The Devil’s Russian Beauty: Book Two of The Werewolves of Rebellion Series Copyright © 2017 by Ana Lee Kennedy
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Digital ISBN 978-1-62601-337-7
Print ISBN 978-1-62601-338-4
First edition, January 2017
Chapter One
Bernadette hopped out of Frank’s Dodge pickup. She slammed the door, then stepped up onto the curb to drop a couple dimes into the parking meter. “We have 20 minutes,” she called over to him.
She glanced at the stairs leading to the courthouse’s main doors, then turned back to Frank. After paying the MC’s property taxes, then picking up a few cases of beer, they’d return to the MC, where they would enjoy a cookout and playing horseshoes or cornhole. As Frank got out of the truck, she let her gaze wander over him. She loved the way his tattoo sleeves rippled whenever he moved. Hidden beneath his cut on his left shoulder and down over the pec was an amazing tat of a gray wolf. She itched to run her fingers over it, examine every line while she rode Frank in the throes of passion. He caught her gaze and grinned.
“Thinking naughty thoughts again, sweetheart?” he rumbled.
The deep timbre of his voice shot a thrill straight to her core. She grinned back. “Maybe,” she said, drawing the word out playfully.
He met her on the sidewalk, then leaned down by her ear. “You may find yourself flat on your back tonight, you little minx. And maybe on your hands and knees, possibly with your calves on my shoulders, and maybe even flat on your belly with me straddling the backs of your thighs—”
Heat flooded her lower belly and settled in her folds. “Stop it!” She swatted him lightly on his arm. “It’s already a hundred degrees out. I don’t need you making it any hotter.”
“Sweetheart, that’s how I feel every time I look at you.” He kissed her quickly. “I won’t be long getting the elixir, so I’ll meet you here at the truck in a few, okay?”
She nodded. “Tell your grandmother I said hello.”
With a wave, he strode to the corner. Bernadette crossed the expanse of concrete and ascended the wide steps to the county seat. The cool interior and the aroma of age and wood polish welcomed her. She began the next climb up the numerous marble steps to the second floor. At the top, she made her way around all the tables set up across the mosaic-tile floor, where energy rights companies battled for sales, filled out paperwork, answered cell phones, and tapped away at laptop keyboards. As she passed, each man stopped what he was doing and offered her flirtatious smiles or stared in awe. Even now, with one of the sexiest men alive as her mate, the attention of other men still embarrassed her.
At the auditor’s office, she reached for the doorknob, but a tall, golden-haired fellow stepped in front of her. “Allow me,” he said, opening the door and holding it for her.
“Thank you.” She tried not to make eye contact with him.
He smiled, revealing beautiful, even, white teeth. “My pleasure.”
The way he spoke fired unease up Bernadette’s spine to the base of her neck. The hairs on her nape stood up. She chanced meeting his gaze and discovered the most brilliant blue eyes she’d ever seen, eyes that fairly crackled with sexuality. Flustered, she looked away and focused on making her way inside the office.
The door didn’t shut immediately. Out of the corner of her eye, Bernadette caught the man watching her for a moment. Unnerved, she pondered the simmer of power that rose just beneath her skin. Her witchcraft mentor, Scary Mary, had told her to pay attention to her feelings and sensations. Puzzled by her reaction to the guy, she relaxed when he finally closed the door.
Two people, a man and a woman, stood at the wide counter. The clerks worked slowly, chatting as they processed paperwork. The pace of Rebellion, unhurried and friendly, still charmed Bernadette, but there were times, like now, that she wished people would talk less and work faster. A blonde stepped out from behind a partition with a stack of folders in one arm. She said something to another lady, who sat at one of the two desks behind the counter. The older woman nodded and handed the blonde a couple more folders.
Something about the way the blonde held her head, her red-painted lips mashed in a thin line and her light eyes stony sparked recognition in Bernadette. The man in front of her moved away from the counter, and Bernadette took his place. As she waited for the clerk to come back, she returned her attention to the blonde.
