by Debra Kayn
"We did it, you son of a bitch." D-con shook another beer can. "Drinks in the clubhouse."
Jett shook his head, spraying the area, and swept his hair back. Sydney stood with her side to him, protecting Cora from the celebration. Though a little beer never hurt anyone. It was a time for celebration.
"Nice, job, son." Chief handed him an unopened beer.
He cracked the can, held it up, and shouted, "To Rollo."
Everyone mingling outside—bikers, women, kids— said, "To Rollo!"
He hooked Sydney's neck, brought her to him, and kept his hand on her neck. Hot, dusty, sweaty, and now covered in beer, his chest expanded with pride for his woman, who never shied away from him, no matter his condition.
"Daddy?" Gunnar tugged on Jett's vest.
He patted his chest. "Up, son."
His boy grabbed his vest and using his feet to climb up Jett's legs, made it up high enough to wrap his thin arms around his neck. He circled his son's body with his free arm.
"Missed you." He gently butted heads with Gunnar. "Miss me, son?"
Gunner nodded. "Aunt Stassi said Chief can beat you up. He can't, can he?"
Jett looked over at Chief standing behind Johanna, his arms around her from behind. At sixty-six years old, his father finally felt the aches of hard living but because Chief was Chief, fighting his dad wasn't something he'd try, even to prove a point to his son.
"That's something I'll never find out the answer to." Jett squeezed Gunnar, getting his attention. "Family doesn't fight. That includes you and Cora, and the baby in Momma's belly."
"Can I wrestle 'em?" Gunnar leaned back in Jett's arm.
He set his son down on the ground. "You bet, but later. Right now, I'm going to go inside and enjoy your momma alone for a while."
"Jackie, can you take Gunnar inside and drop him off with Kylie in the playroom?" asked Sydney. "I'll be there in a minute to let Cora have time with her aunt."
"Sure." Jackie scooped up Gunnar, groaning under the boy's weight.
His sister was growing up. The teenage boys were eyeing her, and he knew Chief had talked to a few of the younger men at the club, warning them away from Jackie. He only hoped she had a good hold on her emotions because he'd hate to kill some young son of a bitch for hurting his sister.
Stassi walked away from them, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans with a scowl on her face. "What's wrong with her?" he asked Sydney.
"I don't know."
"Hey, sister," called Jett.
Stassi turned around. "What?"
"What's your problem?"
His youngest sister rolled her eyes. At ten years old, she acted like an emotional sixteen-year-old.
"Thorn took my phone before he left for the ride." Stassi pulled out one of her hands and pointed at their brother, standing several feet away. "He lost it."
"Ask Chief for one. One that doesn't go on the internet." Thorn raised his brows. "You're too damn young for me to find out you've made a Snapchat account."
"You suck, Thorn." Stassi stomped away.
"Snapchat?" Jett looked at Sydney.
She laughed. "I'll explain later. She is too young. Thorn did the right thing before Chief finds out and holy hell breaks loose."
He reached down and cupped Sydney's ass. "Let's get Cora settled."
He led everyone into the clubhouse. Olin passed him holding a bottle of whiskey heading for the door. He grabbed his brother. "Where are you going?"
"Home." Olin tucked the bottle inside his vest.
The quietest of the brothers, Olin often disappeared from the celebrations. Jett leaned closer. "Take a woman or two with you. Wear off the ride."
Olin looked around and sniffed. "Nah, I'm going to hit the sack. Catch you tomorrow."
He watched his brother walk out of the clubhouse. After Olin's near-death attack from a Brikken enemy when he was in his mid-twenties, he'd spent a hell of a lot of time alone in one of the houses Chief owned. Normally, he wouldn't worry, but lately, there was something about Olin's habits that seemed different.
"Honey, I'm going to take Cora to Kylie. She can barely keep her eyes open." Sydney leaned in and kissed him. "I'll meet you inside?"
"Yeah." He patted her ass. "I'm going to grab a shower upstairs, change my clothes, and then come back down. I'll be quick."
He went upstairs, showered, and dressed in clean clothes he kept in his old room at the clubhouse. A room he kept vacant in case a member needed to sleep one off or stay over.
Inside, he sat on the bed and rubbed his hands over his face. Yawning, he looked at his useless fingers. Many days would go by without him stopping and trying to figure out how to do whatever he needed done with his bum hand. He'd figured out how to do most things, and what he couldn't do with his right hand, he'd do with his left.
The only time it bothered him was when the weather got cold, and a deep ache settled in his joints.
He stood, swept back his wet hair, and went downstairs to find Sydney. She stood by the bar, holding a beer can he knew wasn't for her. His balls throbbed. The sooner they got out of here, the better. It'd been a long fucking week away from her and the kids.
Sydney turned, caught sight of him, and smiled, leaving the conversation of the others and coming to him. He stopped, loving the way she walked. Belly leading the way, hips swaying more than normal.
She stopped, gave him the beer, and slipped her arms around his neck. "I almost thought I'd have to come and get you out of the shower."
"Mm." He kissed her. "You should have."
