The Cut by Carol Lynne: Kings of Bedlam MC Series, Book One

by Carol Lynne

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  ©opyright

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available from Stiff Rain Press

  www.StiffRainPress.com

  THE CUT

  Kings of Bedlam MC

  by Carol Lynne

  Stiff Rain Press

  ☁☁☁

  ☂

  www.StiffRainPress.com

  Erotic Literature, Hard and Wet

  ©opyright

  The Cut

  Copyright © 2014 Carol Lynne

  Edited by Christine Allen-Riley and Jaclyn Thomas

  Cover Art by Reese Dante www.reesedante.com

  Published by Stiff Rain Press

  1093 A1A Beach Blvd, Suite 146

  St. Augustine, FL 32080

  Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-62334-033-6

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. 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.

  Electronic Release: June 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher and author.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Carol Lynne and Stiff Rain Press. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  As the only child of an abusive biker and an alcoholic mother, Santana Rogers had one hero she could turn to in her life. Stake Wills, a member of the Kings of Bedlam Motorcycle Club, was her father’s best friend, her savior and her lifelong crush. When her father is sent to prison, the club and her only friends turn their backs on her, leaving her to deal with the fall-out of her father’s crime on her own.

  Santana is proud of the way she’s persevered through the hard and lonely years on her own. When Stake reappears into her life after the county sheriff attacks her, she isn’t sure she’s willing to let him back into her life and her heart. And if she does, she’s not sure she’ll survive having her heart broken again when he inevitably leaves.

  It just about killed Stake to walk out of Santana’s life, but after his best friend’s death, he’s forced to choose between the motorcycle club and keeping an eye on Santana. The club is the only family he’s ever known, and a blackmail threat by Santana’s mother threatens to destroy it all. He realizes that he made a mistake, but that won’t stop him from trying to prove to Santana that he’s still the man she needs him to be.

  Dedication

  For my dear friends, Lorelie, Kristina and Theresa. I couldn’t have written this book without all your help and encouragement.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Hamburger Helper:General Mills, Inc.

  Crush: Dr Pepper/Seven Up, Inc.

  Jack Daniels: Jack Daniel's Properties, Inc

  Resistol: RHE Hatco, Inc

  Prologue

  Santana Rogers ducked to avoid the water balloon and laughed. “You’ll have to do better than that, Tiny!” She dashed behind the Kings of Bedlam Motorcycle Club garage and waited for another attack. Club picnics were the best. With tons of food, all the soda they could drink and little adult supervision, it was heaven for a girl of fourteen. Unlike most kids her age, the constant sound of gunfire in the background was comforting because it meant the men of the club were still busy proving who the best shot was. The competition was a staple of any club gathering and usually happened before the men had too much to drink. Unfortunately, her father had been banned from the contest several years earlier when he’d gotten drunk and had taken a shot at one of the prospects.

  “Santana!” her friend, Jaycee, called.

  Santana narrowed her eyes and kept her mouth shut. It was just like Tiny to recruit Jaycee to draw her out of hiding. She looked around for somewhere else to hide. Shit. With only one option available, she slowly opened the back door of the garage and snuck inside. If her dad, Smash, caught her in the bike shop, he’d no doubt blister her ass, but Smash was busy drinking and playing horseshoes with his best friend Stake.

  She dug a rumpled pack of cigarettes out of her pocket as Jaycee continued to call for her outside. Smoking wasn’t something she’d ever tried, but her mom, Ellie, had lost the pack during one of her drunken stupors three nights earlier, and Santana had snatched them up.

  “It’s just me,” Jaycee said through the door. “Let me in.”

  Santana quickly beckoned her best friend inside. “Where’s Tiny?”

  Jaycee laughed. “He went to get more balloons.” Her eyes rounded when she spotted the cigarette in Santana’s hand. “Are you smoking?”

  Santana shrugged. “I thought I’d try it.”

  Jaycee wrinkled her nose. “Gross. No one’s gonna want to kiss you with ashtray breath.”

  Stake was the only man Santana wanted a kiss from, but he still saw her as a child. She’d worn her shortest pair of denim cut-offs and a skimpy halter top, which showed off her tits to perfection, and he still hadn’t looked at her like a real woman. “I think I have a few years before I need to worry about being kissed.”

  Jaycee snorted. “Then you’re blind because I’ve caught Tiny and Gill staring at your boobs today. You could have either one of them with a snap of your fingers.”

  Santana pulled out a book of matches and lit the cigarette. She coughed several times after her first inhale and shook her head. “Must take some getting used to.” She took a deep breath in an attempt to clear her lungs of the burning smoke before addressing Jaycee’s comment. “I don’t want Tiny or Gill, and you know that. Besides, I know you like Tiny, and I’d never do that to a friend.”