“Do you need me to go over the computer process with you again, Daffi?” the older woman asked.
“No, I got it,” the blonde answered, “but if I get stuck, I’ll holler.”
Daffi? Why did she know that—wait. That was the bitch who attacked her at the Wraithkillers MC!
Daffi pushed through a half door leading to the waiting area, but as she passed, she caught Bernadette’s gaze and recognition flared on the woman’s face, followed by surprise, then hostility. Her eyes brightened with anger and she looked away. In the far corner of the room, Daffi sat at a tiny desk with a laptop and a printer where she began inputting data from a file.
The clerk gave Bernadette the total taxes owed plus the late fee, then Bernadette filled in all the information on the signed check Frank had given her. All the while, her mind spun with the knowledge that one of Crow’s sheep was working in the auditor’s office.
Finally, receipt in hand, Bernadette stepped away from the counter. She looked over at Daffi, who sat with her back to Bernadette. The bright tattoo of a tropical getaway scene peeked above the top edges of her blouse, the colors stark against the white cotton. Bernadette approached her, but stopped a few feet away, her gaze zeroing in on a new scar barely hidden by a sleeve. It looked like two interconnected capital R’s.
Somehow, Daffi must’ve sensed her stare. The woman turned, the color draining from her cheeks. “What do you want?” she whispered harshly.
“I just…” What did she want? She hadn’t walked over to the woman with a question in mind, but something had drawn her to Daffi. “I noticed the new scar on your shoulder.”
“So what?” Daffi almost snarled. “It’s none of your—”
“Are you okay?” Bernadette blurted before she could stop herself but kept her voice low. “Do you need help?”
“I’m…fine.” The stony glint in the woman’s eyes faded. In its place wariness resided, but also gratitude. “I’m with the River Rebels now,” she added, dropping her voice even lower. “Thanks.”
The tiniest twitch at one corner of Daffi’s mouth surprised Bernadette. She frowned quizzically. “Thanks? For what?”
“For asking if I’m okay.” With that, Daffi turned back to the laptop.
Thoroughly confused, Bernadette left the auditor’s office, once again maneuvering through the numerous tables, wary that she’d encounter the blue-eyed man who had intercepted her. Over by the staircase leading to the third floor, she spotted him leaned over a table talking to another man. He caught her gaze and grinned wickedly. She glanced away and made her way downstairs, her magic rising. Whoever he was, she didn’t want anything to do with him.
Outside, she found Frank already waiting for her at the pickup.
* * *
For several minutes, all Daffi could do was stare at the blinking cursor on the laptop screen. She couldn’t believe the redhead had actually taken a moment to ask if she was all right. Why? They’d gotten into one helluva fight—she touched her cheekbone—with Bernadette giving back as good as Daffi had dished out. She wasn’t proud she’d attacked Bernadette. The redhead’s spectacular body and gorgeous face would make any woman feel inadequate, especially when men were around. She’d have to be more careful to hide the ownership scar. The River Rebels were outlaws, but she didn’t want to wind up sold like the others were. Some of the buyers were pure evil incarnate.
Daffi straightened her shoulders and shook away her disturbing thoughts. If she kept her mouth shut, sucked the dicks she was told to suck and fucked who she was told to fuck, giving over information whenever she got some, she’d be fine. She had a secure job here in the auditor’s office, and Hudson, the River Rebels’ president, would be out of jail in a few months, and everyone said he was nicer than his second-in-command.
Yeah, she was safe, had a roof over her head, food to eat, nice clothes…she could do this. With tentative resolve, she concentrated on her job.
* * *
“Daffi?” Frank said.
Quickly, Bernadette refreshed his memory on the tattooed blonde with whom she’d duked it out while at Crow’s MC.
“Ah, that one.” He nodded.
“She had a double R branded on her shoulder,” Bernadette said. “I asked her if she was okay, and she said she was fine, then she actually thanked me for asking.”
