. I tried my best to remember that. When I heard her tell him to stop and plead with him to go back to the dance floor to join their friends, fire built inside me. When he tried to lean into her, forcing her to lie back toward the top of the table, she started to struggle. I found myself slowly rising to my feet and gripping my beer bottle by the neck to make a better weapon.

  What the fuck?

  Motherfucker didn’t know what “no” meant, obviously. I knew I was making a big mistake getting involved, but something in her body language and the tone of her voice begged me to be the fucking hero. I knew better than this shit. I wasn’t a hothead. In my line of work, that didn’t fly and would end your career, and possibly even your life, quickly. As I walked the short distance toward them I thought to myself “Fucking John Wayne to the fuckin’ rescue.”

  Shit.

  DAMMIT, I KNEW I should have stayed home. I had broken every damn rule I set for the night. Frickin’ drinking every shot Becca handed me and dancing with Brent’s asshole friend just so she could dance with Brent. At first I was having fun and it felt good to let loose for once and enjoy the attention of one of the gorgeous guys who always seemed to flock around Becca with her gorgeous auburn curls and beautiful model-like body. Let’s face it, I usually didn’t take the time to dress up and guys rarely looked twice when I was in my usual attire of T-shirts, hoodies, and sweats, topped with a messy bun.

  Yep, that was my signature look. Vagrant extraordinaire.

  Tonight I had let Becca pick out one of her cute little outfits with a flared, short skirt that felt waaaaay too short, and a tight, black, low-cut tee with “Harley” spelled out in sequins and cut-outs on the sides. I swore the girls were gonna pop out of Becca’s loaned push-up bra if I breathed too deep. I was no member of the itty bitty titty committee to begin with. Not to mention, every little breeze made it feel like I wasn’t wearing anything. A couple times I had to check to be sure my ass wasn’t flashing everyone.

  When Rick got a little too comfortable and his hands started roaming, the night went downhill fast. I knew I was beyond tipsy and my coordination was off, or I would have never let him drag my butt out in the dark.

  Damn, damn, damn…. I tried to convince him to go back over by Becca and everyone else without causing a scene, but perhaps he was too drunk to register that I wasn’t as into him as he was wanting to be “in” to me. He was starting to scare me, and I struggled to get away from him before the panic that was clawing up my throat took over.

  Crap.

  That’s when I saw a hand land on Rick’s shoulder as he was jerked around to face the guy behind him. I nervously brushed my skirt back down and slid off the table to stand up and sneak away while Rick was distracted.

  “I think the young lady was pretty clear when she said stop.” The voice seemed to be deceptively calm. As I sidled away and around Rick, my vision zeroed in on what had to have been the most stunning man I had ever laid my eyes on. He looked to be at least 6’3” with short-cropped, jet-black hair and what, even in the dark shadows of the barn, were the most vivid blue eyes in existence. Thick lashes framed those gorgeous baby blues, which upon closer inspection were flecked with darker blue, and one of his dark eyebrows raised in question. I felt frozen in place as my eyes swept down his body… and what a body it was.

  Oh. My. Gawd…!

  I saw firmly sculpted muscles outlined perfectly through his tight black T-shirt. Dark tattoos peeked from under the edge of the sleeves on both arms, making me wonder what kind of artwork the gods bestowed on him, because surely this man was not human. There was no way he was one of the guys from the college, as he had a maturity and worldliness about him—something that was lacking in every male here tonight. And he was just too beautiful for words.

  Be still my ever-loving heart.

  His worn-looking jean
s hung low on his hips, and that butt, sweet baby Jesus, it should be a sin for a guy to have a butt that nice. Aw hell, what the heck was wrong with me? I needed to quit drooling over Mr. Sex-in-a-box and get back to Becca.

  Ugh!

  “Hey, man, this doesn’t concern you. Me and my girl, here, were just trying to spend a little alone time together. Back the fuck off!” I heard Rick mouth off, causing me to stop in my tracks and spin back to the two of them. Oh hell no.

  “Rick, I’m not your ‘girl,’ and I do not want to have any ‘alone time’ with you!” I said, as I felt my fists clench and my eyes flash. “I told you I wanted to go back to Becca, but you were too drunk for that to sink into your thick skull!” What an ass.

  I saw Rick’s face screw up in anger as he took a step toward me. “You fucking bitch! Maybe you shouldn’t be such a dick tease!” My mouth fell open in shock. That’s when Mr. Sexy—dang who was this guy?—dropped his beer bottle, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and spun him around, slamming him against the side of the barn.

  “Watch your fucking mouth, you piece of shit. Didn’t your momma teach you not to talk to ladies like that?” He spoke in a deadly calm manner as he brought his face within centimeters of Rick’s. He said something to Rick in such a low tone I couldn’t make out what was said, but I saw fear in Rick’s eyes before he covered it with an expression of false bravado. He jerked away from Mr. Sexy, straightened his shirt, then gave me a hate-filled look before he stomped off muttering, “Shit, you can have the dumb, stuck-up bitch, asshole. She doesn’t put out, anyway.”

  I went to thank Mr. Sexy and stumbled over the uneven ground in Becca’s stupid heels. Being more than tipsy, I couldn’t seem to get my balance and started to fall. Just as I saw the ground coming up to hit my face, he grabbed me under my arms, pulling me up against him with my face buried in his abdomen.

  Shit. Shit! Shit! How embarrassing.

  Now I looked like a klutzy, dumbass, little girl who couldn’t handle herself, or her alcohol. Great. Just freakin’ fantastic. Way to make an impression, Steph! And Lordy, I may have broken my nose on his rock-hard abs. Heaven help me.