Koyn

by K. Webster

  Scarred.

  Old.

  Angry.

  Villain.

  My mouth is red from our kiss and my dick is flaccid, still dripping.

  Go to your room, Hadley.

  Fucking please.

  A man only has so much self-control.

  Her bedroom door slams shut.

  I let out a long sigh and mutter, “Good girl.”

  Hadley

  He’s going to pretend like nothing happened.

  Unbelievable.

  “What did he do last night?” Stormy asks, dragging me into the pantry and away from my perch at the window where I was happily glaring at Koyn, who’s outside smoking.

  I roll my eyes. “Nothing.”

  She lets out a sigh that could be misconstrued as relief. But why? “Probably for the best.”

  “Because I’m too young?” I taunt, my voice turning mean.

  “Because he’s Koyn. He’d…I don’t know…chew you up and spit you out.”

  Her words feel false to me. If anything, Koyn has a problem with being too much of a gentleman. Last night, he was pissed. Furious. He even spanked my ass again.

  But then…

  Then he was tender and gentle and affectionate.

  I’d been sucked right into that side of him. Something about him pulls me. When we kissed, it’s like someone threw a lit match into a puddle of gasoline. We ignited and I didn’t think we’d be put out. I was sure he’d fuck me and make me see stars. But, as quick as it started, he doused the heat with his cold, callous words. Sent me back to my room as though I were a child he was punishing.

  Ugh, fuck him.

  “Where’d you say you’re from again?” Stormy says, drawing me from my inner rage.

  I snap my eyes to hers. “I didn’t.”

  “I can help you,” she says softly. “You’re still a baby. You need to get back to your family. They can protect you.”

  I recoil and stumble back, bumping my ass into the shelves of canned goods. “I don’t have a family. There’s nowhere to go back to.”

  She opens her mouth like she might speak again, but then we hear deep voices. Her caring face is wiped off as she affixes a flirty grin.

  “Filter, baby, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll make a store run.” She gives me a long look before slipping out of the pantry.

  I follow her out to find several of the guys congregating in the kitchen. My gaze seeks out Koyn. He’s staring at his phone, scowling. Feeling brave, I walk right up to him. Before I can ask him what the hell his problem is, his phone rings and he takes the call.

  “What’s up, Copper?”

  And then he’s gone.

  “Who kicked your puppy?” Dragon asks, throwing an arm over my shoulders.

  He smells damn good.

  “Koyn.”

  “Koyn’s mean like that.” He turns his head and inhales my hair. “If you want sweet, I can be your sugar.”

  A chill ripples down my spine. Dragon doesn’t seem sweet at all. Just yesterday I was interested in taunting him, but not now. He kind of spooks me.

  “I’m good, Pete.”

  “Pete?”

  “The dragon.”

  He snorts. “I breathe fire, PG. Where do you want me to make you hot?” His palm slides to my ass and he caresses it. “Here?”

  Katana steps right in front of us and his dark eyes sear into Dragon’s. The small, Asian man looks like he’s right out of BTS or some other pop group with his porcelain features and perfect, inky black hair. His face is pretty, but in a dangerous way. It’s not a surprise that the two creepiest fuckers are friends.

  “Yeah, yeah, K,” Dragon grumbles. “Just poking a little fun.”

  They walk off and I sigh in relief.

  “Hey, Hadley,” Bermuda says, grinning his adorably boyish smile at me. “Wanna help me plan the Thanksgiving menu?”

  I stare at him.

  Aside from his innocent smile, he screams biker dude. Tall, bulky, dangerous. He’s as good-looking as the rest, maybe better because he has that whole football player redneck vibe going on. He’s tatted, though, and I know he carries a .45 all the time. His leather cut stretches over his broad frame and his black boots have buckles on them. So it’s weird as hell that he’s grinning at me like his grandmother let him plan the family feast this year.

  Once again, the whole family feel of this place gets under my skin.

  “Not really,” I snap.

  His grin widens. “I could make more orange fluff.”