"I don't think the shower upstairs is big enough for two people." She glanced down at her baby bump pressing against his stomach. "At least not with your baby inside me."
He inhaled deeply. "You look damn sexy."
"Good enough to take me home and use my body." She grinned.
He chuckled and rubbed her ass with his free hand. "Let's go grab the kids and get out of here."
"No." She stopped him. "Let's wait an hour. They'll both be sound asleep soon, and we can carry them to the truck, and when we get home, they'll go right to bed."
He growled. "My dick's hard."
"Your..." She burst out laughing, tilting her head back. "And I bet you're cold, too?"
She wasn't the only one good at manipulation. "Real cold."
She laughed hard, making her body shake—which rubbed against him. His chest quivered in amusement at the way her belly kept him from pressing against her. "Need warmed, Syd."
He turned her around and wrapped his arm around her from behind, palming her belly, while pressing the front of his jeans against her lower back. "That's better. You just stand there keeping me warm, and I'll finish this beer."
She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. "I love you."
He kissed her upturned lips. "Love you, too."
And, that's how he spent their night celebrating. Standing in the middle of the clubhouse, surrounded by Brikken members, his kids safe and protected, wasting time until he could take Sydney home, and she could warm him properly.
Dear Readers —
THANK YOU FOR PURCHASING JETT, A Brikken Motorcycle Club saga. A damaged hero is one of my favorites to write and read about. Jett's character became special to me in Chief's book when he was incarcerated the first time. The father and son scene in prison together when we viewed the "younger" Jett dealing with life behind bars sealed his life story for me. I hope you enjoyed getting to know Jett, too.
OLIN will be the next novel in the series. I'm excited about his story for the sole purpose that he remains the "mysterious" son of Chief through book 1 and 2. Why does he want to live in a house as a single man instead of at the clubhouse? What's up with Ashley? Not to mention, how did what happened in Chief's book affect him?
So, get ready! The wait won't be long until you have all the answers.
Please feel free to like my page on Facebook to keep up to date on releases and the random bits about my life.
> LOVE,
Debra
Author Bio
Debra Kayn is published by Grand Central Publishing, Simon & Schuster Publishing, Carina Press - Harlequin Enterprises Limited, and repped by agent, Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary Management. She has over fifty contemporary novels available worldwide where heroes and heroines come from the most unlikely characters.
She lives with her family in the Bitterroot Mountains of beautiful Northern Idaho where she enjoys the outdoors, the four seasons, and small-town living.
Website: www.debrakayn.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/DebraKayn
Facebook: www.facebook.com/DebraKaynFanPage
Debra Kayn's Backlist
A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga series
Chief
Notus Motorcycle Club series
Hard Reality
Hard Mistake
Hard Drifter
Hard Escape
Hard Proof
The Higher You Fly
Ronacks Motorcycle Club series
...or something
Don't Say It
Rather Be Wrong
Can't Stop Fate
Red Light: Silver Girls series
Blow Softly
Touch Slowly
Fall Gently
Moroad Motorcycle Club series
Wrapped Around Him
For Life
His Crime
Time Owed
Falling For Crazy
Chasing Down Changes
Bantorus Motorcycle Club series
Breathing His Air
Aching To Exhale
Soothing His Madness
Grasping for Freedom
Fighting To Ride
Struggling For Justice
Starving For Vengeance
Living A Beautiful War
Melt My Heart - Anthology
Laying Down His Colors – Bantorus Motorcycle Club
A Hard Body Novel series
Archer
Weston
The Chromes and Wheels Gang series
Biker Babe in Black
Ride Free
Healing Trace
Playing For Hearts series
Wildly
Seductively
Conveniently
Secretly
Surprisingly
Modern Love – Anthology
The Sisters of McDougal Ranch series
Chantilly's Cowboy
Val's Rancher
Margot's Lawman
Florentine's Hero
Suite Cowboy
Hijinks
Resurrecting Charlie's Girl
Betraying the Prince
Love Rescued Me
Double Agent
Breaking Fire Code
Sneak Peek
***
...or something
Ronacks Motorcycle Club series, book 1
Chapter One
The dart missed hitting one of the hundred colorful balloons pinned to the board at the back of the booth, and the little boy's head fell forward, disappearing below the edge of the counter. Battery lit another cigarette from across the flow of foot traffic at the carnival, watching the young carny girl knock on the plywood and slide one more dart in front of the child, even though the kid had already used up his throws.
At three tries for five dollars, she'd already made a killing for CrazyTown Carnival.
"Look at the balloon you want to hit. Don't take your eye off the target," she said loud enough Battery could hear her over the crowd. "Hop up on the stool so that you can see better."
His gut tightened at the smooth caress of her sultry voice. The kind of voice where he expected the next words out of her mouth to describe how he made her feel and what she wanted him to do to her. A voice he'd have a hard time ignoring and hell, a voice that made him want her to keep talking because he was feeling damn good listening.
