Lucky (Inked Menace MC #1): Shifter Biker Club

by Hawk, Ryanne

  A lump formed in her throat. She glanced out the window at the backs of the bikers’ jackets, holding her breath and biting her lip. She sighed in relief when she saw they weren’t on the list. Maybe it really was a coincidence.

  “What’s the plan?”

  She was used to having to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice. This would make lucky number three. She almost laughed, a dazzling pair of green eyes flashing in front of her face. Cecelia watched Luke, No, Lucky, turn and march back into the shop. From the hard set of his shoulders she knew something was wrong.

  Could she go back in there and ask for help?

  Should she?

  “We have a few options,” Frank said. “Stay put and let us see where things go.”

  So, be a lamb ready for wolves.

  “Two, pack a bag and leave town. We’ll set you up with a new name and temporary housing.”

  A shitty hotel with a babysitter.

  “Three, face this head-on and dispatch the outlaws. Work with ATF and Homeland to bring them down.”

  Be a rat with a giant target on your back.

  “None of those are good options,” she said, keeping her other thoughts to herself. “How long do I have to decide?”

  He sighed, and she imagined him running a hand through his graying hair. As the marshal assigned to her case, he had a history with her. Once Cecelia had disclosed confidential information about her husband’s extracurricular business activities, they’d offered her WITPRO. Peter’s family was big in the oil business, but he moonlit as an arms dealer. One night Cecelia had overheard his plans for a run and had made the foolish mistake of asking him about it.

  He’d beaten her, thrown her down the stairs, and walked out the front door, stepping over her bloody body and their dying fetus. Once she’d come to, she’d crawled to the phone and dialed 911.

  Peter had come to the hospital and played the grieving, compassionate husband, but once he got her alone in the room, away from the doctors and nurses, he’d cut off her air with his fingers around her neck and whispered in her ear.

  “I can’t kill you right now, but if you breathe a word to anyone, I will end your life. Do you understand?”

  She’d nodded, unable to speak. She’d laid her hands over her empty womb, a small sob choking her more than his cruelty ever could.

  He’d stroked the back of his finger down her cheek and stared at her face. She wasn’t sure whether he was smiling at all the bruises, the blood, or the carnage.

  In that moment she’d made her decision. He’d taken everything from her. Everything that was good and right in this world. For that, she’d make him pay.

  For a few weeks she’d spied on him, copied his notes, eavesdropped when she was able to, and then turned the evidence on him and his gunrunning over to the authorities. He’d been brought up on multiple charges, the most damning being the murder of their daughter, Olivia. Cecelia had been 26 weeks pregnant when he’d shoved her down the stairs and beaten her to within an inch of her life.

  Her medical records told a horrid tale of abuse over their five years of marriage.

  Frank’s voice cut through the memories. “Take tonight, call me from the prepaid in your mailbox tomorrow morning, and let me know your decision.”

  She swallowed. “Will do, Frank. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “I wish I had better news, kid.”

  He clicked end and the call went dead. At almost twenty-five, she wished she felt like a kid instead of a broken shell.

  She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and put the vehicle in drive, then headed to her small one-bedroom apartment in the center of town. Originally the marshals had wanted to put her in a quiet house on the outskirts. For some reason, that just made her feel like a sitting duck. She liked the hustle and bustle of the street below her window. She had a corner apartment with no outside access, on the fourth floor of a six-floor building. It was an older complex, built before the law required two exits. She had a folding metal ladder by the window, just in case. All she had to do was throw it outside and climb down.

  She shut and locked the apartment door behind her, then stepped into the galley kitchen and brewed a hot cup of tea, made a small sandwich, and sat at the two-seater table to people-watch the crowd walking below.

  The clock ticked every second and read 3:55 p.m. It’d been a little over an hour since her conversation with Agent Dover. An hour during which she’d thought of nothing but the color of Luke’s eyes and the heat his skin emitted. The sexy growl when he spoke.