Frank shifted gears as he accelerated out of town, the back of the truck full of munchies, a few cases of beer and several bags of ice. “It’s common practice for outlaw MCs to swap, trade or sell their sweetbutts. Although some will brand their women to show others who they belong to.”
“I’m beginning to think I dodged a bullet by not researching and writing my crime novel about outlaw gangs,” Bernadette stated.
“What do you mean?”
“If I had stayed with Crow’s MC, I might’ve ended up like Daffi.”
“Well, you didn’t.” Frank settled his hand on her knee and stroked his thumb back and forth over her skin. “You’re my woman and you’re with the Werewolves of Rebellion now. You’re safe, well cared for, protected, happy…”
“Yeah, but Daffi doesn’t have those things.” Bernadette stared at the scenery as it whizzed by. “And if she doesn’t have the things most of us take for granted, how many others like her are out there?”
“More than you want to know,” Frank replied darkly. “Once a woman gets in with a one-percenter gang, it’s next to impossible to leave. If she’s in the courthouse, she serves as the eyes and ears of the River Rebels. Anything she learns that might benefit the MC, she’ll pass it along.”
“So she’s a spy, an informant?”
“Yep.”
“And here I thought she was just in a bad situation.”
“She is,” Frank said, “because if she doesn’t do as she’s told, she’ll be punished, or worse.”
How could women let themselves be used like that? Disturbed, Bernadette snuggled against Frank’s side while he didn’t have to shift gears. Every time she was near Frank, all she could think about was getting naked with him. She drew in the aroma of leather from his cut, his personal odor that was a mixture of all-male perspiration and the spicy deodorant he wore. A big dose of drying clover from the fields they were passing added to the heady mix. When she’d told Luella how she craved Frank, her friend had told her it was because they were mates. Whatever the reason, Bernadette couldn’t get enough of Frank. Every time she thought about how much she loved him, her heart actually felt like it would explode.
Frank drove along SR 26 until they reached a length of road where he slowed for the curves, forcing Bernadette to pull away from him so he could change gears. In minutes, they reached Graysville and he turned left to head out over the ridge to his motorcycle club, Bernadette’s new home. It may have only been three months since Frank had told her he loved her and wanted her to stay with him, but those three months had been the most rewarding and fulfilling of Bernadette’s life. She had a new family—a huge one—and her mother had been invited to move into the community too. At first, her mom had resisted, but after Bernadette had argued that her brothers Chad and Duncan were moved out with their own families and the other two worked long hours—Danny, finalizing his nursing degree, and Alexander, struggling to build his new law firm—her mom had agreed, allowing Danny to take over the family home. Within two weeks, she’d moved into the Werewolves of Rebellion’s community and was settled in a little house that Frank had given her behind Puppy’s home. It was just big enough for one person, more of an efficiency bungalow, but her mother was happy with it. Plus Beastman had promised to add a small sunroom to it for her when the sale for the property’s energy rights was finalized.
Frank turned onto the lane leading back to the MC. The cherry orchard on one side of the drive had been harvested, but the apple trees on the other were loaded with fruit. Bernadette couldn’t wait to watch the harvest.
They passed the community of bungalow-style houses, the truck bouncing over the dips and shallow ruts of the dirt lane, and started up the slope to the MC, the big two-story Victorian perched on the hilltop like a crown. Bernadette still couldn’t believe the beautiful building was her new home. She wondered if Daffi had a decent place to lay her head at night. Wherever Daffi now lived, Bernadette hoped it was nice.
* * *
Four thirty—quitting time. With a sigh, Daffi shut down the laptop, returned the unfinished folders to a filing cabinet and locked them in it. She’d discovered three elderly couples who were waiting on payment for their oil and gas rights. Although she hated the thought of telling Ezra about the couples, it was her job to do so and it would please Ezra, keeping her in his good graces. The last time she’d failed him, she had to stay in her room for nearly two weeks before all the bruises he’d given her faded.
