Throwing some money on the table to cover the food he never got to order, Whiskey walked through the dingy diner and out the door. The call-to-action caused his adrenaline to pump, fueling his fire. He heard some of his Brothers behind him, but didn’t stop to see if they were following; they all knew the score. If the President of the Ruthless Bastards called, they jumped.
The Ruthless Bastards weren’t your typical MC; they were considered one percenters, but not for being ordinary outlaws; they didn’t run guns, drugs, or women, own strip clubs or sex shops. The RBMC were mercenaries, paid killers offering their services to the highest bidders, vowing to use the skills that Uncle Sam had given them on their own terms. Right the wrongs they wanted and never look back. Although the MC was a front to get them into places where ordinary life wouldn't let them, it didn't mean it wasn't the real thing. They were an MC and lived by those rules; they just had a different purpose than other outlaw clubs.
Their first and most stringent rule was that they didn’t go after innocents, period. They only went after the worst of the worst, on U.S. ground. Other clubs that did the bad—girls, guns, drugs, you name it, and the RBMC was doing its best to stop them. No one ever saw them coming, everyone believed the front they put out there. Most times they were still working for the agencies, getting paid bank to put others away. The biggest difference was that they followed their own rules, and no one could force them to do shit, unlike the time they served in the Armed Forces. This time, they had a choice, could steer and command their own lives. Whiskey wanted to right wrongs on his own terms. He never wanted to be at the mercy of some fucked-up asshole’s endgame, again.
Living the MC lifestyle meant wild parties, hot sex, and a different woman every fucking night. But, it also meant fidelity and loyalty to the MC, and the MC alone. It wasn’t much different from life in the military. You had a chain of command and followed it. The biggest difference was his chain of command now allowed him and every other Brother a choice. If any of them didn’t like a mission or task, they could ask questions or bow out. They were a fucked-up family of men that would live and die for each. Whiskey wouldn’t have it any other way.
The other major difference was that if a Brother needed a breather, to feel the wind in his face, he could take off for a while and not worry about the consequences. All of them understood the need to be free didn’t make them any less loyal. There were always jobs to do, places to go, and things to see; all you had to do was ask.
Whiskey had gone on runs that could last a couple of weeks or a couple of months. Runs were technically assignments, you got on you bike and went where you were needed. Most times it was hooking up with other MC’s, watching and learning their operations. Getting the scope on what other MCs were up to, and which ones were dealing drugs, guns or women. The RBMC was different, they worked with law officials. but only on their terms. If a club needed to be taken down, they did it; if the dudes in the club needed to spend some time behind bars, the RBMC made it happen. They also took on other jobs, search and rescue and the like. One of the reasons they all had to serve in the military was training was essential to them; it also kept them alive. The RBMC worked with other Chapters across the country. It felt good to know he wasn’t tied down by anything other than the Club. Then again, maybe that was his problem, he wanted to be tied down by something. Maybe it was time to put down true roots. Wasn’t that one of the reason’s he had come back to Defiance?
Getting on is bike, Whiskey made quick time of the fifteen miles from the diner to the Clubhouse. The wind on his face revived him, and he craved a longer run; he needed to get his head straight. Right now, though, he had things to do, mainly going to Church. It was where they decided and voted on everything from Prospects joining to the missions they went out on. What a funny word that was, Church; civilians heard it, and he often wondered what they thought. Some of the more jaded probably thought it was a place they did satanic rituals and sacrificed virgins.
It was also a place that Brothers could air grievances and decisions were made. Just last week, they had decided to get into the medical marijuana business. A couple of the Brother’s wanted to look into getting a grower’s license up north, and the Club had voted the idea in, the potential profits fit well with Whiskey’s future, so he was all for it. Sometimes the items discussed were more mundane, like setting up a schedule to clean the johns. That item for discussion didn’t go over as well.
The RBMC Defiance Chapter had thirteen fully patched members, four Prospects and four Puppets. Most of them lived on premises, the only exception right now being Crank, the Road Captain who lived with his Old Lady Cathy not too far away. Cathy was also the only Old Lady the Defiance Chapter had. She didn’t spend a lot of time at the Clubhouse, but Whiskey had a lot of respect for the woman. Cathy was hard working and accepted their lifestyle without question. She was also a badass in her own respect, training service and defense dogs.
The Clubhouse came into view; it always surprised and took him back a little. The place was an old Planation House, well, a better word for it would be mansion. It was beyond huge and stately. One of the things Whiskey liked was it was a place no one would ever think belonged to a Motorcycle Club. To the untrained observer or passerby, the place just looked like a house or a museum.
The outside was typical of the Plantation style, three stories, big white columns, and wide porches. It rested on over fifty acres and butted up to another hundred and fifty acres of reserve. On the other side was the Sinclair farm, Whiskey’s old haunt. They pretty much had the run of the area and no way in hell were they ever going to get a noise complaint or draw attention to themselves. The place was a perfect picture of an upstanding southern gentlemen, at least until you stepped inside, then it turned into something entirely different.