  That wasn’t true, but it was a hell of a lot nicer to think about than a gang of badass bikers gunning for her. If tonight was her last night here, then she was going to go enjoy the scenery.

  Cecelia got up, changed her clothes, grabbed her purse, and left before her rational side kicked in and she clammed up to hide in the corner. She hadn’t survived what she’d gone through only to crumble when life threw lemons at her.

  No. It was time for some goddamn lemonade.

  * * *

  Okay, so the plan was to mill around the shops, buy a few things, toss back a few drinks and have some fun. Not stand in front of a certain tattoo shop and shift from foot to foot for twenty minutes while she gathered enough courage to walk back inside.

  “Little bird?”

  She kept staring at the red and black Inked Menace sign.

  Someone cleared his throat near her and said, “Cecelia, is that you?”

  Her name drew her attention and she turned to her left, and there, leaning against the side of the building near an alley, was the man she’d been just thinking about. His hands were pressed against the concrete. He pushed away and stood straight, then strolled toward her.

  “Everything okay?”

  “What did you call me before?” she asked, her brain firing back up.

  His sexy chuckle rolled over her. “I called you little bird, because you talked through our entire session and rambled incessantly.”

  “I did?”

  He nodded, a slight curve to his lip, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses even though the light was fading from the sky.

  “I’m sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous. I try to control it, but, well, you know. Shit happens.”

  “I hear that. So, what brings you by?”

  He was closer now, a few feet away. If she reached out and stretched, she’d be able to touch him.

  “I, um…” She looked down at the dirty sidewalk encrusted with used gum and cigarette butts. “I–”

  Lucky’s feet came into view as she stared down, and then his hand was in her line of sight. He reached up and lifted her chin with his fingers. When she glanced up into his face, she read the concern etched across his forehead. His jaw clenched at whatever he saw on her face.

  Fuck it, she thought. I’m leaving in the morning. Her muscles bunched and then she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his before either of them knew what was coming. He froze as she slipped her tongue inside the heat of his mouth and then he groaned, clutching his hands to her ass cheeks and squeezing her closer. Mint and lime invaded her senses and she suddenly had the urge to get a mojito.

  He opened his mouth and dueled back, sliding his tongue across her lower lip. Then he eased the rhythm to something darker, more sensual, slower. He nipped at her chin, pressed light kisses to her jaw, and then cupped her face in his hands, letting her toes ease all the way back down to the ground once more.

  The fire in his eyes told her what she already knew. They had chemistry. Extreme chemistry. Too bad she wasn’t able to stick around and see if it led anywhere. She didn’t want to put him at risk. Too many people had gotten hurt or died already because of her. She couldn’t add his name to the list.

  Cecelia pulled back and smiled at him. “I just wanted to thank you.” For making me feel something other than fear. For igniting my senses and sending my girlie parts tingling into orbit.

  “Well,” he said with a huge grin. “That’
s a helluva thank you.”

  She moved back another step before she caved and pressed herself into him again like a cat in heat. She wanted more, and she had to stop herself before things went south.

  Really far south.

  Damn it. Get your head out of the gutter, girl. Time to move on.

  “Want to have dinner tomorrow night?” he blurted out and then shook his head and glanced away from her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Fuck, yes. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Cecelia turned away when her eyes burned and she took a deep breath. She moved a step toward her car, then another.

  “Wait!” he yelled, and grabbed her arm. Sudden and potent fear blew through her and her instincts took over. She raised her arm to deflect the blow her body knew was coming. She crouched and leaned back, squeezing her eyes shut.

  When nothing happened, she peeked out of one eye and saw his face twisted with shock, then pure, raw rage. A moment later, the anger abated and his face was a blank mask.

  I wonder if he can teach me that trick. How to close down your emotions.

  He backed up a few more steps, placing enough distance between them to be non-threatening. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Cecelia,” he cooed in a soft, soothing voice and made sure she saw him put his hands behind his back. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “I know,” she whispered, and then bolted to her car as hot tears fell down her cheeks. Embarrassment flooded her veins.