The man behind the boy handed over more cash. The young carny shook her head in refusal and ignored the father. Battery inhaled a drag off his smoke. The odds were against the kid hitting any of the balloons tacked to the board. The slight rush of air from the dart usually moved the target. It's how the carnival made money.
But, it wasn't impossible to win.
The boy lifted the dart to his shoulder, aimed, and let it go. The sharp pop at contact almost knocked the kid off the stool, and his dad had to catch him. The carny whooped and raised her hands in the air, dancing behind the counter.
Battery forgot about his cigarette and stared at her young body barely contained in the tank top and cutoffs. He exhaled, and a low growl came from his throat. Anyone with half a fucking brain would know the girl was nowhere near eighteen years old—the required age to work for the carnival.
What they saw was sex. Her large breasts on a slender body. The wide hips that at first fooled you, until you noticed her walk was carefree and not calculated. Her movements animated and wild, untamed. Green eyes, more mysterious than flirty.
It had taken him five minutes to convince himself that the girl he found was indeed Bree. Though he felt it the second he spotted her.
That's what I'm talking about, folks." The girl pointed at the child. "We've got a winner and a future dart master at my booth. You won right on time because this booth closes in five minutes."
The boy smiled, his gaze already going to the large stuffed animals hanging above him. Before the kid could get his hopes too high, Bree jumped over to the side bin with the six-inch, China-made, cheap toys.
"Pick a prize from this wide assortment of beautiful toys." Bree picked up an alligator. "This one is looking for a new home. What do you say?"
The boy shook his head and pointed. "The dog."
She scanned the pile of stuffed animals and held up what Battery thought looked like a spotted panda bear. "This one?"
The kid nodded. Battery continued watching the girl. It was his second visit to the carnival. The first time he followed a lead and came up empty. Tonight, he'd finally found her, and he wasn't going to let her out of his sight. It'd taken him nine months to find out where she'd disappeared.
Nine months of hell and sleepless nights.
All of Bree's wild, red hair, going in every direction, had finally helped him catch her. He moistened his lip and smoothed the whiskers down at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't stop watching her.
Bree haphazardly pushed her wild mane of hair off her face with her arm and his gut tightened. She might as well be wearing a fucking neon light as opposed to her hair. Nobody ever forgot hair that color. The way her young body moved, unashamed and unembarrassed begged every man who crossed her path to spend more time with her. Braless and with the bottom of her ass hanging out of her shorts, she seduced every man and woman around her. He wished she was older. At least legal. It'd make his job easier.
She was tall at five foot nine inches. Her legs went on for fucking forever. But the more he observed her, the more he wanted to know how she ended up working at a dirty carnival. Someone should be taking care of her at home and keeping her away from the drunks that played her game only to scope her out, and the fathers who dragged their kid over to throw a dart so they could get a close up of her.
She should be home, safe, spoiled, and worried about which boy to like when school started again. At least working at a mall with her friends instead of at a carnival.
The crowd in front of her booth moved on. The girl planted her hands on the counter and pulled herself up with one leap to stand and lower the piece of plywood, shutting the booth down for the night.
Battery sucked the last hit of nicotine out of his cigarette and tossed the butt in his path, stepping on it as he worked his way over the trampled field grass. He'd already made up his mind an hour ago that he'd talk to her, but when he talked, he wanted nobody else around.
Slipping between booths, he walked around to the back and waited for her to come out behind the plywood door flap. As if on cue, the partition ope
ned, and her tight ass led the way out. He took a closer look at the tanned legs and whistled on an exhale.
Her head came around at the noise; then her body followed. "Hey," she said.
She hoisted her cash box higher up under her breasts. He dragged his gaze up to fresh, innocent green eyes that showed neither fear or curiosity.
"How old are you, girl?" he asked, needing to verify he had the right girl even though he knew deep in his gut it could only be Bree.
"Whoa..." She laughed openly and honestly. "You're going to jump right into the age question without asking my name or what I'm doing once the carnival turns out their lights? What kind of pickup line is that?"
"Answer the question or don't. That's your right." He took out another cigarette and lit the end. She'd jumped right into flirting with him and at thirty-seven years old, he was old enough to be her father.
Her full lips puckered and she stared at the smoke coming out of his mouth. He recognized the longing and couldn't help leaving the cigarette between his lips to tease her.
She stepped closer, clutching the small, metal box with her earnings for the day in her arms. "You got a smoke I can bum?"
"Depends on how old you are," he said.
Her gaze narrowed. "I'm eighteen."
"Try again." He exhaled, blowing smoke her way.
Her eyes rolled, and she inhaled the smoke coming from him like a junkie. "I'm telling you the truth. I turned eighteen two weeks ago on July seventh."
Instead of giving her a new cigarette, he removed the one from between his lips and stepped toward her. She opened her mouth, and he his chest tightened and ached at how innocent she was to open her mouth around him.
She latched on to the filter with her full lips and mumbled, "Thanks."
She inhaled, blew, and her shoulders relaxed. Talented kid, she kept the cigarette in her mouth the whole time without lifting two fingers, so as not to give it back.
"God, that's good," she muttered, lipping the cigarette back in place.