  “Is that what the fluffy nonsense was called?”

  “You ate almost the whole damn bowl by yourself. We could make some more of your favorites. Just let me know and I’ll make a list.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and try to ignore the memories of my childhood assaulting me. Running through the kitchen with my cousin Jake. Mom telling us to slow down, but with a smile in her voice. We had people to cook for us, but not on Thanksgiving. Mom always chose that day for us to be like every other American family. She slaved away in the kitchen while Dad watched football with the other male relatives. It was always my favorite and not just because my birthday was near Thanksgiving. It’d been one of the few holidays that felt normal and happy.

  “Green bean casserole.”

  His eyes flash with satisfaction. “You got it, PG.”

  He ruffles my hair on the way by, reminding me of how my cousin Jake would do it, and leaves the kitchen. Stormy is moaning from where Filter has her pinned against the fridge.

  Don’t want to watch them fuck.

  I slip out of the kitchen and realize no one is paying attention to me. With that thought, I slip out the back door and start walking. The air is chilly and it whips my hair around. All I have on is a Poison sweatshirt, a pair of black leggings, and tennis shoes. Not ideal running away attire, but it’ll do in a pinch.

  My gaze skims along the tree line that runs parallel with the long driveway. I could walk down the driveway, but then my chances of being caught are higher. I’m squinting into the trees when I see a small clearing. Curiosity gets the better of me and I hurry over to it. The clearing is more like a path through the trees. I follow it for several hundred feet before coming to an old building with a large chimney looking thing on one end.

  Several old, decaying pens surround the building. No grass grows. Just mud. Looks like this place once housed pigs. The wind whistles through the trees, making me shiver. I walk over to the building’s entrance and frown when I realize it’s locked.

  “I could give you a tour inside, but then I might accidentally leave you there.”

  The deep voice makes me squeak out in surprise before whipping around. Payne. He’s scary and stealthy and totally gives me the creeps. Upon first inspection, he’s hot. All these fuckers are. The shaved head and unhinged glint in his eyes, though, make him kind of scary. The fact he’s been following my every move is even more freaky.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do?” I spit out, hands on my hips.

  His eyes drag down my front in a dismissive way. “Nope.”

  “Pervert.”

  He laughs. Deep and husky and cruel. “Not my type.”

  Even though I don’t care, his words sting. Being a former pageant girl, I really did prance around and seek approval from others in the way of awards and crowns and trophies. People not liking me or not being attracted to me is, quite frankly, new.

  “What is your type?” I demand. “Boys?”

  He shrugs. “Anything but you.”

  “Rude.”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never rude. Asshole. Violent. Mean. Not rude.”

  “I wouldn’t fuck a freak like you anyway,” I tell him, ignoring the sting of my pride.

  “That’s okay,” he says, shrugging. “I wouldn’t fuck my brother’s girl either.”

  I scoff. “Your what?”

  “You’re Koyn’s.”

  I gape at him. “I most certainly am not
his.”

  “I’m here to keep an eye on you and that means an ear too. Were they or were they not your moans coming from his room last night?” He smirks in a wicked way.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Sorry. Can’t help you there. I’m on babysitting duty until otherwise noted.”

  “You listened to us?” I accused. “You are a pervert.”

  “No,” he growls. “Jacking off while listening would have been perverted. I just listened. My dick was soft and safe inside my jeans. Happy?”

  “No, you’re still sick.”

  “You’re not in fucking high school or Disneyland, PG. You’re at Koyn’s compound. Everything we do is sick in some form. It’s fucking rich coming from you. Acting like you’re some prissy bitch. Like you weren’t sleeping with the enemy’s son.”

  “Why is Magna the enemy?”

  He shrugs. “Not my story to tell.”

  “Useless bastard.”

  “Useless to you because I don’t want your teenage cunt. But not useless to Prez.”

  “Want a fucking cookie? I’ll have Bermuda put it on the shopping list.”

  “Did your daddy ever wash that mouth out with soap? You’re mouthy as shit, PG.”