  Jaycee got all dreamy-eyed. “I do like him. I keep telling myself he’s out of my league, but he’s so sexy.”

  Santana concentrated on the cigarette burning in her hand. She refused to point out that Tiny was the only fifteen-year-old she’d ever seen who already sported a beard. She cringed. She hated beards, especially on a guy only a year older. It was wrong on so many levels, but then Tiny’s dad’s beard reached almost to his belt buckle. Gross. It looked like long pubic hair attached to his face. “You know I love Tiny, but you need to be careful. That boy’s aching to get into someone’s pants.”

  A loud click signaled trouble. “Let’s get outta here,” Santana said
as the big garage door at the front of the building started to go up. She dropped her cigarette and smashed it under her flip flop, hoping she hadn’t melted the cheap rubber.

  With Jaycee right behind her, Santana ran around the back of the garage to the side. She’d just turned the corner when a big, red water-filled balloon hit her in the chest, drenching her. “Dammit, Tiny!”

  Laughing, Tiny got cocky and tossed another balloon up and down in his hand. “I have one more.” Before he had a chance to throw it, Gill ran up from behind and nailed Tiny on the back of the head with a yellow balloon.

  “Sonofabitch!” Tiny whirled around and threw his remaining weapon at Gill, missing him by a mile.

  Gill was Santana’s height, which meant he was at least six inches shorter than Tiny. He danced around the yard like a boxer, readying for a fight.

  “Really?” Santana sighed. Tiny and Gill were best friends, but lately, whenever they got around girls, there was some weird competition thing going on with them. She chalked it up to raging hormones. Although, it didn’t appear to her that Gill had gone through puberty, yet.

  “Is the food ready?” Santana asked, hoping to ward off the impending wrestling match.

  Gill stopped and nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I was coming to tell you guys, but I saw the opportunity and had to take it.”

  “And you’ll pay for it,” Tiny warned, smoothing his wet, collar-length blond hair into place.

  Santana wrapped her arm around Gill’s neck and headed toward the food. “Why do you do that?”

  “What? Fuck with Tiny?” Gill shrugged. “’Cuz no one else will, I guess.”

  Despite their teasing and roaming eyes, Santana loved her friends. A lot of it had to do with growing up with them, but it was also nice to have other people her age from similar backgrounds. She might be the only one with a drunk for a mother, but they all had badass bikers for fathers. It helped, and she was grateful she had them.

  The grouping of picnic tables sat under the cool shade of four tall trees. In south Texas, any shade was good shade, and as she stepped up to the food table, she felt the temperature drop dramatically. She spotted her mom passed out in a lawn chair and shook her head. It wasn’t even one in the afternoon, which didn’t bode well for the rest of the day.

  A large hand grabbed her upper arm and spun her around. “What the hell happened to you?” her dad asked, indicating the wet top she wore.

  She glanced down at herself. She hadn’t realized the fabric was clinging to her breasts. At least the material was red so it wasn’t transparent when wet. “Sorry, water balloon fight.”

  “I won’t have a whore for a daughter,” Smash growled in her face. He shoved her toward the parking lot. “I brought a sweater for your mom to wear later, go get it and put it on.”

  “It’s too hot, Daddy,” she pleaded. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could suck them back in. She started to duck but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the meaty palm that slammed against her cheek.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ ever talk back to me, bitch,” he said, spittle dotting her face. “Go get that fuckin’ shirt,” he slurred. Obviously, her mom wasn’t the only one who’d overindulged in the beer cooler.

  Embarrassed, Santana covered her stinging cheek with her hand and took off toward the parking lot. Although she always hated her mom, it was only when he was drinking that she felt the same way about her dad. It sucked to love someone and fear them at the same time.

  As she passed by other bikers and their families, she tried to avoid eye contact, but she couldn’t miss the pity on their faces. She kept telling herself that she only had four more years before she graduated and could move as far away from Broken Ridge, Texas as she could get.

  Rounding the front of the clubhouse, she stopped short at the sight in front of her. Stake was leaning against his Harley with a bleached blonde kneeling at his feet, her lips wrapped around the biggest cock Santana had ever seen.

  His hands were buried in the woman’s hair as he fucked her mouth, heedless of the fact that the gravel under the woman’s knees had to hurt.

  Blowjobs at the club were nothing new, and it wasn’t the first time Santana had caught one of the members taking his pleasure, but it was the first time she’d seen Stake use a woman.

  His head snapped up, and he roughly pushed the blonde back, away from his cock. “What’re you doing here, lady bug?”

  Still holding her cheek, she pointed to the old Plymouth that barely ran. “Tiny got me wet, so Dad sent me to put on Mom’s sweater.”