The Clubhouse was where they all let loose, it didn’t matter what time of day it was; if you walked through those doors, you were sure to get a show of some kind. None of the Brothers cared who was watching or who could see what they did or were doing, some even preferred to have an audience. Two guys could be taking one of the Puppets on a couch in the corner and another could be getting his dick sucked right at the bar. The Ruthless Bastards didn’t need an excuse to party, if they weren’t on a mission or a run, then their lives were a party all the time.
Whiskey wasn’t a shrinking violet, in the past he had partaken in all that the Club offered and to some extent, still did. However, he preferred his sex dirty, kinky even, but also behind closed doors. As he got older, he also wasn’t a fan of sloppy seconds. He loved to watch, but if the chick offered him a taste after the show, there wasn’t a chance in hell he would take her up on the offer. Maybe it was a part of getting older or maybe it was just preference, Whiskey didn’t know and didn’t care. He chose the way he lived his life, and everyone else could just fuck off if they didn’t like it.
Down The Dirt Road
Down the dirt road – Book 1
Author: Livell James & Chelsea Handcock
www.chelseahandcock.com
Copyright © 2017, Livell James & Chelsea Handcock
First electronic publication: November 2017
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted works is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
Note from the Author:
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.
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Published in the United States of America
Lucas Valentin has been summoned home to fulfil his duty as Guardian of the McClane Coven. He has always known that he cannot interfere with the Coven. That changes when he sees her. Drawn to her curvy beauty, he knows instantly she is his mate. The one person meant just for him but forbidden and for her own safety out of his reach.
Kaylee Smith gets one call from her Grandparents and she quits her job, packs up her things and moves to rural Alabama. She has no clue what she is walking into, never having been told the secrets of her family or that there are Others in the world. When confronted with the truth and one sexy hybrid she jumps in with two feet but he resists her.
Will Kaylee be able to get the battle-wary, sexy-as-sin, hybrid to accept her and what is meant to be? Can she have it all, her place in the Coven and the love of her life? Or will they be forced to run? Or will he run without her?
One thing is certain, life on the dirt road will never be the same.
Content Warning: Explicit love scenes, naughty language. Intended for mature audiences.
Chapter 1
Kaylee sat in her car on the side of the road, just off her exit in nowhere Alabama, staring at the sign in front of her—Eclectic twenty miles. The old wood sign had seen better days; it had bullet holes decorating it, and the paint was chipped and peeling in places. She couldn’t believe she was here. She couldn’t believe she had left behind the only life she had ever known.
This was the right thing to do. That was what Kaylee Smith needed to keep reminding herself of over and over again. Or at least until the words took root and stuck, but there was a part of her which knew they never would. It might be the right thing and something she didn’t have a problem doing, per se, but leaving her life behind was wearing on her like the miles she travelled down this dirt road. This trip wasn’t a simple visit; she was moving her life here, to Eclectic, Alabama. Home of basically nothing, but her grandparents and trees.
Two weeks ago, she had been working her job at the bank as a teller, a typical nine-to-five job. It wasn’t much, but it paid the bills and gave her a sense of independence. The apartment she lived in was nothing special either, but it was hers, filled with the things she loved. Now, most of those things were crammed into her tiny Ford Escape while the rest had been donated or thrown out.
Her Grandma had called and told Kaylee they needed her, and without a second thought, she jumped into action to make that happen. Her grandparents were getting up there in age, and their health wasn’t the best. Kaylee was most concerned about her grandpa. According to her grandma, he hadn't been doing very well lately and that greatly concerned her.
Kaylee’s mom, their only daughter, lived in California and had a killer job, so the responsibility of caring for them fell to Kaylee. At least that’s what she kept telling herself and everyone else; the truth was her mom was selfish and couldn’t be bothered to help out her own parents. No, that responsibility was always laid on Kaylee’s shoulders. Not that she minded, she loved her grandparents and would do anything for them. Even leave behind all her friends and the fantastic nightlife and restaurants of Birmingham. It was a small price to pay for the people who you love and cherish, right?
That was the other reason she was sitting on the side of the road; she had a call to make. Hitting the redial button on her steering wheel, Kaylee tried to keep positive thoughts in her mind. This time her mother would answer her call; she had only been trying to get ahold of the woman for two weeks. On the fourth ring, she slammed her hand down on the button, disconnecting the call. She refused to leave another message which would go unanswered.
She and her mother had a very contentious relationship. The woman was never there when Kaylee needed her that responsibility was always left to her Grandma Ruth. Another reason why she left her life behind and came to Eclectic, of all places; she owed her even though Kaylee knew her grandmother wouldn’t say or feel that way, Kaylee did, so that was that.
Kaylee hated driving long distances, but thankfully most of the drive was behind her now. She knew the rest of the ride would be leisurely. Only long, scenic backroads were ahead with beautiful cotton fields and pastures filled with horses and cows. She could take her time and enjoy the scenery as long as she got to her grandparents sometime today or they would worry. She had her mega sized Diet Coke and she was going to take her time. Plan set, she put her car in drive and pulled back out onto the road; only little longer now she thought. Looking at all the familiar landmarks, she let her mind wander to happier times.