  I scowl at him and shove him before stalking back toward the house. He’s soundless, but I feel his oppressive presence behind me.

  “If I tell you who I am, you’ll just let me walk out of here?” I ask over my shoulder.

  He laughs. “You’re not walking anywhere. Prez will deliver you himself.”

  The thought of leaving and going back home makes me shudder. Nope. I quite like my freedom, even if it means being held in a swanky Man Mansion surrounded by trees. There are worse prisons—like under Magna’s nose.

  “Get lost, loser.”

  “Nice try,” he says with a sigh, stopping his stalking after me the moment I reach the back patio. “I’ll be around, little girl. Always watching. Remember that.”

  Fucking prick.

  Koyn

  “Two of Magna’s guys got out.”

  I lift my gaze from my computer to frown at Copper. “How do you know?”

  “I pulled the report after the fire to make sure nothing incriminating was left behind. The notes showed a picture of the row of bikes out front, but a few were missing from the formation. After pulling the tags on them all, I found that Junior’s was there. Putnam was off the grid, so his bike must have been under an alias and one of the ones missing.”

  “How many others?”

  “Two.”

  “So he’s got two of his men.” I scrub my palm over my face and sigh. “They haven’t popped up anywhere. You’ve called all the local chapters?”

  “And checked out the local police databases. They ghosted out of there.”

  “Putnam may have disappeared once before, but he won’t do it again. Not like that. This time he’s running from me, not the law. He’s too arrogant to stay hidden for long.”

  Copper and Halo nod.

  “Where’s Bermuda?” I ask, scanning my light group of men today.

  Dragon looks up from his laptop and laughs. “He’s with Stormy.”

  Filter doesn’t even flinch, which means not in a sexual way.

  “The store?”

  “They’re planning Thanksgiving,” Dragon says with a grin.

  “Tell ’em I want sweet potato casserole,” Bizzy chimes in. “Not with that marshmallow crap on it. Momma used to make it with brown sugar and pecans—”

  “Go tell him yourself,” I snap, cutting him off. “Dragon, what’s the status on Hadley’s social media.”

  His eyes narrow as he shoves his laptop my way. “Found this.”

  I’m expecting a narrowed list like I’d asked for, but instead, I find one Facebook profile. Jane Don’t. The fakest name ever. I click on the profile picture. A picture of long legs in a pair of black heels. Same long legs that were wrapped around me last night.

  As I study the picture, I will my hard-on to go away. I almost fucked her. Rubbed all up on her like she was fucking mine. My dick strains against my jeans as I skim my eyes along her bare flesh on the screen. The girl is maddening. I need to quickly figure out where the fuck she lives so I can get rid of her. Last night felt…too good. I don’t do good. Good makes you weak and blind and vulnerable. I’ll be goddamned if I’m ever weak again.

  “You’re sure this is her?” I ask, though I know for a fact.

  “Come on, Prez, we both know those are her legs.” Dragon lives to fucking taunt, and most days I find humor in it. Not today.

  I cut my eyes over to his and Filter stands, clutching Dragon’s shoulder.

  “Wanna grab a smoke?” Filter asks Dragon.

  They both rise and Bizzy follows after them, leaving just me, Copper, and Halo.

  I return my attention back to the screen and start skimming through Jane Don’t’s friend list. Several of the men and women affiliated with Putnam’s MC are on that list, including Junior. I get lost down a rabbit hole for a bit searching for the two guys that got away with Putnam. When I don’t find anything, I go back to her friend list.

  Nicolette Genworth.

  I click on the “friend” of Jane Don’t and am stunned by what I see. Hadley. Plain as fuck. Prissy, beautiful, rich. In every picture she’s making one of those stupid duck faces Blaire used to make. You can tell Hadley is used to being a princess based on all her pictures. Both guys and girls seem to look at her as if she’s royalty. Her wicked smirks in several of the photos tells me she knows she’s hot and popular. It’s so reminiscent of Blaire that it makes my stomach clench violently.