  “Cecelia,” he called out, but she opened the door, jumped inside, started the engine, then peeled out in a haze of agony.

  Chapter Four

  “Fucking shitface asshole,” Lucky said and slammed the front door to the shop, needing to tear something apart. Or someone, he thought. One minute he’d been kissing the woman he’d been fantasizing about for the better part of the afternoon, and the next she was huddled in fear that he was going to strike her. There was a lot of growling going on inside his head. His fingers hurt and his brain pounded from the force of his wolf trying to break free and lay some hurt on whoever had touched the girl.

  “Trouble, boss?” Buzz said from the front counter.

  Lucky glared at his friend, silently fuming.

  Slowly Buzz nodded, cracking a few knuckles and straightening to his full height. “Whose head needs to be caved in?”

  Buzz walked around the glass counter and strolled to him, all lean muscle. He wore jeans, a long chain wallet, a shop t-shirt, and a faded Red Sox cap. He cracked the rest of his knuckles. Lucky and Buzz worked out together, so he knew what kind of destruction the man was capable of. Not only was he an accomplished tattoo artist, he was a lightweight boxing champion too, with multiple belts. He didn’t fight so much anymore now that he and Saraya were engaged. Plus, his talents were being put to other use in the magical realm.

  He wasn’t pack or club, but he was Lucky’s brother nonetheless. They’d grown up together and when Luke went for colors to get away from his old man, Buzz went into the Army and a did a few tours. War changed people. He’d come home, seen a shrink, one thing had led to another, and then he and Saraya had become a couple. Saraya Montoya had been the best thing to ever happen to one of his best buds.

  Luke ran a hand through his hair and checked the clock. He didn’t have time to follow Cecelia because he needed to get home, grab his gear, and get to the club before six. He didn’t dare be late or his head would be on the silver platter in the center of the table. They’d given him enough leeway as it was. They probably wouldn’t have given another member as much as he’d gotten, but Drake was his uncle. He’d still been president when the shit with Amber had gone down, and he’d given the go-ahead for Lucky to take leave while keeping his patch.

  No doubt Hammer was about to make his life a living hell. Lucky was a sigma wolf, a wolf who could lead, but didn’t feel compelled to be alpha. Hammer was a true alpha. Remmy had been the pack omega, and when he died, it had torn a hole in all of them. In-fighting had broken out as tensions revved to new heights.

  And he had deserved every second of pain.

  “Later,” Luke said to Buzz and radiated fury, the menace leaching out of him in waves.

  “That human girl who was standing outside for a long time?”

  Luke nodded. “I worked on her earlier. There was something there, man,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. He met Buzz’s brown eyes and knew Buzz understood.

  “I’m happy for you, brother. You deserve some happiness.”

  Luke shook his head. “It’s not like that. She came here, kissed me like it was goodbye, and then when I tried to grab her arm to keep her from going, she flinched, crouched down in a protective stance, and squeezed her eyes shut.”

  The memory of her like that was going to haunt his dreams for the foreseeable future.

  “Harsh. She obviously has some very deep wounds. You sure you wanna go down that road?”

  Luke scrubbed his palms down his face and rubbed his eyes, which had started to throb and pulse in anger. “I don’t know. I can’t explain this urge I have to go after her. Protect her.”

  Buzz shrugged. “So go. What’s stopping ya?”

  “Hammer came by. My hiatus is up. I’m wanted at the club at six.”

  His best friend whistled through his teeth and clenched his hands at his sides. “Need backup?”

  While he appreciated his friend’s sentiment, the club wouldn’t let an outsider in, even if he was a friend of the pack and a warlock. “Nah, man. Whatever’s gonna happen is gonna happen. I made my bed, now I’ve got to make amends.”

  “Call me when you can, let me know shit’s good, okay?”