  He turned his back on Santana and stuffed his big dick back into his faded jeans as the blonde-haired woman protested. “Get in your car, and get the fuck out of here,” he told her.

  Santana tried to walk around the pair to retrieve the sweater before her dad came looking for her, but Stake stopped her.

  “What happened to your face?” he asked, leaving the blonde behind.

  She shook her head. “I told Dad it was too hot to wear a sweater.” She closed her eyes. “I know it was stupid, you don’t have to tell me that.”

  He sighed and pulled her hand away from her cheek. He ran a finger over the stinging flesh and sighed again. “Bug, you have to be careful around him when he drinks. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she mumbled. She’d never figure out why Stake and her father were such good friends. What did Stake see in Smash that she’d missed?

  “Come here.” Stake wrapped his arm around her and walked her back to his bike. He opened one of his saddlebags, removed an old black Harley T-shirt, and handed it to her. “Put this on. It’ll be too big, but at least it’s cooler than a damn sweater.”

  Before she realized what she was doing, she lifted the shirt to her nose and inhaled the citrusy scent of his cologne.

  “I didn’t say it was clean,” he said, misinterpreting her motive. “But it is my favorite.”

  “It’s fine. Thank you.” She pulled the shirt over her head, smiling when it fell almost to her knees. “I could wear this as a dress.” She ran her finger over the small rip in the sleeve, wondering how it had happened.

  He dug a small metal tin of salve out of his bag. He set it on the bike seat before tenderly brushing her long hair away from her cheek.

  “I can’t believe you brought that,” she said.

  He gave her a sad smile. “I’ve started to carry it with me at all times.” He unscrewed the lid and gently started to apply the salve to her cheek. “It kills me when he loses his temper with you, but you need to learn to stay out of his way when he’s drinking.”

  “You’re defending him?”

  “No.” He put the lid back on the tin before wiping his hand on his jeans. “But I’m not always gonna be here. What if I’m on the road and he hurts you worse than this. Who’re you gonna go to for help?”

  She shrugged. She’d learned a long time ago that Stake was the only one who would stand up for her against her dad. “I never know when something’s going to set him off.”

  He rested his hands on her shoulders and bent down enough to look her in the eyes. “When he’s drinking, find somewhere else to go. You live in the country for fuck’s sake. Go for a walk or take a blanket and find a nice shade tree.” He kissed her forehead. “Just stay away.”

  “Or, you could take me with you when you have to go on the road,” she suggested. All she’d wanted for the last few years was to be the woman on the back of his bike. She wanted to be everything to the man who had come to her rescue on so many occasions.

  He grinned. “Can’t transport a minor across state lines, bug, but we’ll talk about it again when you’re older.”

  She smiled unable to control her emotions around him. “I’ll take you up on that.”

  He winked. “I’m counting on it.”

  Chapter One

  Ten Years Later

  Santana punched the price of the cereal into her calculator and realized she was over her limit. Shit. Even the generi
c brand was too expensive. She glanced at her cart and tried to figure out what she could eliminate. The vitamin supplement drinks for her mother took the biggest chunk of her grocery money, but they were essential. Of course, had their roles been reversed, she knew her mom wouldn’t have done the same. Hell, she’d barely registered on her mom’s radar as a child.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought not to cry. She was so damned tired of going to bed hungry. Of eating cheese sandwiches on expired bread and Hamburger Helper without the hamburger. It was a pity party she had often lately because she knew in her heart she didn’t deserve the fucked up life she’d been handed.

  With a resigned sigh, she put the corn flakes back on the shelf. Goodbye old friend, she thought as she reached for the canister of generic oatmeal. As a kid, she’d loved it when her mom had made hot oatmeal, but that had been an occasional thing, very occasional, like maybe three times in her entire childhood, but who was counting? It wasn’t often her mother had been sober enough to do anything for her only daughter.

  She felt eyes on her and turned to see a well-dressed middle-aged woman staring at her. Mrs. Godfrey, her tenth-grade English teacher. She quickly put her head down, causing her long hair to drape in front of the bruise and cut on her cheekbone. Move on, she silently commanded, hoping the woman would finish gawking.

  “Are you okay?” Mrs. Godfrey asked.

  “Fine,” Santana replied, putting her cart in motion. She hadn’t been fine when she’d begged Mrs. Godfrey for lunch money when she was just a teenager and she wasn’t fine now, but people like Mrs. Godfrey never wanted to hear the real truth. She wasn’t okay and wouldn’t be until the cancer finally took her mom. She stopped suddenly, unable to believe the thought had run through her mind, no matter how unintentional it had been. Her mother was the only reason she was still in Broken Ridge, Texas.