Daffi collected her purse, sunglasses and cell phone from her belongings box, waved to her coworkers, who waved back and wished her a nice weekend, then scurried through the complex setup of tables in the courthouse and hurried down the side staircase and out to the little Ford Fusion Ezra had bought her. It was preowned with many miles on the engine, but it was clean, well maintained and it was even her favorite color—sapphire. It was one of the many reason she didn’t mind being one of Ezra’s sweetbutts. Crow had never given her anything more than food, a room she shared with five other sweetbutts and only enough cash to buy monthly toiletries, cheap makeup at Dollar General and any clothes she could find at yard sales or on clearance racks. Crow may not have beaten her or any of his other girls, but he was a tight ass when it came to money. Ezra didn’t have a problem taking care of his sheep, but he demanded more than just sex from them. However, Hudson had ten months to serve, so he might change things when he got out of jail…if Ezra didn’t fight him for the MC.
Daffi unlocked her car and got into the hot interior, then started it and rolled the windows down. She had enough money to get a chicken sandwich and a caramel frappe at the McDonald’s a few yards away, so she drove around the next building and out onto the street to quickly pull into the fast-food restaurant’s parking lot.
Minutes later, she had her order and sat at one of the two umbrella tables enjoying her sandwich and drink. The September weather was gorgeous, and as the sun began to drop behind the courthouse, Daffi admired the deep blue sky, wishing that her life could have been different, that she could leave a good mark on the world instead of being someone’s puppet and punching bag. She shrugged and bit into her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.
“Wish in one hand and shit in the other,” she finally mumbled, “and see which one fills up first.”
A Harley roared through the entrance, dra
wing her attention. She’d know that patch on the man’s cut anywhere—Werewolves of Rebellion. The biker shut off his Harley and stepped off it. He stood for a moment as he removed his sunglasses and placed them in a pocket under his cut. His chocolate-brown hair, full of unruly curls, caught the evening sun, revealing red and gold highlights. He turned and walked toward the front entrance. At both knees, rips in his faded jeans provided glimpses of pale skin, clumping over the pavement in his riding boots as he approached. A long chain leading from a belt loop around and down into his back pants pocket swung to and fro.
Daffi wasn’t sure which of Frank Nightshade’s men he was, but she sure wouldn’t mind wrapping her legs around his waist one night. He caught her gaze, paused at the door and let his gaze wander over her, then back up to her eyes. “Ma’am,” he said. “Nice evening.”
“It is,” she replied, startled he’d spoken to her so politely.
He let his gaze sweep over her again. Something hard settled over his face. He nodded, once, then walked inside.
Yes, it would be nice if things could be different.
Chapter Two
Phillip Andrews could barely remember walking into McDonald’s to get his usual large cup of black coffee, his evening ritual after a long day driving a coal bucket for the local mine. Luella usually kept coffee on at the MC, but he needed this little reprieve, a few minutes to himself as he people-watched and occasionally spoke to someone he knew, before he returned to the MC and the chaos of the huge evening meal. Tonight was sweetbutt night, but once he saw the tall, lanky blonde outside at the umbrella table, all thoughts of drinking a fast cup of coffee, eating supper and engaging with one of the single women for a much-needed romp evaporated from his head.
He sat on the far side of the dining area next to the expanse of front windows with his attention on her. Steam puffed from his tall cup of joe, and two tables over, a harried dad pleaded with his toddler son to stop smearing ketchup on the tabletop. Phil knew the woman but couldn’t place her. Her hair fell around her head and neck in one of those A-line bobs so many women favored, and from what he could tell earlier she had either pale green or blue eyes. Damn, she looked familiar. He racked his brain to figure out her identity, but when she gathered her food wrapper and empty cup to stand, her shirt slipped back, pulling tight over her throat and drooping over her shoulders to reveal a brilliant tattoo of tropical palms, flowers and a beach.
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