  “What is it?” Copper demands. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Nah, just nearly fucked one.

  I’m such a sick fucking freak.

  Rubbing bare on the pussy of some girl who looks like my daughter. What the fuck is even wrong with me?

  “Nicolette Genworth of Dallas, Texas. Run it through your systems. Halo, you too. Find out everything you can about her. From what I can tell, she’s just like every other spoiled little rich girl. She wanted a taste of a darker life and went for it.” I lean back in my chair and meet Copper’s gaze. “We’ll get through Thanksgiving, gather more information, and then we’ll ditch the girl.”

  Copper seems relieved, which is annoying as hell. It’s not like I actually did fuck the teenager. I have some semblance of self-control. I may be a ruthless MC prez, but I’m nothing like Putnam.

  My brother nods and Halo grunts. They both go back to work on their computers while I stalk out the girl a little more. In every picture, she’s wearing a different headband. Like it’s her signature thing. I haven’t seen her in one the entire time I’ve had her.

  After scrolling through a lot of pictures, I come across one of her and an older man who looks just like her. His face is familiar to me, though I can’t place it. The caption says, “We miss you, Momma.”

  She didn’t tag the man in the picture, because from experience I know it’s uncool to tag your parents, but it’s evident he’s her father.

  “Genworth,” I tell Copper. “Find out everything you can about the Genworth name—specifically about Hadley’s father.”

  I email him the picture of the two of them and then snap my laptop closed.

  “Where are you headed?” Copper asks, his brows furling.

  “Talk to Hadley.”

  Before he can open his mouth, I wave him off.

  “Not about this. I don’t need her running off until we have a clearer picture. I’m just going to see if I can find anything else out.”

  Halo looks up from his screen. “Payne said he followed her into the woods earlier.”

  I scowl at him. “And?”

  “He brought her back. She wasn’t happy.”

  “What was she looking for?” I demand.

  “Probably an escape. Found the slaughterhouse instead.”

  “If she doesn’t want to go back home to her cushy palace a
nd no longer has Junior, what the fuck is her end game? Where does she think she’s going to run off to?” I muse aloud, frowning.

  Copper shrugs. “Putnam?”

  My blood runs cold with that thought. Surely she’s not loyal to that piece of shit. If that’s the case, she can’t ever leave here because then she’ll run straight to him with information about my club and the way we do shit.

  I definitely need to talk to her.

  “Keep at it and give me an update at dinner,” I tell them before leaving the conference room.

  I stalk down the hallways on a mission.

  Find Hadley.

  Or Nicolette Genworth.

  Voices from the kitchen tell me everyone is gathered there. They’re talking over each other, discussing Thanksgiving that’ll happen in a few days. When I peek around the corner, Hadley sits in a chair, frowning at everyone as they laugh and cut up. Our eyes meet and she stiffens her back.

  I give her a chin lift to indicate she needs to follow me. To my surprise, she does. We walk through the house and up to her room. She eyes me with suspicion. I sit down on her bed and then lie back.

  “What do you want?” she asks, hurt in her tone.

  I study her for a moment. She’s a mystery to me. Hates me and this place, but was begging for my dick and affection last night. Claims she was in love with Junior, but then bragged about sucking his old man’s dick. Refuses to tell me her name so I won’t take her home even though she’s clearly loaded and spoiled.

  “Come here and let me hold you.” My words are gruff and commanding.

  Her nostrils flare, but then she walks over to the bed and crawls on. I pull her to my side and run my fingers through her silky brown hair. She’s stiff at first but then relaxes, splaying her palm over my chest.

  “You’re confusing to me,” she mutters. “So hot and cold.”

  “We shouldn’t be hot.”

  She tilts her head up to look at me. “Why not? Because I’m only eighteen? Not a big deal. You’re a biker, for fuck’s sake. Lawless.”

  I grab her thigh, pulling it up over my groin. I rub her silky, bare flesh. My fingers skim along the backside of her thigh, just under her denim shorts. Her breath hitches.