  “I will. Thanks for letting me blow off steam. I don’t wanna go in there half-cocked and pissing vinegar.”

  “Smart. Want to spar for a few minutes, get the rest out?”

  “I wish. My wolf is pissed, but I have no time. Tell Saraya you did good talking me down. Seems the good Doc is rubbing off on you.” Luke grinned at Buzz and then fist-bumped his childhood friend.

  “See you on the flip side.”

  “Ride safe, brother.”

  * * *

  Luke blew dust off the cover to his bike, and then removed the canvas, revealing his baby, his Harley Dyna with custom Z-bars and no fairing. It wasn’t his long-distance bike, but he enjoyed the ride. Like most of his brothers, he had their logo painted on the tank, but it had more pops of red and golds than blacks and silvers. The wolf on his bike was featured more prominently.

  He gave the bike a quick wipe down, fired her up, and donned his helmet. Out on the road, he felt free for the first time in a long time. The air cleansed his head, and he smiled at the wind brushing his cheeks like a rough ‘welcome home’ party.

  Ten miles away, he turned left into the warehouse district on the water and sped down the wide alley toward their club’s main space. Back in the day, the original members had bought up this dilapidated set of buildings for cheap and over the course of time, had fixed what needed fixing in order to make it run again. Their bike shop was here, their party spot was here, and their meeting hall was here, too. Just in different buildings to keep shit separate.

  A few of the members bunked or had rooms here, as well. About four thousand square feet had been renovated to create small bedrooms and community bathrooms. You paid more in dues if you were a resident. Once a brother took an old lady, they usually moved out on their own, but not always. Packs liked to stay together whenever possible.

  Lucky parked in line with the other bikes, removed his helmet, stowed his gun, and inhaled the familiar scents of salt and leather. The strong odors wiped out the wet dog smell. Apprehension wove through him but he straightened his spine, raised his chin, and opened the door to hell.

  No, really. The sign above the meetinghouse door said, “Welcome to Hell.”

  Patch holders lingered and talked with one another. The bar at the back of the room was jam-packed as they waited for their chance to grab whatever drink s
uited their fancy.

  “Hey, man, nice to see you.”

  Lucky turned in time to brace for Jiff’s punch. “Yeah, me too. How’s things?”

  “You know how it goes. Little this, little that, nothing but green and pussy.”

  “So, biz is good, then?”

  “Prime, baby, prime. Got some nice young talent keeping the gents real happy.” Jiff wiggled his brows.

  Luke laughed. “There’s always money in pussy. Glad the Medusa is profiting.”

  It’d been a while since he’d bullshitted with the guys. He’d almost forgotten what it was like; being away from the scene seemed to have fucked with his head more than he’d thought.

  To the right, Hammer was talking with Flip and Pretty-Boy, a conversation that appeared hushed and angry. Luke rolled his eyes and said to Jiff, “I’m gonna grab a beer. You want one?”

  “Naw, man, I’m all set.”

  Luke bumped fists with Jiff and threaded through the sea of leather with his eyes downcast, hoping not to be seen right away. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the ruckus his presence might create. Then again, if this was his last night on this earth, he might as well live it the fuck up. He’d never lowered his eyes to another shifter before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  He picked up his face and met the eyes of every brother in the warehouse. Some lounged on old couches and chairs, a few played cards at the table, and others joked and laughed, ignoring him altogether.

  He signaled the prospect. “Shot and a beer,” he called out.

  The young probate nodded, his wavy blond hair falling into his eyes. He blew it back and grabbed a shot glass, poured, and set both the liquor and the cold bottle in front of Luke.

  “Thanks.” He held up his beer and saluted, then downed the shot, slammed the glass back on the counter, and said, “One more.”

  The prospect filled the glass and Lucky swallowed the fiery liquid, torching his nerves.

  “All right, all right.” Hammer’s voice boomed through the club. “We got business to attend to. Officers.” He nodded to the set of double wood doors blocking the meeting hall. “And Lucky.”