As a child, she visited her grandparents often. Every time she got in trouble or her mother needed a break, she shipped her off to her Grandma Ruth. Kaylee often wondered why the woman had decided to have a child in the first place. Her time spent with her Grandparents, those were memories she cherished. Kaylee could remember getting so excited once they hit the dirt road leading to her grandparents’ home. The feeling was still there, and the closer she got, the excitement bubbling up in her stomach was giving her butterflies.
She was so caught up in her memories of the past, her phone ring loudly in the silent car scared the crap out of her. She jumped, spilling her drink all over the front of her, the cool liquid pooling in her cleavage and seat.
“Son of a pup!” Kaylee yelled. She thought it might be her mother calling her back, so she hit the button on her steering wheel to engage her phone, but ended up hitting the wrong button, disconnecting the call. “Damn it,” Kaylee barked to herself. If it was her mother, she could wait for once.
Kaylee squirmed in her soaked pants and shirt. Looking over in the passenger seat, she tried to find something to wipe herself, but didn’t see anything. Glancing in the back, she saw a sweatshirt she had thrown back there which seemed within reach. Doing some contortionist moves, trying to reach back and still keep her eyes on the road, she managed to get her hands on the garment. But like with all good plans, something went wrong. She must have looked away for just a second because the next thing she knew, she was slamming on the brakes.
“Oh Fuck!”, Kaylee screamed. There was a man standing right in the middle of the road. Well, he had been just a second ago, now, he was laying on the side of the road somewhere. Kaylee jump out of the car, barely putting it in park first, running to the other side of the car. She knew she hadn’t hit him, but he was still on the ground. What was he doing out here in the middle of nowhere, standing in the middle of the road?
“Oh my God, I am so sorry, are you okay?” She offered the prone man her hand, only to pull it back when that small touch produced a massive static shock. She could have sworn she even heard the snap, she sure felt it. Rubbing her hand on her wet jeans, she tried again; this time when he took her hand, it only tingled.
When he finally stood to his full height, Kaylee was pretty sure her mouth was hanging wide open. This man didn’t belong in the middle of rural Alabama. He belonged on a stage somewhere, guitar firmly in hand, stroking and strumming it, while he held it close. That brought a few other thoughts to her mind. Shaking her head, Kaylee couldn’t believe she was so all over the place. She had just scared the crap out of both of them, now she was drooling over him, like a groupie.
“Are you okay?” she asked for the second time,
The guy was looking at her with a small grin on his face, but he didn’t say anything, making her more concerned. She must have done something or made a noise because he finally spoke.
“I’m fine ma’am, just a little shaken up, no harm done,” he said releasing her hand and brushing off his extremely tight jeans. Damn, where was her head, she wasn’t acting like herself at all. She didn’t notice how tight strange men’s jeans were. She wasn’t that type of girl.
Sure, she paid attention when a good-looking guy crossed her path, but this was different, this man was different. He was a work of art—from his shiny, long black hair, flipped to the side, framing his face to the brightly colored tattoos decorating his arms, peeking out of his
unbuttoned shirt. Argh, she almost wanted to slap herself.
Kaylee couldn’t have stopped looking if she wanted to, the man compelled her eyes to stay on him. It was as if he put a spell on her, it was weird but also comforting, like she had found something she had been looking for all her life. As he walked closer to her, everything else seemed to fade away until they were the only two people in the world. His eyes were a color of blue she had only seen when she visited the ocean and could only be described as piercing, drawing her in further. Kaylee felt a feather light touch on her cheek, drawing her back to reality.
“Are you okay?” the man asked. Oh, my Lord, his voice was amazing. Deep and raspy, it sent shivers down her spine. Kaylee just stared for a second, unable to speak or move. When he laughed, she shook her head.
“Yeah, I guess this whole thing freaked me out more than I thought,” Kaylee said waving her hand toward the car and then back at the man. “Sorry, but what were you doing in the middle of the road? I wasn’t going that fast, and I only looked away for a second. I know I didn’t hit you, but then you were on the other side of the road laying down. You scared the shit out of me.”
Kaylee knew she was rambling. She thought about the words she was saying and what was going on here. She was in the middle of nowhere with a man who stood in front of an oncoming car, only to throw himself off to the side. It was like the start of a bad slasher film.
Stepping away, she started going back to her car and safety. She knew better than this, she should have at least gotten her phone or called 911 before she got out of the car. Didn’t con men do this stuff all the time to get a little free cash? She started walking a little faster now her brain had finally engaged.
It didn’t matter that the man was gorgeous and was wearing tight as sin, skinny jeans. Or that those jeans hugged his calves and thighs, showing everything while still leaving some mystery of what she would find underneath. She needed to get the hell out of here, but a part of her wanted to stay right there with this man.
Cash: NAC & The Holly Group (Alpha Team Book 6) Page 17