Fighting for Alexa

by Jennifer Ann

  Jesus. I feel like a bomb ready to explode.

  His brown eyebrows knit together. “Sure you’re alright?”

  “Long day of riding,” I blurt, mentally kicking myself for acting like such a freak.

  “The name’s Colt,” he says, offering his large hand. It’s calloused and slightly dirty, the sign of a hard worker.

  I shove both hands in my back pockets. Not only am I not the type to shake hands, but I’m almost positive that touching this guy will catapult me over the edge of sanity. “Harley,” I mutter under my breath.

  He crosses his arms, lips curled in a sexy smirk. “As in the bike?”

  “As in you’re going to have a boot up your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

  “You’re a lively one,” he says with a deep chuckle. We reach the door to the club and he holds it open. “I like that,” he whispers, tossing me a sexy wink.

  Gasping with the familiar sights and smells of the clubhouse, I stop dead in my tracks. Very little has changed since I was a girl and it’s like stepping back in time. Piles of empty liquor and beer bottles litter the same worn couches and armchairs from the 80s where I’d witnessed plenty of club members getting it on. A haze of smoke hangs in the dimly lit room among dancing dust particles. Zeppelin croons from the old-school jukebox in the corner, competing with the harsh laughter of men in another room.

  The mural spanning across an entire wall of the US flag surrounded by eagles and Harley-Davidson wings beneath the club’s name INFERNO GLORY has been touched up recently as the colors are impeccable and vibrant. Drawings of service patches from wars each of the members served stretch across the top as a striking reminder this club takes their patriotism seriously and anything less won’t be tolerated.

  Casual pictures of members past and present cover the far wall and my eyes immediately find my father. Painful aches strike me in the chest with the sight of him. Before chemo wore him down to a weakling—something a retired Marine didn’t tolerate well—he was a strong, incredibly handsome man. In the picture he isn’t much older than I am now and the smile on his face is one of the brightest I’ve ever seen. Looking at his long, dark hair, the light mocha shade of his skin, and the sparkle to his kind, brown eyes, is like glimpsing into a mirror three years ago.

  Two men sitting at the bar in leather vests with the club’s logo turn when the heavy door slams shut behind us. One’s long and lean with a bun of dark hair secured on the back of his head while the other’s bald as a cue ball and a wall of solid muscle.

  “Jesus H Christ,” the bald man hisses, rising to his feet. His dark eyes don’t stray from me as he stumbles to a nearby door and hollers, “Remmy, get your ass out here! You’re gonna wanna see this!”

  “You know her?” Colt asks, looking back and forth between me and the bald man marching toward me.

  “Harley,” the man coos, collecting me in his thick arms. “Jesus, kid. It’s been too long.”

  “Buzz, how’ve you been?” I ask casually, trying to choke down the lump rising in my chest as my hands hang loose at my sides. I’ll be damned if I come off as weak after all I’ve been through, and these bikers hate nothing more than an overly emotional chick.

  But as soon as the MC’s president steps out of his office, gray eyes landing on me, I nearly lose my composure. He’s aged considerably since I last saw him. Long, dark hair once peppered with grays has been completely replaced with a buzz cut of all white. Sharp lines cover nearly every inch of his tanned face, making him appear exhausted from all he’s been through. His bulk has faded with time, making way for a sinewy frame covered in faded ink. The corners of his thin lips twitch when he charges at me.

  “Remmy,” I whisper, ready to give in to my wavering emotions and wrap my arms around the man I once knew as a surrogate grandfather.

  The deep creases on his face harden once he’s standing in front of me, enveloping me in the strong scent of leather and tobacco. Something unreadable passes through his expression before he raises his hand and delivers a sharp slap to my face.

  Grab the standalone now!

  About the Author

  Jennifer Ann is the pen name young adult paranormal author Jen Naumann uses to write new adult romance novels intended to spice up your life and pull at your heart strings. When not writing from one of the 10,000 lakes in Minnesota, Jennifer is either rocking out at concerts, riding Harley, helping her husband farm, or chasing down one of their four active children.

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  Acknowledgments

  When I consider how many amazing people have touched my life during this insane journey over the past 5 years, it’s no surprise these get harder to write with every book I release (can’t believe this is #17!!!).

  To the readers and bloggers who continue buying my crazy books and leaving reviews that make me giddy for days (especially my Rockstars), I LOVE YOU SO HARD. Seriously. I know I wouldn’t be where I am today if I was simply writing to entertain myself, so you have my deepest gratitude. I’d give you my firstborn if I could (some days, anyway).

  Special thanks to Najla Qamber, Matt Zumwalt, and Eric Battershell for being a lot of fun while working together to create this hauntingly gorgeous cover. Wishing you all the best in your successful careers!

  Big shoutout to my awesome friends Amanda Kespohl and “Murph” for your expertise on Florida Appeals and prison life during those times when Google wasn’t enough. Thanks for putting up with all my annoying questions!

  A huge thanks to those who are there without fail to help me polish my books and make them the best they can be: Clover Autrey, Corrie Hanson, and Jenny Hanson. And a big thank you to Kristi Falteisek for your hard work behind the scenes. You’re all invaluable at this point in my career!

  Christy Pastore, you know I love the shit out of you. Not sure how you put up with my insanity on a daily basis, but I find comfort knowing you’re only a phone call away. WE’VE GOT THIS.

  To my special friends in the book world who are always there with the click of a mouse, I started listing you all but there’s no way I can do it without missing someone important, so fuck that. You know who you are. Your friendship and support mean everything. Being an author can be pretty lonely at times, but I can always count on you guys to be there even if I suck at reaching out at times. Please know you each hold a special place in my heart, and your friendship has carried me through some of the darkest hours. I don’t know how I got so damn lucky.

  Sending all my love to my friends and family (especially my husband and kids) for putting up with my wild mood swings and odd work hours. I have no idea how I’ve made it this far without you guys disowning me. You’re the best and I’m eternally grateful to have you.